Lent Day 36 - Chris

Monday, September 9, 2019

The last time I lived in the same town as my brother was 1987, when we still lived in the big blue house in West Palm Beach. First, he went away to school in Boca Raton. Then I went away to school in Orlando. I moved to Tampa while he ended up in Athens, Georgia. He then made jaunts to Irvine, California and Madison, Wisconsin and Tempe, Arizona while I continued to circumnavigate Florida: Tampa, Jacksonville, Orlando again, Tallahassee, Orlando again. We had a brief flirtation with being in the same city once. He stayed with us in Orlando after he decided to move back to Florida. He toyed with the idea of living in the City Beautiful, but the beach won out, and he settled in Melbourne. He eventually went full-circle and returned to West Palm Beach, like most of our family does at some point. Meanwhile, my little clan and I broke free of the Florida eddy and ventured to Columbia, South Carolina; Houston, Texas; and Columbia, South Carolina again. The physical distance was a fitting metaphor for the kind of relationship we had. 

Even though we grew up in the same house and shared the same room, we could not have been more different.(Obviously, that is hyperbole. He could have been a honey badger or a lumpfish.) Chris was tall, lean, athletic, outdoorsy, hard-working, and undeniably brilliant. I was slightly taller, drawn with circles, bookish, indoorsy, happy to get by with minimal effort, and also very smart. We rarely agreed on anything. Our five year age difference felt like it was twenty years. He was always in a different place than me in life. We went to the same private school for five years, but we never were even in the same building. This wasn’t a bad thing for me, since I didn't have to grow up in his shadow. I meandered along behind him, never even having the same teacher as him even once. (Holly wasn’t so lucky. She ran close behind me and seemed to hit every proverbial banana and turtle shell I laid down in the MarioKart race we call life.) The one place where this separation did not exist was in our house. 

Chris had it much harder than I did. I was aware of this because I had eyes and a working brain. I also was reminded of it roughly eight thousand, four hundred, and sixty-seven times. The main reason for this was our father. As I’ve spelled out in several previous posts, our dad did not like Chris. (At least that is how it appeared. If he did like him, he had a really terrible method to show it.) My mom was convinced it was because Chris was not his biological child, even though our dad adopted him after he married our mother. I’m not sure the reason, but that one makes as much sense as anything else - which is none. No sense. Chris definitely took the brunt of Dad’s hostility. That was not the only reason that Chris had it harder, though. I am fully convinced that Chris suffered from several undiagnosed ailments. I am not a doctor, so I won’t diagnose him. But I would not be surprised to find out he had ADHD, depression, and social anxiety in addition to residing somewhere on the autism spectrum. Although they all paled to his alcoholism. The deck was stacked against him. I have no problem acknowledging that. I didn’t really need to be reminded of it constantly, though. It sowed more discord in a relationship that already was tenuous at best. And it made me feel like crap … a lot. 

I liked Chris. This was more than just in the standard “I have to like this clown because I’m related to him” way. I looked up to him. I thought he was clever and funny. I was always blown away by his artistic talent, his athletic talent, his academic talent. I never saw him fail at anything he attempted … well, almost anything (we’ll get to that). He taught himself guitar - way before you could watch YouTube videos. If he decided he wanted to play a sport, he would become excellent at it. He made the football team in ninth grade, and then destroyed his ankle before he could play a game. He made the basketball team in tenth grade. He learned how to skateboard, surf, windsurf, bowl, play tennis, play racquetball, fish. (Yeah, learned to fish. I never caught anything, so maybe there is something to learn in order to do it well.) He could beat me at any board game except TriOminos or QuadOminos. I never lost either of those, although he probably could have beaten me if we had played them more. He kicked my butt at chess, ping pong, pool, backyard baseball, backyard basketball, front yard football, Connect Four, living room wrestling … the list goes on and on. We would call each other names, escalating until one of us called the other “Ted Kennedy” - which was the worst insult possible. We had a lot of fun together. Many weekends and summer days were spent at the local racquetball courts, out in the street with a football, and on the mishmash patio with a basketball. One of my favorite memories was when we had to go to the grocery store for our mom. Chris was always willing to run to the store, which was odd because he wasn’t always willing to do other chores. One day, my mom made him take me - over his complaining. When we got there, he made his way to the Little Debbies. “Ok, if you’re coming with me, you need to know. I always get a Swiss Cake Rolls when I go to the store and eat them on the way home. Then I throw the package in the outside trash can. Mom doesn’t check the receipt or the garbage can. I’ll split them with you if you don’t tell on me.” Thus began our furtive snack sneaking - and it trained me to get Swiss Cake Rolls at the grocery store. 

At some point, though, things weren’t as easy. We still would do things together, but he was away at college. His trips home were mainly so he could do laundry. When my movie embargo was finally lifted after ninth grade, he and I would go to see movies together. Sometimes Dad would come; other times he wouldn’t. Hunt for Red October, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Henry V, Hook, Jurassic Park. We saw all of those together. I was continually floored by movies, thinking every one was one of the best things ever. He would say, “You just haven’t seen many movies.” He wasn’t wrong. Without him around, though, I didn’t go out and play sports on my own. I was happy to stay inside, and when he came home and wanted to go do something, it was almost always sports. He had gotten really good at the sports, and I had definitely reverted. His suggestion was for me to come along to the courts or beach and watch him. I could not think of a worse way to spend my day - sitting in the blazing South Florida sun watching someone else play or surf. This was also when Chris started becoming much more critical of me. He got on my case about being inside so much. He picked on my weight … a lot. He would make fun of things I liked - music, food, activities. It felt like most of the time he was just finding things to dog me about. 
When it came to be my turn to escape West Palm Beach, I fled to Orlando. Our interactions now were reduced to holidays and random times in the summer. They always were laced with tension and criticism. One thing that Chris hated was that I was taller and bigger than him. He always would stand up as straight as possible and try to compare heights - he did that even into his 40s. Our street football games took on a new dynamic because he couldn’t tackle me. When he would kick(throw) off, I would just lumber down the field (street). He would jump on my back, but I just kept going. It drove him crazy. He started punching at the ball - eventually nailing me in the nuts. If we weren’t in the same place at the same time, we rarely talked. This became the norm for most of our adult lives. I might talk to him a few times a year. When cell phones became normal operating procedure, it was easier to fire off a text. So we communicated a bit more, but not much. When we did interact, it didn’t usually go well. Chances were good there would be an argument or conflict. He would say something mean about me pretty regularly. What made things get worse was when I got a family. He still would make snide comments - but about them. That I wouldn’t tolerate. So we had a couple of big knock down, drag out clashes over how he talked to and about them. It became the norm for us to barely interact - maybe texts for birthdays. Just to show how infrequently we interacted, he didn’t meet our youngest son until he was several years old. 

That was why it was so weird when he called me over Independence Day in 2019. We had just moved back to Columbia at the beginning of the summer. Some friends had invited us to a Columbia Fireflies minor league baseball game. It was literally the hottest day of the year. Our kids were whining about melting. The Fireflies were destroying their opponent. They scored so many times in the first inning that the game was dragging on forever. It was loud, hot, crowded. And my phone rang with a call from Chris. I didn’t answer because I didn't think I could have a conversation in the ballpark. Then he called again, this time leaving a message. I had been trying to keep in contact with him somewhat recently. He was very unhappy with his job. They kept hiring people and passing him over for manager. So he threatened to quit. Turns out he did quit. In his message he said that he was going to take some time before finding a new job. He wanted to know if he could come up to see us and stay with us for a few days before going to surf in North Carolina. I was shocked. The last time that Chris had wanted to stay with us was when he ended up moving to Melbourne - so eight or nine years before.  And that was literally the second time he had visited our house. I talked things over with Heather, and then I told Chris that we would love to have him. The one big concern we had was his drinking. We knew he drank a lot, and we didn’t keep much alcohol in our house. We certainly didn’t want him drunk around our kids. So I told him that he wouldn’t be able to drink at our house, which he was amenable to. Time went by and I hadn’t heard much from him. The time for his visit came closer, and I figured I should find out if he was still coming. I texted him to ask him if he was planning on coming up to see us. “Why would I be coming up there and seeing you?” 

Like I mentioned with my dad, it is hard to know how to process things with Chris. There was another entity at play here, and that was alcohol. He was an alcoholic. It took a long time for me to understand the scope of what he was battling. Over the years, I was able to cobble together some information. He started drinking when he was in middle school. My dad had a liquor cabinet with various drinky drink things in it. He also had various Wild Turkey decanters scattered around. Chris would get into the cabinet and drink stuff. Nobody ever looked in there, so nobody ever realized what was happening. My dad didn’t drink due to his medication; my mom never drank. They never had parties or anything where people would drink. We were a non-alcoholic house, except with a lot of alcohol hidden away. The sneaking of alcohol turned into something more once Chris was on his own. I didn’t interact with him enough to know any of this. As time went on, there would be incidents where he drank so much, though, that he ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. I remember it happening every so often - maybe once in each location where he lived. Each time he would try to turn over a new leaf. He got into AA, got a sponsor, stopped drinking for a while. Then he would say he could control it. Then it took back over. Then he ended up in the hospital. In 2012, I went to West Palm Beach for my 20th High School reunion. I stayed with Chris, who was staying with our uncle. At one point, Chris was at work and I was on the couch watching tv. My uncle came into the room and told me that everyone was worried about Chris. I was surprised. I didn't know anything in particular that was a problem. He said Chris’ drinking was out of control. Again, I was in the dark. I said he hadn’t had anything to drink the whole time I had been there. “Did he have a big plastic cup with him?” Yeah, he had it all night when we were watching basketball. “That’s Sprite and gin. He goes into his room a few times each night and fills it up.” This was the first time I had found out the full scope of the problem. Over the next seven years, Chris would go through a roller coaster with alcohol. He ended up in detox, in rehab. He would go to AA and quit for weeks. Then he would pass out. He drove drunk, biked drunk, went to work drunk. Finally a picture began to emerge. He wasn’t getting past over for the manager positions because the owner was mean - it was because Chris was drunk. He reeked of alcohol. He was a brilliant person. He had a Doctorate in Bioinorganic Chemistry. He worked with the astrobiology department at Arizona State that was funded by NASA. He discovered a particular iron-sulfur bond, which he presented at an international chemistry conference. By this point, he was working in a landscaping warehouse. He said he had been black-balled because his old supervisor didn’t like him. He said he had been forced out of science because of collusion with people who were jealous of him. At one point, a job opened up in Florida that looked like it had been created for Chris. We all encouraged him to apply. He said that he didn’t get it, but didn't know why. It was because he turned up to the interview drunk.
All of that is to say the Chris I knew, the one I interacted with all that time, it wasn’t really him. It was one that was under the influence of alcohol. That point where he kind of turned in his interactions with me? That was when he was free to drink however much he wanted whenever he wanted. All of those birthdays he forgot, my kids’ names he forgot, my kid even existing that he forgot … he was drunk. The fights, the criticism, the rude comments - how much of that was due to alcohol? Or withdrawal if he had been kept away from it? Or shame? I can’t really know if any interactions we had were done sober or not. He didn’t remember calling me in July to ask to come see me. He didn’t remember anything. I didn’t know it then, but he had entered the final stretch. His body was shutting down. When he quit his job, he had nothing except alcohol. I really believe he decided to drink himself to death. Which he did. Over the next couple of months, he ended up in the hospital. Then he stayed with my aunt and uncle. Then he was back in the hospital. I didn’t know for sure how bad things were. I still was texting him and getting responses. They didn’t always make sense, but I figured his brain wasn’t working right. We were seeing his test results, and they were bad. They moved him onto the Hospice floor. I was trying to get down to see him, but things were busy. Hurricanes kept showing up and causing issues. The kids were starting school up at their new locations. Heather had just started her job. Holly had moved to Tampa, and she was having the same trouble getting down there. Finally, she went on the weekend of September 7. She video called me and said that I needed to see Chris. She turned the camera on him and … I couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t conscious. He was yellow. His body had shut down already. She was crying as she said that I needed to get down there if I wanted to tell him goodbye. I was a wreck. Thankfully, Heather helped get everything organized. We flew down immediately and raced to the hospital. We got there a little after midnight on Sunday - technically Monday morning. When we got to his room, the nurse said he was gone. I thought she meant they. had taken him for tests or something. No, he had just died. 

I still don’t know how everything happened. I don’t know how long he had basically been non-functional. I don’t know which texts were him. I don’t know. I just know that my brilliant gifted athletic artistic hard-working brother died at 50 years old. My thoughts about him are a mess, as you would expect. At times I’m angry at him for choosing the bottle over his family. But then I know that it wasn’t a choice he wanted to make. I feel horribly guilty frequently, like I should have known things sooner. That I should have been more active in his life. He was the source of a lot of pain - some of it caused by him, some of it caused by others because of him. My mother so many times would use him as a comparison, or she would defend his behavior. I didn’t work as hard as him. Things didn’t come as easy to him. If I worked as hard as him, think what I could do. He wasn’t lucky like me to find a wife. He didn’t have other people to love him like my in-laws. When he mistreated me, it was because he didn’t know any better. I needed to forgive him. He never needed to change his behavior. I should just take it and not complain. This all made me very resentful of him. There were different sets of rules for me and for him. (This was something that I could NOT STAND in any situation. Probably a gifted child issue.) 
I have found that my grieving for Chris is different than what I felt for my parents. This may sound bad, but I don’t miss him much. It is hard to miss someone who you barely interacted with. With my mom, there are so many times that I want to call her to tell her something. With my dad, I’ll see something about the Marines or the Bears. With Chris, there might be a football game or a song. When Georgia won the national title, I thought about all the years he was miserable rooting for them. But we talked so little that I can go months without having something happen to remind me of him. What I feel most of the time is that something just isn’t right. Losing a sibling is so odd. He knew me literally my entire life. We went through so much shared history. And then to not have him around … it is weird. The biggest feeling I have, though, is loss. Loss of what could have been. Loss of what should have been. My kids should have been able to know their uncle Chris. The oldest two are so artistic, and they could have bonded with him over art. He could have showed them techniques. They could have collaborated. My youngest is a math and science genius. He and his uncle could have had discussions about so many nerdy things. Chris could have talked about his time working with NASA; my son could talk about his interest in space. They would understand each other. Chris and Heather did have SOME level of interactions over the years. He was impressed with her brain and with her becoming a doctor. They could have talked about COVID and the responses. Chris could have really appreciated what Heather does. And I should have been able to have my brother. We should have been able to commiserate about the pains of getting old. We should have been able to talk about how awesome the John Wick movies are - maybe even go to see one together. We should have chatted about the Georgia championships. We should have been able to argue about whether the USC women’s team could kick his ass. We should have been able to joke about the Rihanna halftime show. I look at my relationship with my sister Holly now. We live several hours apart, and we only see each other in person a couple of times a year. But we live life alongside each other. We text each other frequently. We share our victories and our struggles. We send each other stupid memes and funny comments. That’s what I wish that we could have with Chris. A group text chain for the three of us. “Hey remember how you used to flick me in the nose in the car? That “poonk” sound it would make?” A picture of when I make our Grandma’s pie. 

My forgiveness with Chris really is two-fold. First, I have to accept that most of my interactions with Chris were sullied by alcohol. It’s like he was a Pod Person or zombie in some ways. It was his body doing those things, but what was inside was not him. I’m sure the families of pod people have a hard time forgiving their loved ones for trying to eat them. “Iknow it wasn’t really you trying to steal my brain, but it looked a lot like you. And I’m having a hard time trusting you with that melon baller now.” Second, I have to forgive him for leaving. So much of my story with Chris involved him leaving. Leaving for college, leaving for the other end of the country over and over again, leaving us too early. I never wanted him to leave. I wanted a relationship with him. I wanted my brother to be in my life. And it hurts that he wanted to be anywhere except where I was.