Flip the Page, on to Your Next Chapter....

This picture, is one of my most favorite pictures of just me.  Not particularly because of 'me' but because I love everything about the feeling of this picture.  Coach took this on Bourbon Street in New Orleans.  Just the two of us, were strolling on a beautiful morning.  This picture, represents one of my most Happy Places.

Today, my mom is retiring from State Farm.  After many combined years working in insurance.  By the end of this month, she will be opening a new family friendly candy store named Coco's...
This past weekend, we celebrated her birthday by helping paint the inside and outside of her new shop.  The color palate, inspired by my New Orleans picture.

When we were growing up, our home was definitely our Happy Place.  We were a Home kinda family.  We always had friends over.  We would have family movie nights.  Family pizza nights.  Celebrated New Year's with game nights, just the four of us.  We had quiet Christmases at home.  Quiet Saturday morning cartoon and doughnut weekends.  Our home was safe, quiet, relaxing and full of love.  A very Happy Place.
Sadly today, my mother's home is less happy.  It is so difficult with my brother's illness, to predict the mood of the home.  Some days, he may be happy and calm.  Other days, he may be unable to sleep, unable to relax, anxious or angry.  Increasingly, the long commute to work coupled by the unrest at home, has taken a tremendous toll on my mother.
She enjoys her friends at State Farm.  She has met amazing people, especially women, who have also crossed over into my life.  I know there have been many times, those friendships have helped to make her work place, a happy escape for my mother.  And I am grateful for them, for that.
But it is time, for her to return to her home town.
It is time for her to relax.
To enjoy more quiet mornings. To take more long and winding walks with her very excited grandchildren. 

Most of all, I wish so very much that Coco's Sweet Shop, will become a tremendous emotional success for her.  I hope children, will enjoy chatting with our Grammy, as they select a sweet snack.  I hope her little shop, brings a little fudge slice of joy to our town.
And I pray, her shop becomes her new Happy Place.
All my love, mom.
I wish you the very best on your next chapter.

My Broder.

Happy Birthday to my little (but bigger) broder!  I'm so glad you had a good evening, you deserved it... and many more nice, calm and loving evenings to follow.  Today little Coco excitedly giggled several times, for her love of her Uncle and his birthday!  She took so much joy, in decorating your sparkly birthday card.  You've earned her right to sparkle.  You are an extraordinary Uncle.. nothing can ever take that away from you.
Happy Birthday.
As always, I wish for you: Peace of Mind. A Sense of Calm.  A Life of Love. And a Thousand Other Simple Truths, others take for granted, in a given day.  You continue to teach us, life is a gift worth fighting for.
Being your sister, has made me a better person.
All my Love...

Tired.

This afternoon, my brother was once again hospitalized for his schizophrenia.  After another rough road, ending in another bad afternoon...
I'm tired of writing about this.
I'm tired of talking about this.
I'm tired of this being his reality.
I'm so so tired of all of it.

Last year, I created this video in dedication to his ongoing struggle.  To try and honor just a small idea of what he continues to live with.  I'm just so tired for him... for my parents... for myself. 



Thinking of you, Joel.
Wishing you were not alone, scared and hurting.
Wishing you could be released from your nightmare.

Brothers and Sisters.

We were honored to have Thanksgiving at our home, again this year.  Continuing with our Annual Thanksgiving Evening Ping Pong Tournament.  Often, our life is full of Coach Style Traditions... which is not necessarily a complaint, more of a 'that's just the way our cookie has crumbled'.  Ping Pong is a tradition from my family.  In our home, we kept a Ping Pong table up in the basement for months at a time.  We would have friends over for all night tournaments or just played us four.  Everyone could usually beat mom.  No one could EVER beat dad (which was par for the course with any game we ever played, ever.)

For the second year in a row, my brother did not attend Thanksgiving.  He was having a bad day.  Unfortunately, he seems to have many bad days. I'm sure... at this point, his absence at events goes largely unnoticed.  People are aware, he is uncomfortable with crowds... and honestly, our big amazing extended family is always a crowd. 

This year, his absence was not unnoticed by me.  After all this time, I should be used too my brother's illness.  But this Thanksgiving, the void of him, felt glaring. 

I often watch Coach and his siblings, with pure awe.  They are incredibly blessed to have each other.  To have five brothers and sisters, be so in-tune with each other is a gift.  Being within their presence, is almost like a television show.  They are honestly, each other's best friends.  They are Tru-ly as amusing, as they seem.  They sparkle around each other.

The loss of my brother, to schizophrenia, is an amputation to my family.  We are still technically a functioning unit but we have lost a limb.  We can still feel the phantom pains, of it's presence... but we are completely unable to walk through life, without a significant (if not totally debilitating) limp.

I missed my brother, all day on Thursday.

I missed him, celebrating his god-son's birthday.

I missed his old humour.

I missed whispering to him, about our parents.

More than anything, I missed him at the Ping Pong table... he most certainly would have taken The Golden Paddle Crown, from Coach.   

 

I hope my three children, grow to be like Coach and his siblings.  I hope they become tru friends.  I hope they annoy/seriously amuse each other with daily mass test messages.  I pray they consider vacationing together fun and not a chore.  When they leave the house for a drink, or run out of gas, or need help carrying something heavy... I hope they are each other's first phone call.

Above all...
I hope they always have each other.
It is much to painful, to not have.

Mother's Day: The Last Part

Finally, to my mother.

Obviously, the High of the past year was the impromtu trip to Savannah, Georgia.  Sure.. it was totally nuts, taking 5 children and shoving them into a van, with absolutely no planning or regard for our peace of mind... but it was so amazing to watch all five run towards the ocean.  Squealing in disbelief.

As a mother and daughter, the best part of our week, was the laughing.  Joking during Traffic Jam from He!! 2012.  The sarcasm that kept us in great spirits.  The trip was stocked full of unimaginable memories.  Definitely, the High.

But I'm writing a post, dedicated to my mother, on Mother's Day.  And this year, the most impressive thing about my mother... was her love, for her child.

It is 'easy' to love a healthy, beautiful child.  ('easy' as mothering can be) But the test of a Tru mother, an exceptional mother... is to love a child, at his very worst.  As Joel's schizophrenia progressed and became unbearably awful, as our hearts broke, our thoughts turned for the dark, as I began to silently plead for God to release him from this world and the one within his tortured mind... my mom fought, for her baby boy.

She spent SO MANY countless hours on the phone, calling doctors, nurses, aids, organizations etc.  Fighting for his rights.  Begging for someone to help him.  She drove countless hours, to visit for even a matter of minutes. Often times, to hear him argue or blame her, or to listen to him plead to let him come home.  She never gave up on him.

Even when her friends stopped supporting.

When her family stopped calling.

When it became unbearably embarrassing.

Joel was her child.  Her baby. 

He is a shell of what she had once created.  A physical reminder of the dreams, dreamt for her only son.  He is difficult.  He is never going to really be better.  He is honestly, one of the worst nightmares you could never hope to imagine for your baby.

And Still. She will always love him.

To me: this makes her amazing.

Mom- You have been an inspiration.  I can't imagine, I will ever forget or forgive the people who failed to understand what you were living with.  How any person, could not see how incredibly brave you were, totally astounds me.

Years ago: I gave my Dad a typically cheesy plaque for Father's Day, which read: Anyone can be a Father but it takes Someone Special to be a Daddy.

Now, I fully understand that nearly any woman can find the Joys of Motherhood.  But to be able to find the Pure Love of Motherhood, lost within the pain, anguish and ugly... makes a woman more than a Mother.  More than a Mommy.  It makes that woman: My Hero.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

You deserved so much more.

All my love-

Your incredibly proud daughter and friend.

Let's Kick it Off!

This weekend, we gathered quietly to celebrate my brother's birthday. Kicking off his 31st year.



We ordered his favorite pizza, snacked in a tray of frosted brownies. The kids colored a card, gave him big birthday hugs and smiled as they sang 'Happy Birthday' to their Uncle.
He decided he wanted to all watch a movie together. After we giggled, as my mother 'navigated' her way around her new Wii Netflix, Uncle decided on Howard The Duck. (which is surprisingly less of a family movie than I remembered)
It was a nice evening. Calm. Loving. Perfect.
Happy Birthday, Brother.
I am proud of your hard work, this past year. I know it was not easy for you. Your determination to 'fight the good fight' and continued work to be a better person, is an inspiration to my children. I am grateful, your strong will keeps you striving for the joy in yourself.
I hope your 31st year brings you:
Many more smiles, than heartache.
More projects to busy your talented hands and mind. More exercise and fresh air. A little sunshine on your handsome cheeks, as you sit captivated at (hopefully) adorable Tink T-ball games and (hopefully) impressive The Kid baseball games. More classes to help you better yourself and books to find your peace.
You and I have had plenty of trials, Little Brother but I still love you, just the same. To the best "Little broda dat you were bigger than but now he is bigger dan you" as Tink would say.
Happy Birthday, Uncle!!

He is home....

Thursday evening, my brother returned home. After seven weeks in hospitals and institutions. If you have followed our story, you understand the last few months have been extremely difficult. There were several gut-wrenching visits. Painful conversations with my children. Nights without sleep. Sobbing phone calls from my understandably heart-broken mother.
I have endured awkward silences from those I had once depended on for friendship and compassion. I have also been gratefully surprised by kind words and moments of genuine concern from others.
I received an email, including the following:

"....your blogs have generated numerous conversations between XXXX and I about mental health - about the state's lack of resources, tidbits that surprised or inspired us about your family's situation - it's really opened our eyes.
I didn't know your brother had a mental illness. At most, I thought he was a little different. So when your mother was telling me about his situation, even then I couldn't really understand it. She mentioned, he had been manic and that he would likely need to go back into the hospital and they'd use lots of drugs to mellow him out. I remember thinking 'oh, that will be a nice little quick-fix'. Just take a bunch of pills and back to normal... Of course it isn't as simple as that. Even though it hurt my heart to read, I'm glad you described the effects of the medicines. I've seen many people with mental illness and just offhandedly been like 'that guy was crazy.' And I've never once thought about how his mental health affects his family, his loved ones - his mother who gave him life and had so many hopes and dreams for him. Thanks for sharing for giving us something to think about."

The decision to post about my brother's disability, was an inner debate of great magnitude. I have inherited a personality combination from my parents, which includes my father's instinct to keep emotions private and guarded... mixed with my mother's coping mechanism to joke during a time of stress.
I write a blog, which many would eye-rollingly describe as 'putting my life out there...' My posts are typically a sarcastic and amusing fuzzy snapshot of our world. With the exception of the birthday posts, I rarely blog true emotion or the ugly reality of life.
By posting about my brother's schizophrenia, I have certainly blogged 'the ugly'. My fingers shook with each post and His Video dedication, ripped at my heart. After reading the above email, specific texts from my brother-in-law and numerous kind comments or notes sent to Facebook... I have probably never been more proud, of anything posted.
To hide my brother's struggle, would have been a grave disservice to him and every person who has suffered or will suffer from this illness. Quietly enduring the last months, would have shamed my family, specifically my little brother.
And so... What have we accomplished?
What has Joel gained?
What lesson, have we learned?

If I have helped, to make Joel's continuing battle, just a little more comfortable: then I have helped my parents, to give him a life. To give him a voice, when he is too scared and nervous, to use his own.
I hope my posts, have given the mentally ill, one tiny step forward. If I have changed the views of only my 44 Followers: Well then, 44 people will raise more tolerant and understanding children. 44 people, who will smile softly at 'someone different' rather than avoiding eye-contact. Maybe, there are 44 people, who will second guess themselves next time a group is making jokes about 'the guy who lives by the ballfield' or 'the lottery ticket lady'. Even better, 44 people who will feel enlightened to vote, campaign or fight for the rights of our nation's mentally ill... with the passion, many rally for the impoverished in other countries.

Last night, we shared a boring ol' Friday pizza dinner, at my parents. Joel appeared happy. He smiled. He hugged The Kid and joked with his nieces. My brother is still schizophrenic. His Tru Story, is still painfully unfair. We are still sad for him and worry about his future. But last night, he was home. He is safe.
And I am glad. I am proud of Joel. He continues to bravely fight a battle, we can not imagine. Joel's determination to 'put one foot forward' will serve as an inspiration, to my children. Even his sister, has learned to see him, through new eyes.

A dedication:

Today, my father returned home and requested my mother locate and print lyrics to a song. He explained: Twice, in the last 2 months, he has driven Joel to the hospital. Both times, the same song played on the car radio. Both times, Joel turned the song up and asked Dad to listen to the words. Both times, Dad was distracted... stressed, upset, tired and (I'm sure) convinced Joel was confused or disoriented.
This morning, the same song played once again, while Dad was alone in his vehicle. He turned up the volume and listened, as Joel had asked him twice before.

The song,
was "Unwell" by Matchbox 20.

After hearing the lyrics, Dad realized Joel was trying to tell him something. As you can imagine, Dad is devastated to learn he did not 'hear' his child. After mom told me this story, I was very moved and asked to print the lyrics on my blog.

Except printing the lyrics, would not give this moment the significance it deserves. I spent this evening creating this video, as a dedication to my brother.

Joel-
We are all listening.
I am sorry, you had to ask twice.

The Next 90 Days....

Last week, I felt a shift in my relationship with my brother. A jolt in the plates of my family, so slight the people around me may not have registered. Yet, significant enough to my energy, I could almost feel my soul shudder. Wednesday evening, I went with my mother to visit Joel. He called twice, asking for me. He took me to his room. He was extremely disoriented. Very distraught. Paranoid and physically unwell. When asked later about the visit, I could only verbalize:
"It was the worst thing, I have ever seen."
I'm sure to the precious few whom (gratefully) continue to ask, my response was vague and confusing. What was the worst thing I had ever seen? What did that even mean??

After giving myself a few days to absorb the past week, I understand my statement. The following evening after my visit, my brother 'voluntarily' signed paperwork to commit himself to 90 days in the State Mental Facility. Yes, this (fingers crossed) will be a positive step in Joel's struggle. Yet, the shift I spoke of was so quick... so minuscule... such a flash... others may not have noticed.

Joel is currently taking 17 pills a day, for schizophrenia. Pills to help him relax, to help him sleep, pills to help his mind desperately find clarity. For a body to digest this much medication, presents a long list of uncomfortable side-effects. His jaw is locking, his joints are stiff, his body is shaking uncontrollably.
We were visiting during dinner. I carefully watched him eat. He was primal as he consumed his meal, devoid of the common table manners installed in us as children. His hands gripped his food with such controlled deliberation. Obviously requiring his full concentration... simply to eat a meal. When he raised his coffee, his jitters caused him to spill on himself.
What was the worse thing, I had ever seen?
I saw my little brother's future.



Joel was once so handsome. A shock of blond hair. A bright trouble-making smile with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Joel was much more full of life, than I. He was interesting and magnetic. He was a brilliant shooting star, while I remained boringly calm, feet planted in the ground. He was four years younger than I and still, he could command attention. Joel grew taller, stronger and grabbed onto life with more unbridled enthusiasm, than I could imagine.
I understand, his unapologetic 'zest' was likely an early symptom. Fifteen years ago it was an envy-worthy character trait, which made him posed for greatness. Joel's intelligence, athletic abilities, fearlessness and popularity presented him with endless possibilities.

Wednesday night, Joel appeared hopeless. He looked much older. I sat close to him, he let me touch his hand. I noticed grey hair. His over-medicated body was wrapped in a blanket. My stomach felt ill, imagining this scene playing over again in 30 years. Just Joel and I. One day, we will be what remains of our family. I will likely become his care-giver. Just the two of us, with only my set of memories.

One saving grace over the last ten years, appeared to be the mostly happy and safe world Joel had created for himself. Joel designed a small environment, with a few close family members. He enjoyed mowing the lawn, watching sports on TV and visiting with his nephew and nieces. He seemed to freeze himself in time. He never appeared depressed. He never mentioned the ugly side of this disease, which eventually encourages it's victims to take their lives. We assumed, he was comfortable within his mania.

In the last month, Joel has been aggressive with my parents. He has crushed them verbally, claiming they were bad parents. He accusing them of abusing him and making him become like this. Obviously, his accusations have crushed my mother. She is heart-broken, Joel is unable to remember how amazingly happy we were, as a young family.

With me, Joel has been more direct. His thoughts continue to scramble but he has voiced painful observations, making it clear he is struggling under the weight of his fate. In the last few weeks, he has cried to me. His deep grown voice, has cracked repeatedly. He confided, he thinks I am embarrassed of him. That I prefer the company of Coach's siblings. He is upset, he does not have a wife, a home and children of his own.

Wednesday evening, as he argued incessantly with my mother, over a belt (he is unable to wear a belt with his jeans, in the institution) he became more agitated as he went back and forth with her. Finally, I interjected "Joel, they will not let patients have a belt, because they are afraid you will hurt yourself."
Without hesitation he responded "If I were going to hurt myself, I would have done it a long time ago."

The very idea, he understood harming himself was an option, was shocking to me. I had always hoped the world Joel created, protected him from such feelings. I honestly believe, my brother manifests memories of a poor childhood, as a mask. How could he live with the memories of how amazing he was? How could he wake-up each morning under the weight of the friends, possibilities and the future he has lost?

I imagine, the worst thing my brother has seen over the last few weeks of his extraordinary mental break, must be his own depressing reality. Honestly, how do schizophrenics find the strength or will, to forge ahead? Hopefully, a little bit of that unbridled life-grabbing enthusiasm remains in Joel's character. Enough to put himself back together.
While Joel, his team of doctors and my parents continue the daily fight of trying to find peace.... I have resolved to calmly maintain a sense of normalcy. Joel is an Uncle. A job he has flourished in. Yesterday, my children drew Uncle pictures. Tink made rainbows, Coco scribbled happy purples and reds and Joel's god-son drew (surprise) a ship.

(Uncle Joel and baby The Kid)



If we are a cornerstone of Joel's future. It's time for me to pick myself up and start walking down this road. Am I pleased, God has chosen this path for me?
Hellz no... but He has.
Please continue to send your prayers and positive wishes towards my family. I'm afraid we will need them, for quite some time.

Heart Break

This past weekend was extremely difficult.

* After a long and brave fight, a beautiful young woman named Taylor, lost her battle with cancer.
She was a classmate of One's. She should be enjoying a life at college. While I did not know Taylor personally, her father is The Kid's teacher. This man, returns my son to me each afternoon, inspired and enthusiastic about his day at school. That alone, tells me enough about the character of this family. They are Good People. And their loss must feel crippling.

* My brother suffered the very worst weekend, in his ongoing struggle with schizophrenia. Our nightmare escalated to a frenzied and desperate place. At this moment, he is at the hospital with my father. Hopefully, being admitted for a successful rehabilitation. I fear he may be gone for some time.

While many may be unable to see the connection between these two heart wrenching events... they feel unbearably similar, this evening. When God gifts a mother and father, with their precious child, their arms immediately reach to pull the new warm bundle into their hearts. Your first instinct of protection is primal.
A mother immediately thanks God, while simultaneously praying that He helps her, to keep this child whole and well. Unfortunately, answering that prayer is completely unrealistic. Their knees will scrap, their hearts will break, their bellies will ache...
And then, sometimes the beautiful bodies the mother had once created, will break beyond repair. And no matter the reason, the parent instinctively wishes to hold their grown baby, to their heart. As if, a parent's love will be strong enough to heal any ailment.

This weekend, families are in pain. For each of those families, I am Tru-ly sorry. But through the overwhelming misery, I have witnessed a small town unite. In our time of need, we were able to turn to several, whom stopped their lives to help us. Their contributions, no matter how small, were great and significant to my family. Your kindness, has etched a special spot in our hearts.

A sweet suggestion circulated, to remember Taylor. We were asked to light one candle on our front porch tonight. This was the perfectly appropriate manner to have my son, understand and share in the loss..

To every parent, whom has held their child as they suffered. Who has watched their baby's future fade away. Who has unwillingly surrendered their child, to a plan greater than their own: I can not imagine.
My thoughts are with you.



And now,
I'm glad I didn't know the way it all would end
the way it all would go.
And our lives are better left to chance.
I could have missed the pain,
but I'd have had to miss the dance.

Yes, my life is better left to chance.
I could have missed the pain,
but I'd have had to miss the dance

My Brother's Name is Joel.

My blog typically serves as an amusing stage for my extended family's hilarity. People click on Tru Stories from the 222nd Floor for a giggle or a cute picture. I often credit myself as living life filterless and keeping it 'realz'. A trait, I am actually surprisingly proud of.
In the past two years, I have sparingly mentioned my brother's illness. I have politely referred to his troubles as 'being ill' or 'not exactly the boy I remembered'. I am not ashamed of my brother or embarrassed by his disability. I have simply avoided details, in an effort to keep my 'public' from feeling uncomfortable. There are words/topics our society shrugs away from.
Yesterday, it finally occurred to me, my brother deserves a voice on my blog. As an outlet to hundreds of people all over the world, my continuing silence on this subject encourages the prejudice of the uninformed. If Coach's sister, had been diagnosed with cancer, I would have opened the blog floodgates. Pleading for your prayers. I would have posted her picture and bragged of her beautiful traits. By not treating my brother's illness with the same dignity, was a mistake. I owe him my apologies.
My little brother is four years younger than me. He was the bright light of our family. My brother's name is Joel. He has Schizophrenia. This, is his Tru Story.

Joel was diagnosed at 18. After two years of erratic behavior, which lead to experimenting with drugs or alcohol. (The eventually progression for nearly every schizophrenic.) Family or friends, immediately felt more comfortable blaming the drugs for Joel's behavior. I always understood the drugs were the result and not the cause. Joel had eccentricities as a child, which are now easily explained. He was nervous at slumber parties. He always kept his window tightly locked. He would color coordinate his drawers. We accepted these quirks as the traits of an extraordinarily brilliant child. Testing far above other children his age. Since his diagnosis, there has been times of extreme sadness. Times of bored daily survival, with a few precious moments of joy.
The brain is a complicated muscle, sending electric impulses to register thoughts, discomfort, physical need and emotion. A perfectly normal brain, often juggles their impulses fairly accurately but can confuse themselves with alcohol, sleep deprivation, even a passionate love affair. The schizophrenic brain has the same electric impulses extremely magnified and without the ability to properly compartmentalize.
For Example:

Woman A (with a normal brain) walks into a crowed bar, alone. At that very moment, Table Q (with several strangers Woman A has never met) turn in her direction, anticipating the arrival of a friend. Without having noticed Woman A, Table Q returns to their conversation, making a quick joke about the lateness of their missing companion. Table Q laughs hysterically. Woman A, believes they noticed her and made a joke at her expense. She stands frozen, registering the moment in her mind. While she is standing, two patrons from Table Q again look in her direction. One whispers to the other, they are STARVING and irritated with their late guest. The other responds by rubbing his belly and laughing. Woman A, witnessed this exchange, convinced they were making fun of her bloated belly in the dress she wore. Woman A feels embarrassed. Her face is red and she in devastated, believing Table Q is discussing how awful she looks (she already felt unsure wearing the dress!) She turns from the bar, rushes out humiliated. Returns to her warm apartment. Throws in jammies. Stays up late, feeling depressed and eating ice cream.
Table Q... never the wiser.

A similar moment has occurred for EVERY woman EVERY where. In Jr high, a girls bathroom...etc. Eventually, Woman A would calm. Realize Table Q probably was NOT talking about her. Woman A would feel silly and forget how ridiculous she behaved.
My brother, suffers moments like this, every time he walks into a public function. He is convinced the world, thinks he is weird. He is afraid people are talking about him. He becomes paranoid, ashamed, embarrassed. He may attempt to defend himself. He has likely created the scenario in his mind... though his disease prevents rational deduction from helping him realize the idea is ridiculous. He craves the safety of his home or the comfort of small groups, he can trust.

In the past 2 months, my brother has been weaning off an old medication and desperately searching for another. The result has left him seriously manic, sleep deprived and with painfully clear depressive thoughts of his life. Joel has been hospitalized, lost weight, attended countless appointments and taken hundreds, if not thousands of pills. My mother has written several uncomfortable posts on her blog. Unfortunately, each has become more of an irrational journal entry, too personal for many to deal with. Her ugly honesty, has unintentionally solicited uninformed advice.
I have heard people rationalize... "At least Joel is not a 7 year old, suffering from cancer." True. I pray to never know the pain of losing a child to an accident or cancer. Though, I honestly pray even harder my 3 beautiful children shall never inherit my brother's fate. My parent's only son, essentially died at the age of 17. (I understand this declaration will offend many, yet I stand by this statement.) Who Joel was, who he could have become, his memories, his interests, his abilities... died 13 years ago. Today, remains the adult shell of the person Joel could have been.

My parents are struggling with the impossible decision of long-term care. Professionals and friends have matter-of-factly, told them 'it is time.' I share the sentiment, this situation is not ideal or healthy for my parents and Joel. They are living in a highly-stressful environment. Still, my question is this:
If Joel had suffered a terrible car accident at 17, was severely paralyzed, yet retained his mind: would people callously expect my parents to cart him away?
From my more personal angle, Joel is my only sibling and an Uncle to my three children.




Joel is extremely uncomfortable attending formal events, in new locations. Yet, when The Kid received his First Communion, Joel was his only God-parent in attendance. Joel wore a new outfit, to a service not of his denomination, walking directly behind his God-son, to the front church.



Joel is nervous in situations with lights and loud noises. This winter, he attended every one of The Kid's basketball games. And several home baseball games.

(Uncle and Coco.)

After spending durations in Bromenn, Joel is terrified to be near hospitals. Yet, he faced his fear to visit The Kid, within hours of his birth. Joel will never have a daughter of his own. Though he will happily, draw a driveway full of princess castles (for his bossy Tink), play Barbies with his Coco and patiently read countless books, to his innocently adoring nieces.



It may shock the public to realize, there are not cute little Group Homes, on the corner of every small town. Honestly, mental illness has made very small strides from the days of the Cuckoo Nest. The nearest location to place Joel, is one hour and thirty minutes away. It is unlikely children under the age of ten, would be able to frequently visit such a location. If or when my brother is placed, will essentially end the relationship between Uncle and my children.
Joel will be alone. In a strange town. Without his parents, his sister or the only children, he will ever form a relationship with. Our family holidays will be reduced to uncomfortable 'Day Before' visits or brief lunches. On Christmas, we will celebrate without Joel... pretending to not feel his heart-breaking absence. The unbearable guilt will hang over our family. His phone calls, begging to be allowed back home, will rip at my parents soul, crippling their marriage. No more basketball games. No chalk castles.
I hate to appear so crass: but none of this makes me feel lucky, Joel is not dying from cancer. This illness is very much a cancer on my family.

If this post, has angrily struck a cord... I am glad. I want to shake your beliefs on schizophrenia. I want to start a candid discussion. Suggest this blog post to a friend. Or take another understanding look at the 'weird guy' in your community. My brother does not need your pity... he is sad enough for himself. My brother does not want you to feel uncomfortable in his presence... he is uncomfortable enough within his own mind. My family does not benefit from your whispers... my brother continually and bravely battles the whispers, haunting his thoughts.
My little brother's name is Joel.
He is Schizophrenic.
And I still, really love him.

"It's your Broda's Birfday?!!"

Tink is very excited for her Uncle's Birthday. Even more enthusiastic than usual. Possibly, she senses she should pick up the slack. As my brother's 30th birthday, has left the rest of us, slightly melancholy.
To lose your sibling to a mental illness, feels a little like a long death. You tip-toe softly. You learn to pretend and alter your own truth. To tuck away your memories. You carefully choose your words and actions. I often walk into my parents home, feeling prepared. Ready. Guarded.
Occasionally, I see a glimpse of him. A brief moment in his smile, or a joke shared about our parents. And my heart rushes with joy. Though, almost immediately, it again feels heavy with the loss.
Today, I feel sad. Today, I really miss my brother.
I wish, I was throwing him one of my fabulous parties. I wish I was spending my morning on the phone with his wife... keeping birthday secrets and planning little surprises. I wish I had bought a funny gag gift, or matching shirts for my children and his children to wear. I wish I had written a speech. I wish, I was writing a blog, that would not make me cry.
Ten years ago, I told my brother he would be an Uncle. Today, he has 1 nephew and 2 nieces who are coloring birthday cards, choosing cute outfits, discussing what hair ponies Uncle would like and singing 'Happy Birfday Uncle" over and oBer....
This past decade, has not been all sadness.
Today, I will focus on that.
At least... I will try....
In the last 11 years:

* My brother has traveled. He spent 9 months living in Arizona. He camped and cliff dived, on a mountain in Sedona. He hiked the Superstition. He swam in the Pacific surf with wild dolphins.

* He moved from his hometown, to start over. He has met new friends and reconnected with family.

* He continued to be a friend. When others were not. He remained loyal, kind and very forgiving.

* He tends to his home and his dog. His little piece of world. He prepares his space as his own apartment.

* He cares for himself. Which is so much more than many others who suffer. He attends his appointments, acknowledges his illness and takes his medication.

* He has been a groomsman and a brother-in-law.

* He has attended sporting events. For Coach, friends, college teams. He is happily The Kid's biggest fan.

* Because mostly. He is an Uncle and a God-father. Which will be his legacy. Public events, make him very uncomfortable. And yet, for the love of his nephew, he arrived early at the hospital to meet his boy. He proudly served his duty at a recent First Communion. He danced at our Happy Celebration. He will squeeze into a crowded Saturday morning Grade School Gymnasium, for a child's basketball game.

* Above all, his illness affords him the ability to remain a Buddy. He will play cars on the floor. He will read Coco a children's book, repeatedly. He will spend a lazy afternoon, drawing chalk castles for a bossy Tink.



My brother, is no longer mine. He has not been, for a long time. He reserves his love for my children. And I can not be jealous of that one saving grace. Thank-you, for being The Kid's past. For teaching him kindness. For loving him, so unconditionally.

Happy 30th Birthday, to my brother.
I will never, not feel the loss of your laugh.
I regret each time you annoyed me. Every time I yelled to "get out of my bedroom". The last time you really tried to hug me and I was too 'High-school'. The Christmas Eve, I rudely explained it was no longer cool to sleep on my floor. My long list of "Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda's"... are filled with you.

Lord I miss Daniel, oh I miss him so much
Daniel my brother you are older than me
Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won't heal
Your eyes have died but you see more than I
Daniel you're a star in the face of the sky

To my 'little' brother

Happy Birthday, brother! While, I am calling you my little brother (completely ironic, given you are five inches taller than me)...you are not really mine.
Now, you are just "Uncle". Dubbed, by The Kid.

You are excellent with the kids and I am very grateful you are in their lives. You get down on the floor to play action figures, read to your buddy Tink and snuggle up with Coco. It does you good, to soak up Coco love.
Thank you, for loving my children with your whole heart. For claiming them as your special family and for sharing in their lives. I could never express enough, how glad I am, you moved near us. You attend their events and help Dad with frequent babysitting. (I love a free sitter!!) My three children are even more loved, now that you are a short block away.
To my brother, The Kid's God-father and the girls 'Uncle'.
We love you. (I should tell you that, more often.)
Happy Birthday.

PS- Thanks for helping this frazzled mother, with her yard work!

Ye ol' Christmas Past.

A ghost shall visit (disguised as Carbon Hill) and take you on a trip to your Christmas Past.

While the Coach has a VERY large family....I have a teensy family in comparison.
Just my mom, dad and one younger brother.
As a result, I cannot reminisce, without thinking of him.
My brother is no longer himself. He is a different version of that self. The new self is an extraordinary Uncle, who loves my children without distraction and dotes on each unconditionally. That version, I cannot help but love and feel extremely grateful for.
Unfortunately, for the selfish me... my brother, does not have a clear memory of our past. Making my trips down memory lane lonely and painful.
That said, I am trying to shine light on the positive. This is the first year, Tink really 'gets' Christmas. I am watching her and The Kid, work into a frenzy of excitement. I am sharing in that joy, filling my heart to the brim with my three kids.
Many of the traditions in my 'new' family, are from my 'old' family. Each one, I shared with my brother.



We were allowed to open One Present on Christmas Eve. Typically, new pajamas. Later, we would exchange our sibling presents. Normally, he got me a book.
We could usually con our parents into opening a Christmas Eve Eve present on the 23rd. I am trying to push that in my home. In the past couple years it has been a movie, for 'Family Movie Night'.
On Christmas Eve, we would order a pizza, play old Christmas music (while dad hummed) and read 'Twas the night' in our new jammies. This year, we plan on replicating this (after Mass, with newer music and without Coach humming).



Christmas eve, My Brother would sleep in my room. This had less to do with bonding and more out of fear the other would wake first and get the stockings.
After a few years, I became rude and forced him to my floor. When I was 15... I forced him into his room. (He was very disappointed and this would be one of those memories I regret, in hindsight.) As The Kid behaves annoyed with Tink, it is hard not to yell "Appreciate what you have with your little sister, while you still have it!!"
On Christmas morning, My Brother and I opened the stockings without our parents. Dad needed extra time to crawl out of bed, put on a robe and fill a cup of coffee. Our Santa, loved stockings and they were nearly as awesome as the actual presents.
My children's Santa, feels the same. We would quickly open the rest of our gifts, carry our loot into our rooms and wait while mom made breakfast. Occasionally, we would travel out of town, usually we would stay home. ALWAYS...we would watch A Christmas Story. Each year, my dad would find it just as hilarious, as the year before.
My most treasured Christmas, would be the 'Year of the Giant Christmas Tree'. The tree was huge, I got Smurf jammies and a Barbie Condo with an elevator. I continue to duplicate the huge tree, every year in my home. Though, without the 4 boxes of tacky tinsel my mom, loved so very much!
I love to remember my childhood, though it makes me miss my brother. I am not able to turn toward him and say "Remember when"... which is sad, because we have several great "Remember whens". Above all, I miss his sarcasm. It is a bummer, when you do not have a sibling, to make fun of your parents.
He has, however, taught me that life moves at warp speed and you are never promised anything. As the next week progresses, I will take a breath, slow down and soak up every smile on my children's faces. Hopefully, our holiday traditions will pass to our grandchildren.
But not too soon. I want to live in this moment,
forever...if possible!

Photo recap:
#1. I am not an Umpa Lumpa, the paper has oranged. Probably, from bad storage: not my age!
#2. Cool, Bears jammies.
#3. We were not Amish...I can't really explain that dress. Or his dorky felt sweater. At least, we were cute enough to pull it off.