September 1998
A Sibling Lost...
My brother died
about 12 years ago. Not from some horrible unavoidable
accident or disease, but from something much worse –
himself. My brother J drank himself to death.
When I think back
to my childhood with J, only the happiest of memories surface.
If there was anyone that I loved and adored, it was him.
J was the kind of
brother every little sister dreams of. He was 8 years older
than me and spoiled me rotten. He was very handsome and so
charming that everyone who met him instantly liked him. I
remember endless horsy back rides and tons of hugs and kisses.
When I was scared at night, it was his room I’d creep into
to feel safe. He was my world and he could do no wrong.
I always felt like
I was such an important part of his life and that we wouldn’t
ever be apart. J always had tons of friends and inevitably
I’d develop crushes on them. He took me places most brothers
wouldn’t take sisters, just because we had fun together and
because J tended to bring me along with him, his friends always
treated me like their little sister as well. I was actually
convinced that one day I’d marry his best friend and we’d
all continue on with our lives as they’d always been.
I always knew that
J and his friends liked to party. That’s why they were
so fun. Whenever my parents were out of town, J would throw
these incredible parties in the backyard and he’d always let
me and my friends stay.
I must’ve been
about 13 during one party and I wanted to drink with them. I
was sipping a beer and J said, “No, if you’re ever
going to learn to drink, drink this”. With that, he
put a bottle of Tanguary Gin in front of me and said, “Drink
it”. So I did. Of course at the time I thought
he was the coolest thing in the world. Here he was, showing
me how to drink. Now looking back on it, it makes me sick.
Throughout my
teens, I drank and partied with my brother on several occasions.
He was my connection, because my friends and I always knew he’d
get us beer. He never judged us or told us no, he just
warned us to be careful so that we didn’t get caught.
I think I finally
started to see that J had a problem when I was about 16. He
was having another party and I came in from being out with
friends. I saw him sitting on the couch snorting cocaine.
I walked over to him and saw that he was using our family
portrait to cut & straighten the lines on. He looked up
at me and said, “Now, I’ll do a line off of Dad. Cool,
Mom it’s your turn now”. I was so disgusted and
felt that he was being so disrespectful, that I turned and walked
out. He followed me and told me to stop acting like a baby.
He said he was only playing and I really needed to lighten up.
I agreed and went back to the party, but the image of him doing
that stayed with me a long time.
Later that year, J
met the girl that would later become his wife and the mother of
his child. She was really the “girl next door”.
She lived across the street from us and was the prettiest girl on
the block. They had a whirlwind courtship and later that
year announced they would marry.
By this time, the
rest of my family and I had realized that J’s drinking had
gotten completely out of control. He was drunk almost all
the time and when he wasn’t drunk, he was such a mean person
that no one wanted to be around him anymore. He was slowly losing
control and his violent outbursts were coming more frequently.
On one occasion, my sister was in the kitchen with him when he
threw a cast iron skillet filled with hot bacon and drippings at
her. I think he did it because she asked him to take out
the garbage.
By the time of his
wedding, he was so bad that my future sister-in-law contemplated
canceling the wedding. We were devastated and begged her to
reconsider. We said he’d be better once all the fuss
and stress of the wedding was behind them. Oh, how we were
wrong. J was no more ready to be married than a 10-year-old
and we were so in denial, we couldn’t tell right from wrong.
By the end of his
wedding day, J was so drunk that he could barely speak. During
the ceremony, I was so upset that I almost passed out. I
knew what a terrible mistake they were making and I couldn’t
do anything to stop it. There’s actually a picture of
me sobbing while J is hugging me. The person who took it
thought I was crying because my beloved brother was leaving me.
I was actually crying because I felt so helpless. At 17 I
had the insight to know that this would end tragically, yet I
couldn’t stop it.
A few months later,
when my sister-in-law announced she was pregnant, we thought he’d
change. He didn’t, he just got worse. About 1 month
before my nephew was born our family went to see a therapist
dealing with alcoholism. They scheduled an intervention.
It was to be all the immediate members of our family and J’s
best friend since childhood. If you’ve ever been
through an intervention, you know how emotionally draining it can
be. Prior to the actual day, the people who are intervening
go to a counseling session where they brief you about the plan.
This was very hard on my parents. Honesty was key and they
found out things about their children that day that they never
dreamed were possible. They learned that both my other
brother and I had experimented with drugs and drank. My
sister was also very hurt as well, because she’d never done
that and couldn’t believe that we did. We told the
truth because neither D. or I abused alcohol or drugs and we
wanted them to understand that not every one who drinks is like
J.
The counselor
explains that you must be willing to give the “abuser”
an ultimatum and that you must be ready to abide by it. I
remember driving to the clinic that final day with J’s best
friend. He asked me if I was really willing to cut J out of my
life if he chose not to get help. I looked him in the eye
and said, “Of course, how about you?” He said he had
too, because he couldn’t even remember what the old J was
like anymore. I agreed. He and I made a pact that no
matter what, because we were the two people who were the closest
to him, we wouldn’t go back on our word. We kept our
promise.
Later that day,
during the intervention, J heard things from each of us that
would devastate a normal man. We each told him one by one
that we wouldn’t be enablers to his demons and he must get
help or he’d lose us. Sadly, only his friend & I
meant it.
J agreed to get
counseling, but insisted that he did not have a problem. He
began treatment later that week, and within 3 weeks he was
drinking again.
The birth of my
nephew did nothing to curb his appetite for liquor and I think it
actually made it worse. The responsibility of being a
husband and father was so intense that he just couldn’t
comprehend it. My sister-in-law finally left him for good when R
was about 6 months old. She had to take care of herself and
think of R. We supported her decision then and still stand
by her today.
I completely shut J
out of my life after R was born. I realized that if the
birth of his child wasn’t enough to make him sober up, than
nothing ever would.
I should probably
clarify something, technically J isn’t dead. He is
alive and breathing and unfortunately still loyal to the only
thing in life he’s ever cared about – alcohol.
The only way I
could keep J and the hurt he brings with him out of my life was
to pretend that he had died. So that’s exactly what I
did. I can’t put into words exactly how I did it, but
I basically just treat him as if he didn’t exist. I
act as if he did indeed die 12 years ago.
Today, J’s son
is 12 years old. His ex-wife is one of my best friends. She
is as much of a sister to me as my own is. We joke that
when they divorced, we got her – which was by far the better
end of the deal. The only positive thing J ever did was to father
that child. Sadly though, he is not a father. His parenting
duties have always taken a back seat to his drinking. R is a toy
to be played with at J’s convenience, someone to boast about
at the bar and occasionally purchase a toy for to make it look
like he cares.
R is a thriving,
wonderful young man today, because of his mother, his
grandparents and all his aunts & uncles. We have made up for
the fact that his dad wasn’t around, doesn’t care and
chooses not to contribute to his upbringing.
R is the main
reason I cannot stomach looking at my brother. I can accept that
he chooses to hurt his family, but it is inconceivable to me how
anyone could not want to be a part of this kids life. When R was
younger, it was easier to dismiss and cover up J’s neglect.
However, that’s not possible any longer. R knows about his
dad’s drinking problems and he understands it as well. He
sees it every time he looks at J and though he claims it doesn’t
bother him, I know it does. Last year, some of R’s
friends asked him if it were true that J had been banned from the
neighborhood tavern. Sadly, R had to answer he didn’t know.
At that time, he hadn’t seen or talked to his dad in almost
a month. Imagine how that poor kid felt, first to have
someone ask you a question like that, but then to have to answer
“I don’t know”.
Funny, J is the
alcoholic with the “Disease”, but the innocent people
are the ones that suffer because of it. How do we protect R
against that? How do we make him understand that it doesn’t
matter what people say about either him or his father, but that
it’s the truth that really matters? He’s only 12 and I
know adults that can’t grasp that concept, so how can we
expect him to.
When I do see J, I
either completely ignore him or I abuse him with words.
When he shows up at
family functions, he’s almost always drunk. He’s
loud, obnoxious and just plain stupid. Reality as most of
us know it does not come into play for him. When he’s
not over-the-top drunk, he’s even worse. Almost always angry
and cursing at the world for his troubles, he tends to shake
physically, chain-smoking, desperately needing that drink.
I usually try to
keep my distance, however, if he speaks to me or provokes me in
any way, I let loose. I have never been one to be able to
keep my opinions to myself and when it comes to J, I’m a
loose cannon. When he yells at R or pretends to be a dad for an
hour, I lose my patience. I believe that his parental rights
ended at his sperm donation and that R is better off without him.
That might sound callous and mean – but that’s reality.
But truthfully, I have a right to that opinion, because I have
been around. For everyday of R’s 12 years, I have been
an active part of his life.
To be perfectly
honest; I am cruel to J almost every time I see him. I
berate and taunt him as much as I can. I am also fully aware that
the reason I do this is that I hope that one day, one of my
sharp, painful rants will make him wake up and realize what he
is.
This past year had
been the most painful. We lost our father to a long-suffering
battle with diabetes. While I understand that most people
grieve in their own way, J’s was most unacceptable. J chose
to spend every other hour in the bar across the street from the
funeral home drinking. Now, I wouldn’t have minded if he’d
have just stayed in the bar, but he kept coming back into the
wake and creating loud disturbing scenes. By the end of the
evening, as a group of us gathered in the pizza place to finally
eat, he decided that moment was perfect to begin a screaming
match with his on-again, off-again girlfriend. What a
wonderful way to end an already emotionally draining day! Leave
it to J to know just what to do!
I was able to see J’s
former best friend at the wake. It was the first time my
family had seen him since J’s 1st intervention,
which was 12 years earlier. After watching J stumbling
around, he asked me if I had kept our pact. When I had told
him I had, he just smiled and said, “Good for you”.
Then I asked him if he was ready to marry me yet. Smiling,
he said his wife probably wouldn’t like it.
The morning of the
funeral, J and I had a brief talk. I explained to him that
if he embarrassed me or the rest of our family at Dad’s
Funeral, I would have him thrown out. He agreed to behave,
perhaps because I had my knee on his chest and was resting my
entire body weight against his lungs. He did behave at the
funeral, but left so quickly, no one knew where he went. About 9
p.m. that night, he showed up at JMS and R’s house, pushing
R aside, telling him “I’m fucked up – help me”
and then collapsing into one of R’s bunk beds. R took
his shoes off, covered him up and placed a bucket next to him in
case he got sick. Then he called to tell us that his dad was
safe. I’m sorry, who’s the one we’re supposed to
feel sorry for? The one with the "disease” or the
twelve year old that had to put him to bed?
As I mentioned
before, only J’s former best friend and I have kept our pact
and because of this J’s alcoholism has dramatically altered
my relationship with my other family members. I cannot understand
how they can continue to deny what he is by just ignoring it. I
honestly feel that they think if he shows up to a birthday party
or holiday dinner that he’s trying to change. Guess what? He’s
been trying to change for 15 years! That’s not the part that
bothers me though – because I realize that’s the only
way they can cope. What angers me is that they try to keep me
quiet. I am constantly being told to stop pushing, to leave him
alone. I want to scream that that’s why he is the way he is!
Because everyone leaves him alone and lets him continue to behave
the way he does. My voice falls on deaf ears. It is much
easier for them to pretend that he tries, then to accept the fact
that he is a failure at life. Unfortunately, the truth is
too hard for them to face. Because I decided in 1986 to opt for
the truth, I‘ve had a lot longer to accept it. I wish
someday they’d follow suit, but as much as it hurts, I don’t
think they ever will.
It’s ironic
that the only thing he’s ever been passionate about has been
his right to drink. J’s choices in life have been
poor, but they belong to him. He has had every reason in
the world to stop drinking – but he has yet to waiver.
Some people think
that I should feel sorry for him. In reality, those people
should feel sorry for me. I am the one who lost someone.
So you see, J is
dead. The J I once knew and the J I once loved. I
will never again know the brother I once adored and I will not
waiver in my decision to distance myself from the shell of the
man that exists today.
His name is J and
he is an alcoholic. He is 39 years old and has never held a
steady job for more than 6 months. He’s never been able to
keep an apartment or home on his own. He has a 12-year-old
son that he barely knows and chooses not to support both
emotionally and financially. He is an angry, abusive and bitter
man that doesn’t have the courage to face his demons. He
is also my brother and I want nothing to do with him.
I’ve already mourned him once, I couldn’t possibly do it again.