My Brother’s Keeper

Yesterday I talked with the daughter of my estranged brother. I hadn’t spoken to her in 15 years. It was an emotional and heartbreaking call. 

That man, who makes it impossible to be in his life, is dying. Barring any tragic accident, he will be the first of the six of us to go. At the ripe ole age of 60. Anger, a two pack a day habit and enough weed to supply a small state has its way of taking its toll. 

I am numb. Not sure what I feel.

When I think of the little boy that was my childhood companion, my heart squeezes tight and the throat threatens to close up but that boy hasn’t existed for 50 years. He was fearless and reckless. Somewhere, I have a newspaper article of him, on some fancy bike my dad had purchased for him, jumping over 8 of his friends at a park. I think he took my fathers abandonment harder than the rest of us. It damaged us all, installing within us maladaptive life skills, but him far worse. He quickly aligned himself with kids that were getting in trouble. They got high, broke into houses, scuffled with the wrong people, eventually prompted a cop to bring him home and telling my mom that either she goes with them to the recruitment office or he was taking him downtown. The army took him but his trouble was only starting. There was no shortage of drugs or problems while he was in Germany. When he eventually came home, the army deciding they didn’t want him anymore, he brought with him a young woman that did not speak English and a baby daughter. 

The rest of his life was spent getting the raw end of the deal. We helped, he took advantage, made bad choices and then demonized the person trying to help. He shuffled that little girl around from here to there. She lived with my grandmother out in Palm Springs for two years. Each sibling tried to help out in some way and each time he wrote another person off when he screwed up and they set boundaries.

Sabrina, my niece, wanted to know some truths. I didn’t have the heart to tell her some it because it would also look bad for the mother she adores. I see no need. Honestly, he has hurt her enough all on his own without me adding to it. 

He hated my dad for the things he did and then went out and did the same things only on a grander scale.

I may or may not get in touch. I’ll wait until my heart gives me direction.