The sting has subsided; the disappointment of loss, the sorting of feelings. It’s been two years since my brother left his earth bonds. That doesn’t mean I have forgotten the pain; the memories; the years. They are there, buried in the recesses of my heart and mind.
It would seem that there wasn’t much to his life. When I retrieved belongings and after I have sorted through all that my mother and father kept of Robert, there wasn’t much left. A small shoe box held the entirety of his existence. A broken football trophy, a Calvin and Hobbes book, the writings of a tortured, young mind from a Rehab program he was once in…all that was salvageable, beside his birth and death certificates.
This alone makes me mad. That my precious little brother that I had the secret language with, whom I competed with, whom I fought and wrestled with, whom I had adventures with, who understood me as his sister…that guy was more than that stupid box of junk!
How do you equate a human with the things they choose to do or collect or save or give away?
They are these amazing receptacles of life and deep spiritual beings who have a relationship with their Creator that goes farther than we can see or understand. We who look on at others, cast furtive glances, make quiet appraisals, categorize, plan and decide how we will deal with one another. ‘Living and let living’ is easier said than done when it is someone we love and care about and think we know. Trusting and honoring is even harder.
No one knows the wounds of mental illness like a family that has endured its ravages. My parents bore a lifelong grief that marked their faces and wearied their walk.
My brother was labeled ‘mentally ill’. He was tagged with ‘paranoid schizophrenia’ when he was thirteen years old.
My other brother, David, and I have often talked about the amazingness of our own families, counted our blessings and then looked at each other, asking the same question, “What happened to Robert?”
We have never found the answer to bring peace to that question. We could blame our parents collectively, or our mother, or our absent military father, or a third grade teacher, or drugs, or alcohol, or bad friends, or some hidden abuse, or something we did, or didn’t do… but at the end of the day…there is no blame. It was, it is, it hurt, it’s done.
My brother was lost most of his life. He was locked up in some hidden prison in his mind. When he would reach out a hand to catch someone else’s it would be rudely slapped away and he would just stop trying. That resulted in years of attempts to draw him back out, usually in one mental hospital or another. I suppose it was easier to be kept away; but easier for who?
The last time I actually lived with him was when he was fifteen. That is too young to be torn from your family. That splintered our home into a thousand pieces.
Rob spent the rest of his life trying to ‘find’ home. To my knowledge, he did not find that until he took his last breath, in a hospital, by himself.
Coming to grips with this was the hardest thing I think I have ever felt. I knew he was dying. I spoke life to him. I told him he could finally ‘go home’, that he could rest and be welcomed with open arms by his Savior Jesus. That his Father God SAW him and LOVED him and was waiting for him.
Before he was unresponsive, he had told me he was just tired. I asked him if he was ready and he agreed he was.The weariness of life and struggling to live and breathe was done for him.
Even now…this recollection brings tears and ‘shoulda, woulda, couldas…’ These thoughts fade and thankfully give way to better ones…
Through the years, the little glimmer of his humor, and our ‘secret language’ would resurface, reminding me of a relationship that was one of my first. He called me ‘Butsoy”, I called him ‘Robort’, with apropriate accents. The memories of spun tales and invented games would bring a quiet chuckle and a sparkle to his dull eyes. Then I knew that Robert was still my little brother…
So today…
I heard my ‘name’…He was calling out ‘Butsoy!’ That made me smile.
Oh Lord!! Thank you for the years with my brother. Thank you that you handpicked Robbie for me… You knew I would need him. I am glad You have him now…
But dang it! Today I miss him.
