A lot of my art is about women. Sometimes I call my paintings 'girlies', gratitude girls, sister souls etc. I am one of six sisters - thus the 'girl' thing. But I am also one of 8 children. We were six girls and two boys. I say 'were' because, when I was 11 years old we lost my brother Robert. He committed suicide by shooting himself. He was 18.
Having a tragedy like that in your family leaves all kinds of residue. Incredible loss and grief. Shock. Hurt. Anger. Confusion. Questions. Shame.
I only have a handful of memories of my brother Robert. I wish I had more memories. I wish I had more of an opportunity to know him. I wish he had stayed around.
But this post isn't about the brother I lost. This is about the brother who stayed.
My brother Terry.
Terry is 3 years and few months older than me. As a family we have always been close. We lost our Dad back in 1996 and our mother more recently in 2010. Shortly after we lost my mother - Terry found he had a need to confide in us (his sisters) about of lot of things he had kept tucked inside for years.
So there was our family in 1968 - four older girls all married with families. Two young girls - myself just 11 and my little sister only 8. And there was Terry. 16 years old. The only boy now. What Terry revealed to us, what none of us had seen...in the midst of everyone else's grief and sorrow - another horrible thing happened. Terry got overlooked. Nobody took care of him.
We six girls all lost 'one' of our brothers that day. My parents lost one of their sons.
Terry lost his only brother.
Looking back now, I see... a teenager - busy with sports, his own friends, a girlfriend. He probably seemed fine..(did anybody ask?) I had my little sister, and together we had the blessing of youthful ignorance - the ability to forget (sort of) what had happened - to move through each day selfishly concerned only with ourselves and the moments of our day. The older girls each had their own families, and were concerned about how my parents were doing. Terry was suddenly alone.
As Terry opened up to us recently ... he told us he felt like he disappeared back then. His whole life changed. A door slammed.
My parents were absorbed in their own grief. I can't imagine how they got through each day. How they were able to think about much else. I know that my mother became zombie-like for a time. She admitted in later years that she was using pills the doctor gave her to get through the day - until she felt that she was using them too much. My father used it as a reason to drink too much. Basically their attention was elsewhere - and in no time Terry was off to college and married.
I feel so sad that he was alone at that time. It makes me sad to hear him say he disappeared. That time in his life took a huge toll on him that stayed with him for years. The details are his own story. Not for me to share here. What I do want to share here is the fact that I am so glad that he opened up to us. That he was able to talk to all of us, and tell us how he felt...how he feels. I hope that will continue. He is a wonderful man. Smart and funny, a great dad and grandfather. A really good person.
Mostly I am so incredibly thankful to have my brother in my life. To have this brother. The one who didn't disappear. The one who stayed.
Having a tragedy like that in your family leaves all kinds of residue. Incredible loss and grief. Shock. Hurt. Anger. Confusion. Questions. Shame.
I only have a handful of memories of my brother Robert. I wish I had more memories. I wish I had more of an opportunity to know him. I wish he had stayed around.
But this post isn't about the brother I lost. This is about the brother who stayed.
My brother Terry.
Terry is 3 years and few months older than me. As a family we have always been close. We lost our Dad back in 1996 and our mother more recently in 2010. Shortly after we lost my mother - Terry found he had a need to confide in us (his sisters) about of lot of things he had kept tucked inside for years.
So there was our family in 1968 - four older girls all married with families. Two young girls - myself just 11 and my little sister only 8. And there was Terry. 16 years old. The only boy now. What Terry revealed to us, what none of us had seen...in the midst of everyone else's grief and sorrow - another horrible thing happened. Terry got overlooked. Nobody took care of him.
We six girls all lost 'one' of our brothers that day. My parents lost one of their sons.
Terry lost his only brother.
Looking back now, I see... a teenager - busy with sports, his own friends, a girlfriend. He probably seemed fine..(did anybody ask?) I had my little sister, and together we had the blessing of youthful ignorance - the ability to forget (sort of) what had happened - to move through each day selfishly concerned only with ourselves and the moments of our day. The older girls each had their own families, and were concerned about how my parents were doing. Terry was suddenly alone.
As Terry opened up to us recently ... he told us he felt like he disappeared back then. His whole life changed. A door slammed.
My parents were absorbed in their own grief. I can't imagine how they got through each day. How they were able to think about much else. I know that my mother became zombie-like for a time. She admitted in later years that she was using pills the doctor gave her to get through the day - until she felt that she was using them too much. My father used it as a reason to drink too much. Basically their attention was elsewhere - and in no time Terry was off to college and married.
I feel so sad that he was alone at that time. It makes me sad to hear him say he disappeared. That time in his life took a huge toll on him that stayed with him for years. The details are his own story. Not for me to share here. What I do want to share here is the fact that I am so glad that he opened up to us. That he was able to talk to all of us, and tell us how he felt...how he feels. I hope that will continue. He is a wonderful man. Smart and funny, a great dad and grandfather. A really good person.
Mostly I am so incredibly thankful to have my brother in my life. To have this brother. The one who didn't disappear. The one who stayed.
