His name was Brian

Brian was born to a popular, playboy city kid and a kind, wounded girl. He had red hair & freckles the moment he was born. He was a brilliant child. IQ through the roof.

He watched his father beat his quiet mother. He saw the parties, the drinking, the fights. He ran with his mother. He saw the blood splattered apartment his mother had rented. All of her clothes shredded, belongings broken, every window smashed & his bleeding father sprawled on the white carpet. He watched as his mother did the unthinkable. She got a lawyer and won an annulment, the car, the furniture, the dog, the restraining order...in the 60's. My mother slowly shed her wounded childhood heart and become a women to be reckoned with. She put her foot down, slammed the door & made a new life for herself. But she was punished, by her mother, her society and her church. The Catholic church excommunicated her for leaving her abusive husband. Her husband....he finally walked away from her, never to see punishment in this lifetime.

My brother was about 9 when mom ran. Mom married a nice man, who took Brian on ski trips, camping, fishing & canoeing. He taught him how to fix cars and anything with a motor. Brian was safe. But he never healed for everything he witnessed.

A boy & his beloved dog

Brian with the "new" guy on his wedding day.

Brian, his freckles & his blue eyes.

At 15, his sister was born. I must have thrown him off greatly, because at 15 he became a drug addict. It started with a cigarette his friend offered him. Then a beer from the friend's father. Soon after..pot. 15, Fifteen.

Me & my brother who, on this day became my Godfather.

My parents tried everything, well everything you could do for an addict in the 70's & 80's. But in the end nothing helped. My brother traveled the world...selling drugs. He was a pusher, a pimp, a felon, a thief, a user. He was the guy who would sell drugs to your children. A brilliant mind wasted.

My exhausted mother & my "high" brother at Thanksgiving dinner.

He finally left our lives for good when I was about 10. I breathed a sign of relief. My mother just sighed. I cringed when I received his gifts to me. Cards that said "be good." Clothes, jewelry, flowers. The gifts came for my birthday or Christmas. My mother, never received a thing, not even a word from her son. I hated him because I knew what he was doing. He was slowly killing our mom.

Brother & sister

My mother was a strong, feisty, fun, kind, loyal women. She never showed weakness. She tried not to cry over Brian. The closest she got was when he was stabbed in the gut after a failed drug deal. He lay dying in a New York hospital. Mom cried, not because he nearly died, but because he healed & walked out to sell more drugs. He left her sitting by his hospital bed alone. The tears she swallowed soon settled over her heart. She never again allowed them to flow, so they festered in her breast till it rotted with cancer. Her left breast carved off her body was a reminder of how powerful a wounded heart can be. All that remained was twisted, black, burned flesh that she tended to day in and day out for months. Tending the hurt Brian had left her. Mom lived with her cancer for 5 years. I watched everything. I saw the flesh. I saw the infections & the rot she would get. I watched as her hair fell out, then her fingernails. I heard her vomit violently after chemo, only to apply fresh lipstick & march out the door & go to work. I listen to the years of hacking she did. An uncontrolled cough that would break her ribs. My brother remained silent. Knowing she was dying & never getting clean enough to care.

At 15...Fifteen... I buried my mom. At 15 my brother slithered back to attend her funeral. I hated him. I hated he was in our house. My father made him cut off all his stingy red hair. He took him to get his teeth clean. He handed me a wad of cash to take my stupid 30 year old brother shopping for respectable clothes. I watched as my brother twitched & fidgeted. He couldn't walk without looking behind him, waiting for someone to stab him in the back. At 15 I knew a jonesing drug addict when I saw one. I hated him. My mother was dead & I was hauling his pathetic ass around Crystal Point Mall. He said crap like "I'm clean. I went to rehab. I'm getting better." Liar. "I love you. I'm sorry I left you." Liar. "I'm sorry I never wrote mom, I love you, forgive me." Liar. He could barley try on shoes he was shaking so hard. He jumped every time a salesmen talked to him. Liar, I hate you.

At mom's funeral, my clean, suited brother stood by my dad's side. He wore a light pink shirt and a light colored suit. I refused to stand near Brian. I refused to be his sister. I had a friend say that he was cute. I told her "His nose cartilage has rotted away by all the blow he did. Oh yeah, thanks for coming to my moms funeral, so nice to see you."

Brain followed me everywhere. Outside to breath...Brian. Sitting on the steps...Brian. Bathroom...Brian. He creeped me out. I over heard my dad tell him "stop hovering around your sister. She doesn't trust you. If you bother her, I will kill you." I smiled at that last line. After the funeral my dad thought it would be fun to take a road trip to visit his sister in Minnesota. Grief makes people do weird things! I sat in the back of the car as Brian & his stepfather drove in silence...the whole way. One night at the hotel, I decided I needed to away from the men folk, so off to the pool I went. Swimming in the pool....Brian. Diving board...Brian. Ahhh hot tub....what the Hades?!....Brian. I bolted out of the hot tub & ran off to find a place to hide. Me, being oh so smart hid in the....sauna .........Brian. Brian in a bathing suit, awkward me in a bathing suit. Door shut...sauna. I felt the bile rise in my throat. He had me trapped. A drug addict had me trapped! I stayed calm as he sat next to me. I scooted away. He started to cry. He told me he knew he messed up. He knew I would never trust him. I asked him why he did it. Drugs. Leaving mom. He started to retell his story. "I watched my father beat my quite mother. I saw the parties, the drinking, the fights. I ran with my mother. I saw the blood splattered apartment my mother had rented. All of her clothes shredded, belongings broken, every window smashed & my bleeding father sprawled on the white carpet."

"It's still not an excuse, but it was too much." "I was too weak." "Mom...mom...mom suffered terribly. I saw it all. Somethings to horrible to repeat.""I'm so sorry.""I missed you.""You are my only family." Cold air rushed in as my dad slammed open the door. My dad, standing there in his short swim suit growled, "Get away from her...now" My brother towered over him as he walked out. My brother hide his tears from dad. My brother disappeared when we got home from our trip. He left saying he was going to get better. Make his life better for mom. But he knew, as we did, it was too late.

The awkward trio in MN. "Smile everyone! Mom's dead & you are standing in front of a lovely lighthouse. Ain't vacations fun?!"

His father called one day out of the blue. I knew immediately as my father said "John" with disdain & dripping with hate. My dads face never changed as John told him what happened. I didn't have to hear John to know. They found Brian alone, dead of a heroin overdose. All he had left of the $300 worth of clothes, shoes & toiletries my dad bought for him was a duffel bag, a pair of socks and a worn picture of me. A picture of me.

My dad & I didn't shed a tear. All my father could say was "at least he waited to die after your mother."

I don't remember when or where he died. I know I was still in high school. I continued my life just trying to survive my teen years. I didn't have time to think about a brother that deserted us. But all these years later I search for him. Sometimes I imagined he was alive...hiding somewhere from the drug lords that owned him. But I doubt a 5o something druggie is smart enough or healthy enough to survive this long.

When I joined the church I heard about how families can be together forever. I didn't want Brian to be apart of my family. All the agony he caused our mom....it caused me to hate him. I put the thought about doing his "work" into the back of my mind. I got married & moved on with my life. I forgot about Brian. Until one night my husband & I had a dream...each. It was of my brother, in white..... "please, I'm sorry." He actually looked happy. Dang nab it...now I had to find him! Besides, I realised, if I don't do it, no one will. I am his only family. I asked my Dad if he remembered Brian's death info. He didn't. So the search began.

Years ago we didn't have the Internet yet. I couldn't just pop on the computer & find all the info I needed. So I had to go the old fashion route of working with a genealogist and then writing 3 stated for his death records. My searches came up empty. But now, I got smart (I really don't know what took me so long!) I finally realised I could contact Social Security to have them search for his SS number & hopefully it will tell me when & where he died. So here I sit. Waiting for the paper to tell me his info.

I don't know if I really believe in "the work." It's a sweet but impossible, confusing thought. The best I can do is offer up this olive branch. Offer him a new life. Remeber him as a child. Think of him as a brother he wanted to be. Do the work & HOPE that in the end...it is true. And in the end I will see my mother and brother healed...together.