Saturday, July 23, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Separating Fact From Feeling
Once I was driving down the road in the middle of the day. I saw blue police lights ahead and began to move into the left lane but then I noticed the car that was pulled over. A compact beige car. Old, beat up, dirty, unkempt. I changed direction and turned right into a shopping center parking lot and pulled into a spot facing the road just a few yards from what was going on. The officer stood on the sidewalk waving his arms around. I couldn't hear but he appeared to be angry and shouting. He was giving a stern lecture of some sort. My brother leaned against the passenger door of his car. Faded ripped jeans. His hands embedded deep in the pockets of a ratty jacket. His cheap, dirty tennis shoes planted on the edge of the curb. The thick waves of his golden blonde hair were dull tarnished copper falling over his eyes. Too long in the back turning up at his collar. My heart bled as I watched my beloved brother, like it had so many times before, and at what he had become. My brother stood motionless and listened with his head down. He finally raised it in answer to a question and I saw his mouth move in excuse. I was waiting in case I needed to call my sister in law. My brother nodded his head in acceptance and the officer directed a few more words at him and returned to his vehicle. Much to my surprise and concern my brother swung around, got back in his car and drove away.
Last year on MotPG I wrote this post Fly Bye from last July. It is a tribute to my brother on the anniversary of his death. It is an honest picture of how much I loved the brother I knew. In spite of his faults. What it lacks are the full facts of who he was and what he did. I titled this Separating Fact From Feeling but I'm not sure that is accurate. Both posts are Fact in every way. Perhaps Feelings Despite Facts would better describe it.
The facts do not change the love.
Because this was a brother who indulged me when I was small and was only kind. The brother I missed when he was in the army and couldn't wait to see again. The one whose side I would have taken against my parents as a kid because I didn't know better. This is the brother who let me tag along. Taught me to fish. To shoot a rifle. To fly a kite. And when he met his wife included me in their world. And she did too, which is why I love her. And why after his funeral I told her, "I'm glad you stayed with him, even though none of us would have blamed you if you didn't." She answered, "Well I cared alot about him." Who didn't? That was the problem.
Most of the people he hurt loved him because of the person he was when he was not consumed with alcohol. The person who was very proud of his children the entire time he was letting them down. The person who sometimes made thoughtful and considerate gestures toward his parents while he also took advantage of them. The person who once spent weeks looking for a perfect antique clock as a gift for his wife. To replace the one she inherited from her mother. The one he broke in a drunken rage.
Some of the people he hurt did not know him at all.
The brother who would rapidly advance whenever he attempted a new job and then self destruct the moment he was promoted into a position of authority. This is the brother who was a wonderful artist, though he had no formal training, and most of what he did would be considered what they call a 'naive' or 'folk' art. The one who had an elementary school teacher publicly denounce him for a picture he drew as part of a project and accuse him of tracing the picture and lying about it being his work. So he never attempted to use his talent publicly again. Also the brother who was treated by an Army psychologist for depression in the seventies. She suggested some pills that would perk him up as an alternative to drinking. And so began an even more vicious cycle.
Also the brother who was discharged from the army for operating a tank while intoxicated. Yes, TUI. The brother whom my parents sent to rehab countless times. He cleaned up nice. Met his wife during one of those times. Or scratch that. Met her in a bar the day he relapsed.
The brother who bought his very first brand new car when he was in his early twenties and within one week totalled it in a head on collision. He had head injuries. The other person was blessedly alright. That time. The brother who due to laxity in the laws at that time, was allowed to drive away numerous times. The one who, when he did lose his license, was eventually given it back time after time and allowed back onto the roads.
Until the last time.
The very handsome and out doors type guy who systematically destroyed his body and mind with alcohol and drugs to the point that when he reached his forties he looked like he was in his sixties and had already done permanent damage to his liver.
I got the phone call around 3 A.M. and we tried to hurry.
The brother who, at the age of forty two, died from an esophageal hemorrhage in relation to severe cirrhosis.
Alone.
While I waited in a caged hall to be checked in.
At a prison hospital.
Three months before his scheduled release after serving his sentence
for vehicular manslaughter.
The brother I feel deserved to be there, without any question whatsoever.
And loved.
© 2011 All Rights Reserved
Last year on MotPG I wrote this post Fly Bye from last July. It is a tribute to my brother on the anniversary of his death. It is an honest picture of how much I loved the brother I knew. In spite of his faults. What it lacks are the full facts of who he was and what he did. I titled this Separating Fact From Feeling but I'm not sure that is accurate. Both posts are Fact in every way. Perhaps Feelings Despite Facts would better describe it.
The facts do not change the love.
Because this was a brother who indulged me when I was small and was only kind. The brother I missed when he was in the army and couldn't wait to see again. The one whose side I would have taken against my parents as a kid because I didn't know better. This is the brother who let me tag along. Taught me to fish. To shoot a rifle. To fly a kite. And when he met his wife included me in their world. And she did too, which is why I love her. And why after his funeral I told her, "I'm glad you stayed with him, even though none of us would have blamed you if you didn't." She answered, "Well I cared alot about him." Who didn't? That was the problem.
Most of the people he hurt loved him because of the person he was when he was not consumed with alcohol. The person who was very proud of his children the entire time he was letting them down. The person who sometimes made thoughtful and considerate gestures toward his parents while he also took advantage of them. The person who once spent weeks looking for a perfect antique clock as a gift for his wife. To replace the one she inherited from her mother. The one he broke in a drunken rage.
Some of the people he hurt did not know him at all.
The brother who would rapidly advance whenever he attempted a new job and then self destruct the moment he was promoted into a position of authority. This is the brother who was a wonderful artist, though he had no formal training, and most of what he did would be considered what they call a 'naive' or 'folk' art. The one who had an elementary school teacher publicly denounce him for a picture he drew as part of a project and accuse him of tracing the picture and lying about it being his work. So he never attempted to use his talent publicly again. Also the brother who was treated by an Army psychologist for depression in the seventies. She suggested some pills that would perk him up as an alternative to drinking. And so began an even more vicious cycle.
Also the brother who was discharged from the army for operating a tank while intoxicated. Yes, TUI. The brother whom my parents sent to rehab countless times. He cleaned up nice. Met his wife during one of those times. Or scratch that. Met her in a bar the day he relapsed.
The brother who bought his very first brand new car when he was in his early twenties and within one week totalled it in a head on collision. He had head injuries. The other person was blessedly alright. That time. The brother who due to laxity in the laws at that time, was allowed to drive away numerous times. The one who, when he did lose his license, was eventually given it back time after time and allowed back onto the roads.
Until the last time.
The very handsome and out doors type guy who systematically destroyed his body and mind with alcohol and drugs to the point that when he reached his forties he looked like he was in his sixties and had already done permanent damage to his liver.
I got the phone call around 3 A.M. and we tried to hurry.
The brother who, at the age of forty two, died from an esophageal hemorrhage in relation to severe cirrhosis.
Alone.
While I waited in a caged hall to be checked in.
At a prison hospital.
Three months before his scheduled release after serving his sentence
for vehicular manslaughter.
The brother I feel deserved to be there, without any question whatsoever.
And loved.
© 2011 All Rights Reserved
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Ok Blogger
Or Blogger in draft actually.
NO. JUST NO!
i will now spend 10 more minutes trying to find my way back to my other blog.
NO. JUST NO!
i will now spend 10 more minutes trying to find my way back to my other blog.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
It Has Been Proven Beyond A Reasonable Doubt
That you can lie your way out of anything in the State of Florida.
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