excerpt from: Soul Biography (work in progress)
Our family had grown to include a brother and another sister. I don't know if my father had all the conventional hopes a father has for a son. I suppose expectations for children are often not realized, as hopefully children develop their own expectations for themselves to become who and what they wish. I do know that my father was harsh in some ways, and maybe more so with my brother. I wonder if my mother spent whatever emotional energy she had—energy a woman might invest more in a male child, hoping to be appreciated and understood by a son more than by a husband. All this is speculation on my part, and questions that have remained beyond his death.
Looking back, it seemed that early on my brother began to spin a dark web around himself—one in which every member of the family was eventually caught up. That he was a troubled soul became increasingly clear as the years passed. He went his own way, and lived by his own rules. In his younger years, he would go off from the neighborhood leaving everyone to look for him, later there was some vandalism, getting into fights and other sorts of minor incidents—which happened more often into his early teens. He often became the center of concern and attention, as was need. When he enlisted in the army, at first he seemed to benefit from the rigour and regimentation. When orders came, as was expected, for him to serve in Vietnam, we were all concerned.
Not long after I had married, Ron came home from Vietnam addicted to heroin, was assigned to a rehab before being discharged, but when he came home for good, he remained addicted on one substance or another. And so, continued life on his own terms—ones that brought him up short of any chance for balance in body, mind and soul. Instead, his life was one long descent into self-destruction, tragically playing itself out over decades, and leaving a lifetime of sorrow and despair for the rest of the family to cope with.
In and out of rehabiliation, probation and jail terms, he never left the home of our parents who seemed to enable him, alternately calling the police when things got unmanagable, and then droping charges, as they must have felt helpless, hopeless and guilty for what any parent might feel was a betrayal of the unconditional love expected and often felt by parents. The rest of the family suffered, argued, disagreed about what to do or not do. The typical family get togethers for holidays and/or celebrations were never predictable, and, if they happened at at all, were usally interupted by crises involving my brother.
Our family had grown to include a brother and another sister. I don't know if my father had all the conventional hopes a father has for a son. I suppose expectations for children are often not realized, as hopefully children develop their own expectations for themselves to become who and what they wish. I do know that my father was harsh in some ways, and maybe more so with my brother. I wonder if my mother spent whatever emotional energy she had—energy a woman might invest more in a male child, hoping to be appreciated and understood by a son more than by a husband. All this is speculation on my part, and questions that have remained beyond his death.
Looking back, it seemed that early on my brother began to spin a dark web around himself—one in which every member of the family was eventually caught up. That he was a troubled soul became increasingly clear as the years passed. He went his own way, and lived by his own rules. In his younger years, he would go off from the neighborhood leaving everyone to look for him, later there was some vandalism, getting into fights and other sorts of minor incidents—which happened more often into his early teens. He often became the center of concern and attention, as was need. When he enlisted in the army, at first he seemed to benefit from the rigour and regimentation. When orders came, as was expected, for him to serve in Vietnam, we were all concerned.
Not long after I had married, Ron came home from Vietnam addicted to heroin, was assigned to a rehab before being discharged, but when he came home for good, he remained addicted on one substance or another. And so, continued life on his own terms—ones that brought him up short of any chance for balance in body, mind and soul. Instead, his life was one long descent into self-destruction, tragically playing itself out over decades, and leaving a lifetime of sorrow and despair for the rest of the family to cope with.
In and out of rehabiliation, probation and jail terms, he never left the home of our parents who seemed to enable him, alternately calling the police when things got unmanagable, and then droping charges, as they must have felt helpless, hopeless and guilty for what any parent might feel was a betrayal of the unconditional love expected and often felt by parents. The rest of the family suffered, argued, disagreed about what to do or not do. The typical family get togethers for holidays and/or celebrations were never predictable, and, if they happened at at all, were usally interupted by crises involving my brother.
His life may have been more of a mystery to him than to any one else. There was always a kind of innocence about him and naive incredulity on his part that anyone would be concerned with his life at all--his intelligence and talents fading and finally disappearing into addiction. His association with other troubled souls, the disruption and dysfunction of family life, eratic behavior, verbal abuse, and sometimes violence became the norm.
I wonder if the meaning of his life was to move us to break the silence, denial and blame lack of self-knowledge, to force us to "take a stand," to help each other, to acknowledge what we lived. We did all of those things from time to time, but never were able engage my parents to reorder their priorities so that there were hopes, dreams and energy for all their children, and for each other. And with endless crises, overdoses, jail terms, court cases--how could there have been a plan that worked, an order of priorties? But that was my wish, my hope.
He was found dead in a flop house--the realization of decades of fear come to pass. When the police came to tell our parents the bad news, before they could get it out, she asked if he had killed someone? For a mother to even imagine that could happen, or even that a child would live the life he had and end in tragedy, is still incomprehensible. But she had seen him at his worst, and feared the worst.
I wonder if the meaning of his life was to move us to break the silence, denial and blame lack of self-knowledge, to force us to "take a stand," to help each other, to acknowledge what we lived. We did all of those things from time to time, but never were able engage my parents to reorder their priorities so that there were hopes, dreams and energy for all their children, and for each other. And with endless crises, overdoses, jail terms, court cases--how could there have been a plan that worked, an order of priorties? But that was my wish, my hope.
He was found dead in a flop house--the realization of decades of fear come to pass. When the police came to tell our parents the bad news, before they could get it out, she asked if he had killed someone? For a mother to even imagine that could happen, or even that a child would live the life he had and end in tragedy, is still incomprehensible. But she had seen him at his worst, and feared the worst.
Later, when I looked at his death certificate, and the thing that struck me as the most tragic—even more than, “Manner of Death: accident. Cause of Death--adverse effect of drugs—self-administered,” was the line which read “Never Married.” I don’t know why that reality had more of an impact than the other facts listed. Was it because it affirmed that my brother had none of the ordinary experiences of the joys and struggles of human relationship most people have in life. He did have extraordinary highs and long downward spirals, which never resulted in the motivation to live differently--and so a life-long, lingering sadness of a lost soul, leaving a family wondering if anything could anyting have been different, better. It must be that it all was as it had to be.
Now, I look back with less emotion, less judgment about anyone’s motives, actions or shortcomings. Why? Because I have had to look at my own human failings and have learned how life can catch us up like a butterfly in a web, like a leaf in the spindrift of a stream—not able, willing or even aware that we are so fixed for a time or a lifetime, not aware that the slightest movement could set us free.
My brother was a butterfly; he was a leaf. Death set him free.
Now, I look back with less emotion, less judgment about anyone’s motives, actions or shortcomings. Why? Because I have had to look at my own human failings and have learned how life can catch us up like a butterfly in a web, like a leaf in the spindrift of a stream—not able, willing or even aware that we are so fixed for a time or a lifetime, not aware that the slightest movement could set us free.
My brother was a butterfly; he was a leaf. Death set him free.
May perpetual light shine upon him.
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