peace in my brother's ashes

it's been extremely difficult for me to write for the past couple months. as time ticks by, it has been harder to internalize my brother actually being gone. writing about it, let alone thinking about it, has become almost too much for me. each day that comes brings further realization that scottie is not here & that i will never be able to see him again. it has been nearly impossible for me to consider other things that are painful, like my grandma's long & hard recovery from heart surgery. or even the  heart breaking tragedy in japan - i would avoid reading or watching anything about it. it's like my heart has been unable to handle any further pain. today was the first day in weeks that i felt compelled to share my feelings.

one of scott's old girlfriends, & probably his first love, karen came back from haiti a couple days ago. she was one of the few of scott's friends i thought to contact when he was in the hospital back in january. i knew how much they meant to each other, even after all these years. & i didn't want karen to find out passively through a facebook post about my brother or some other impersonal means. she had the difficult task of grieving for scottie alone, 1500 miles away from her family & anyone who knew her free spirited, high school boyfriend. on top of that, she was surrounded daily by sick & malnourished children, extreme poverty, & a country still in peril from a devastating tragedy over a year ago.

my mom & i picked karen up at 16th & locust after she took the train in from new jersey. it was overcast & drizzling. we had been hoping to walk to rittenhouse square park from my house, about 3 miles away. but it wasn't looking very promising. we had breakfast at a cafe, & karen brought pages from her scrapbook: prom pictures of scottie & the dried corsage he had given her. she even had the piece of paper on which scott had written down our phone number. under it he wrote, in true scott humor, "ask for scott." karen had the first mixed cd he made for her, complete with a song from my husband's band & line drawings of our family dog, sadie. it was comforting to know that my brother would be preserved in another person's belongings, that she would be carrying his mementos when she moves her cardboard boxes from house to house, that he will be kept alive to whomever karen shares her keepsakes.

the clouds loomed ominously overhead as we ventured towards my brother's favorite place in philadelphia. harry fell asleep comfortably in his stroller as karen, mom & i talked endlessly about scott, pouring over what went wrong, but also about what was beautifully & undeniably perfect in his life. we thought about how many times scott had walked the same path, from rittenhouse to my house in west philly, because he didn't want to waste money on the train, & because he loved the exercise & the adventure. he probably saw a half dozen people he knew on the way & made sure to stop them to chat, compliment them on their shoes or shirt, possibly even invite them over to my house to meet me & my husband, or more recently his nephew harry. my mom & i vented over those friends, admitting that we had a difficult time fully accepting them. we knew how much scott loved all his friends, how he would do, & had done, nearly anything for them: including "lending" out countless amounts of dollars, giving his clothes or food even if he was cold or hungry, taking the fall for drugs. we concentrated on one particular friend, who had annoyed us for various reasons at the hospital & at the memorial we had for scottie the prior weekend. i told karen & my mom that i had been seeing him almost everyday i went out for a walk with harry & deliberately avoided his gaze so that i wouldn't have to talk to him. we didn't blame this person, or anyone else for that matter, for scott's drug & alcohol use or overdose. it is just hard to see others riding their bikes, smoking their cigarettes, smiling & laughing, when our scottie was the one to die.

the park wasn't too crowded. we walked to the middle of the square, where my brother used to spend so much of his time. i proudly showed off a couple of scottie's graffiti tags, which used to be such a source of frustration & anger for me & are now happy symbols of my brother's life & permanence, even in death. we sat by one particularly large defacement & my mom took out a portion of scottie's ashes. we had decided that we wanted to scatter some of his remains there, at his favorite philadelphia spot, where we could visit him whenever we wanted. we began our unstructured prayer when walking across the park was the exact friend my mom & i had just been discussing. we were immediately bummed. i tried looking away quickly but our eyes met & he waved. "did he see us?" my mom asked dejectedly. "i think so," i replied, slowly lifting my hand half heartedly, hoping he would pass through. but with a smile on his face, he changed directions & wheeled his bike towards us.

damn. it wasn't supposed to go this way. i had wanted an intimate & private time where a few of us who truly missed & loved scott could beautifully & respectfully dispose of his ashes. i reluctantly got up & gave him a hug. he had the same smile on his face that he had at the hospital, where he told us scottiescott's ashes right here... we are going to scatter them where he used to hang out the most... would you like to join us?"

i couldn't believe this dude was going to ruin this special moment for me. i had selfishly wanted scottie's ashes here because i could walk here with harry & talk about his uncle & visit him on days i particularly missed him. now this memory would be invaded by one of my brother's druggie friends who would rather have had his remembrance on 4-20, the marijuana lovers' favorite & most celebrated number. & suddenly i was reminded, as if scott himself was whispering into my ear, that he loved his friends. my brother would always bring them around, whether my family liked it or not (& more often than not we didn't), & he was never embarrassed by them & their smelly body odor, foul language, or booze & pot breath. my brother was proud to be their friend. he was always pleading with my mom & me to spend time with them. & he was doing it now, from wherever he was at that moment, fortuitously bringing us together. & i felt so honored & happy to hear my brother & oblige his selfless wish. & i knew how thrilled scottie would be to have us all together.

i looked up & saw how humbled scott's friend was after my mom asked him to participate. i took the clear plastic container & gently shook some airy ash & small pieces of bone onto the wet soil behind the graffitied column. we watched the dust swirl in the air then cling to the dirt, gently greying the ground. then my mom gave the jar to scottie's friend. he pointed to a nearby clearing & explained that last spring it was there that a whole bunch of their crew would sit around a deflated parachute & hang out for hours on end, smoking & talking in their unique solace amongst the conformity of the city. he walked out onto the lawn, slowly bent down & undid the cover. he saw that some bone fragments had accumulated on top so he thoughtfully shook the container. some ashes escaped into the wind, as if scott was blessing the sacred event. he carefully & lovingly made a peace sign with my brother, his friend's remains. it was a perfect & fitting tribute to scottie, who was always ending conversations with "peace" instead of goodbye.

we walked over to one other area that my mom & i had chosen a couple of weeks ago. 3 medium sized trees stood behind an exceptionally graffitied section of the fence where scott would spend a lot of time. karen cried as she poured out the rest of her first love's ashes. my mom & i started singing, watching scottie's dust flying away with the wind. i could feel my resentment & hurt being carried away as well, as if my brother himself was relieving me of such a heavy, unwanted & unnecessary burden.

we hugged scottie's friend & i could feel such love & acceptance. he even wanted to hold harry for a bit. & it felt as if my brother was embracing his nephew. it was exactly how the day was supposed to unfold. it was perfect. & i knew my brother had orchestrated the whole thing. he even waited until we were a mile from home for it to start raining.

elliott: #1

mike, harry & i had been on tour with mike's band in europe when my father in law, elliott was admitted to the bryn mawr hospital. before that, we had been gone for about a month circling the states. it was early june; harry wasn't even 4 months old yet. we hadn't been on tour since the previous august. the bus was newly painted, going from an old high school football eyesore from altus, georgia to a hand-painted hippie love mobile. it was parked outside our west philly house as the 9 of us, besides harry, scrambled to prepare for our first long drive of the journey to denver, colorado. we had to pack up the bus bays with the drums, guitars, amps, cabinets, & new merch designs. we had to make up our musky bunks with clean sheets, that never seemed to stay that way for very long, & stake out a place to secure our book bags without them being knocked over during the bumpy commutes. aaron was busy filling up the grease tank with the gallons of used vegetable oil that had been cluttering up our back porch for the past year. i was attempting to make sure i had everything i could possibly need for a 4 month old away from home for a month & a half: diapers, wipes, adequate clothing for cool & hot temperatures, teething toys, socks, & probably most important our passports.

my mom had been helping watch harry as mike & i prepared for the trip. bitsy, my mother in law, & elliott also came to say goodbye. i remember that elliott was particular irritable that day. with his bipolarism, you could never sure what kind of state he would be in from moment to moment. there were times that he would be so happy, or manic, laughing alone at something secret that you couldn't help but smile at his sweet gap toothed grin. but most times he was low, babbling incessantly about his ailments & conflicts with those who, he believed, disliked him. that day in june elliott was upset. maybe it was because his sons, particularly aaron who was living with him, was leaving. maybe it was because he wasn't feeling well; elliott wasn't it great health to begin with but had been complaining about his overall wellness for the few weeks prior. not long after arriving at our house, elliott was verbally objecting to being there. it didn't matter at what you told him; his mind was already made up. he reminded me of a child throwing a tantrum, & i was super annoyed. i couldn't understand why he couldn't enjoy his short time with us before being apart for 6 weeks. but i knew elliott. there was no reasoning with him. we briefly said goodbye before he lumbered down my front porch & into his car, impatiently waiting for bitsy to drive him the few miles down the road to his refuge.

on the road, elliott made sure to continue his daily phone calls. most times they were succinct, but sweet. he would call either mike or me (aaron didn't have a cell phone) & ask about each of us, & of course harry. if one of us wasn't feeling well, he would make sure to check in later in the day. sometimes he would say a prayer; sometimes he would complain about his breathing. but for the most part, elliott would call, ask how mike, aaron, harry & i were doing, & say goodbye. we hadn't realized how much his health had been deteriorating.

after 4 weeks on the road traversing across america, in early july we flew across the atlantic to spend 2 weeks touring europe. we didn't have phone access overseas so we didn't talk to elliott. i had emailed my mom & asked her to call him, because i knew he would be afraid for us. he was always nervous when we traveled internationally. when we toured across europe in 2003, elliott had xeroxed a map of the area & drew a thick, black line with a sharpie, marking where we could & couldn't go. when mike & i went to vietnam, he was irate with my dad, mom & me for dragging mike off to such a dangerous place. somehow we convinced him that the war had been over for decades & it had become a relatively safe vacation spot.

our flight back home had a layover in nyc. after rushing through customs & waiting to go through security, mike called his parents to ask if they would be willing to pick us up from the airport. you could immediately hear the concern in his voice as he spoke to his mom. aaron & i were eavesdropping, trying to make out through mike's questions what exactly was going on. aaron interrupted, tears in his eyes, "mike, is dad dead?" i was taken aback; i just figured our dog penny did something stupid, or maybe elliott was at the mental hospital again. mike silently shook his head & i exhaled, "god forbid." but when mike got off the phone he explained that elliott was in the hospital. he wasn't really sure of the specifics. i don't think any for us were ready for what we were flying home to.

the history of scott's nub: #2

my "hangout" at cooper

after a long & sleepless night, mike & i got up & drove back across the bridge to cooper hospital in camden. i should have known the severity of scottie's situation when they told me he was brought to cooper, rather than any other hospital in south jersey that was closer to where he was splitting logs. you'd think a medical facility in one of america's worst cities would be avoided at all costs. but people in dire or critically unique situations were usually sent there. like when about a month before scott's accident, the governor of new jersey got in that horrible car accident on the parkway & he broke his leg, sternum & collarbone among other ribs & vertebrae. i was thankful that my brother was at least in some capable hands.

we parked in the carport & walked to the front desk. we got a couple of guest passes & were directed towards the elevators to the intensive care unit. when we first looked at scottie, he looked like he was an overfilled water balloon. he had been pumped with so much fluid for his surgery that it would take a few days for it to seep out. his right had was bandaged with such a large dressing, by glancing at it you would guess that he lost his entire arm. he had plenty of ivs & monitors hooked up to his bloated body. years later i, this scene would haunt me when seeing scottie at the university of pennsylvania hospital. it was something i never expected to witness again. once was hard enough, & i couldn't help but cry at his helplessness, at my helplessness.

scott being scott

he was super groggy. i remember him looking so defeated, so exhausted. but he managed to smile at me, with his clear blue eyes that we shared & tried to comfort my sadness. i was amazed by his strength, but i was also terrified. the memories of scottie's threat of suicide & ensuing hospitalization were still right below the surface of my thoughts. i was scared that if his fingers didn't take, or even if they did the oddity of having only 4 fingers would spiral him into a depression that he wouldn't be able to handle. he already felt like he was an outcast, it was already difficult for him to conform. how would this affect his mental state?

after the fingers were removed

i got a closer look at his hand when the nurses changed the bloody bandages. the surgeons had managed to salvage & attach scottie's middle & ring fingers. they looked purple & swelled. he was on heparin, a serious blood thinning drug to ensure that the appendages were getting enough plasma. this caused his hand to bleed strongly & steadily, & for scott to have numerous blood transfusions. i was assured, for the time being, that the fingers were taking. but we wouldn't be sure for a few days whether or not they would be able to be saved. scott was hopeful, joking that he'd be like a cartoon character from the simpsons, all have only 4 fingers.

my mom finally made it up from florida after her own personal ride from hell. her boyfriend's father, who had been battling a terminal illness had gotten severely worse in the motor home. scottie was so angry at my mom. i remember him barely looking at her when she walked in the room. i can't even recall now why he was so upset with her. maybe she was the most likely scapegoat, the most easy to be resentful toward because she was his mom & she would never turn away from him, never stop loving him. my mom didn't let his bitterness drive her away & of course she did stick by him.

in our delusions & optimism, we had tricked ourselves into believing that scott would have his simpson hand. we thought that with the steady flow of new blood that his mangled appendages would have to take. we trusted that somehow his tiny damaged veins & nerves & muscles, that had been joined intricately & painstakingly in surgery, would be able work perfectly again. we could envision scottie back at his drum set pounding away with his friends. or at his blank canvases, getting ready to paint dark, abstract artwork that would be hauntingly beautiful. but we had to believe, we had to live in these daydreams because the other option was too painful, too terrifying to consider.

decaying fingers

we spent slow & suspenseful days in the hospital, waiting to see if scottie's fingers would be accepted back to his body. the moment they were finally rejected, the putrid smell of death permeated my brother's room. my brother's 2 attached fingers were dying, rapidly. the surgeons, for one bullshit reason or another, took their time in removing the lifeless appendages. they began to shrink & wrinkle, like grapes becoming raisins. the stink of rotting flesh poured from my brother's hand. if i took too deep a breath, i had to silently choke back my urge to vomit.

view of philly from camden

scott had to watch his final hopes decay right before him, on his dominant hand. his dream of becoming a simpson, a tv show that he had loved for years, would soon be lost. unfortunately, this wouldn't be the end. this would be the start of a whole new set of surgeries, obstacles, complications, & decisions that scottie would have to make; that would affect, in one way or another, the rest of his short, young life.

the fighters

it's strange the things that will stimulate memories of scott. a song, movie, smell, food, or walk to the park with harry can make me cry almost instantaneously. i guess it's nice knowing that he won't ever be forgotten. but at the same time, it's hard to stay happy for a long stretch of time. how can i, when scottie is brought to mind so regularly throughout my day? i wake up in the middle of the night, already thinking about him. & it's nearly impossible to fall back asleep again. i know it's only been 6 weeks, but i'm wondering if this will ever get easier; when will the raw, open wound eventually start to become a raised, purple scar.

last night mike & i went to see the fighter. i don't want to ruin the movie for anyone so if you want to be completely surprised, maybe skip this paragraph; but i won't be spilling some crazy twist or anything & let me strongly recommend seeing the film. it's based on the true story of brother boxers dicky eklund & micky ward. dicky had once been a renowned fighter & had defeated sugar ray leonard in the late 70s. micky was 10 years younger, & was being trained by dicky to become a champion boxer in his own right. it was apparent early on that dicky had some sort of drug problem, which you find out is his dependency on crack. this addiction, inevitably, leads to all sorts of problems for not only dicky, but micky as well. dicky ends up getting arrested & going to jail, where he is forced to get clean. when he gets out, dicky is faced with the reality that he had been blissfully ignorant to while smoking crack: that he put his brother in dangerous situations numerous times, that he had hurt & lied to his family, that it would be so simple to walk right back to his crack house & drug addicted friends. which he did. but instead of opening the door & lighting the pipe, dicky was able to say goodbye & walk away. you could see the turmoil within him, how badly & easily he could get high, but how empowering it was for him to walk away.

it was such a bittersweet moment for me. of course i wanted dicky to be able to overcome his addiction & go on & be a good father to his small son, to bring reconciliation to his family, to lead micky to a championship title. but i wanted that for my little brother, scottie. i wanted him to be the fighter & stand victorious. but it is a fantasy that i will only dream about. i am envious of dicky's sisters & brothers for not knowing the pain of having to lose their brother to an overdose. i will always be plagued with why scott was the one to die when there are other addicts who will keep on living, with second, third & fourth chances. some never choose to clean up & spend the rest of their lives using. why wasn't scott given another option?

today, scottie's name was put on a list of others whose lives were lost to drugs. it hurts my being to see his name added to such an extensive list, that i know isn't even near complete. but i am reminded that with each name, there are other sisters who have lost their brothers. & we are left to live always wondering & always wishing, with a distinctly shaped hole in our hearts that will only be filled when we are somehow reunited with our lost loved ones. & i am comforted, if only for a moment, by the fact that i am not alone in these feelings, these experiences, these innumerable inquiries. that we will always be fighting together for a moment of understanding & of peace.

rilke says, "live your questions now, and perhaps even without knowing it, you will live along some distant day into your answers."

i pray it is so.

for all of us.

amen.

here is a link to scott, & others, who died because of drug addiction.

my christmas story

holidays for my family were always such an exciting & traditional time. since we didn't have any extended family close by, our easters, thanksgivings, & christmases were primarily spent with just the 5 of us. christmas, by far, was both the most thrilling & habitual at the same time. my brothers & i were always overcome with holiday hysteria the days - well, month - before christmas. thanksgiving was treated more like the start of christmas season. right after the turkey, stuffing & cranberry sauce, my family would take out the boxes of decorations & manufactured tree, & hang every wreath, stocking, electric candle, & nutcracker in it's exact god-given place. as the weeks progressed, steven & scott & i would scour the thick newspaper circulars, eagerly cut out the pictures of useless stuff that we knew we  wouldn't get, slap it on a piece of notebook paper made out to santa, & shove it in mom's hands, all on the way into the kitchen to stuff our mouths full of grandma's kiss cookies she had sent special from chicago. also we had our favorite classic movies lined up, further elevating our excitement for the big day. & we would repeat those films, line by line, by heart.

christmas eve was magical for my brothers & me. we would spend all day bounding around the house, drunk on eggnog & candy canes, bursting with voracity & impatience. i'm pretty sure my dad seriously considered going to work on christmas eve so he wouldn't be subjected to our untamed fervor. the day was spent waiting for the sun to set. We would dress up in our church appropriate attire, watch parishioners solemnly reenact the historically inaccurate yet still beautiful birth of jesus, & join our voices in song as we lit our candles in the dark sanctuary. afterwards, dad would drive us around to look at the wonderfully, & sometimes garishly, lit houses. we would recount the year my mom saw a dog & mistakenly yelled out "deer!"like she had just spotted an ostrich or dinosaur. we would never let her live it down. at home we would open up & put on our christmas jammies. my brothers & i would get to open our gifts to each other, which were usually some worthless sparkly trinket or plastic jewelry from santa's secret workshop that the elementary school held each year. then we would nestle in front of the tv to watch 'a christmas story,' this was way before tbs started the 24 hour marathon. & steven, scott & i would sleep in the same bedroom, whispering & laughing before eventually fading into a blissful sleep. until one of us woke up before the sun, eagerly rouse the rest of us & christmas morning would begin, right after the parents made coffee.

everything inevitably shifted as we got older. my dad left & eventually we had to split christmas between 2 houses. i got married & further had to allocate my time. then my mom got a serious boyfriend & steven moved to china. holidays, especially christmas, were never the same. with the onset & consequent advancement of scott's addiction, they were becoming almost regrettable. he would show up hung over & at some point we would wait for him to grow irritable as his need for alcohol or other paraphernalia magnified. he would provoke fights with my mom, or whoever else would get drawn into his anger. we had no other choice but to exclude his addiction from larger family gatherings.

this past thanksgiving, mike, harry & i tagged along with my mom & her boyfriend, al to chicago, where most of my extended family resides. scott was living with my dad then, & had hoped to meet us there. but the previous year had been difficult. my brother had stayed out all night with 1 cousin, asked my 75 year old grandmother every night if he could go hang out at a local bar (regardless of the fact that he wasn't drinking at the time), & got wasted at my baby shower, becoming belligerent & accusatory towards the entire family. the icing on the cake was when he got arrested for graffiti & spent hours in the cook county holding cell. so we decided that last year we couldn't handle the stress & ceaseless anxiety that scott's addiction brought to grandma's thanksgiving. it was impossible to explain to scottie that we really did want him there with us, that we loved him & missed having him around. but we hated his anchor of addiction. it was going to drown him & gradually pull us down with him unless we cut ourselves loose.

this last christmas my mom spent with her boyfriend & his family, & i was torn with what to do with my dad & scottie. i called my dad & invited him & my brother to spend christmas in philadelphia with mike, harry & me. i told him that we would come down to florida, but with mike's nana now over 80 years old, we shouldn't risk spending her potential last christmases apart. he understood, but he thought it was best for scott to stay in florida, away from the outside forces that afflicted him up north. all the while, we were blinded to the internal demons that he would never escape from.

i made this sweatshirt for scottie a few years ago

christmas morning to got a phone call from my mom. i recall harry having a particularly difficult night of sleeping, so i resentfully ignored the first set of ringing. she dialed back immediately & i groggily answered to hear my mom & both brothers' cheery voices. i was instantly stoked that i answered. my mom had managed to get all her kids on the phone, while in different parts of the globe. we all started talking over one another. my brothers & i recounted a song from the garfield christmas movie that we used to sing every year, each of us singing our designated parts: me as garfield, steven as jon, & scott as odie. we laughed at how since scottie was the youngest, he got stuck with the part that consisted solely of barking. we made sure to make fun of mom's infamous mistake of calling the dog a deer. although we weren't together, & we didn't know when we'd all spend christmas in the same place again, for a few minutes we had a small glimmer of the holiday of my childhood. my mom cried, of course, wishing that we could be united. but now, looking back, i am beyond grateful for that family christmas conversation. i never would have guessed that it would be the last one i'd ever have.

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." ~Maya Angelou

i used to write nonstop in high school. i have dozens of journals, filled from cover to cover with various colored inks & pen line thicknesses. they are probably tucked away somewhere in a cardboard box, hidden inside the dark recesses of my creepy basement. they are somewhat embarrassing to read now. some of the problems i had back then were painful & profound; but most were so trivial & juvenile. the writings conveyed such deep feelings of aloneness, despite the fact that i had lots of friends & a loving family. & i felt so misunderstood. i would read poem after poem of my favorite authors to possibly find a line that i could relate to. then i'd copy it down in a different color pen, possibly draw a vine around it, decorated with flowers so it would stand out enough to read it later. don't get me wrong, i enjoyed high school. i wasn't super popular & i didn't go to all the parties each weekend. but i also wasn't the girl who sat by herself, or smelled bad & wore black makeup. although i did fart out loud once in the middle of calculus & i thought that i would die of humiliation. at school i had a tight group of friends who got along with nearly everybody. we had boyfriends & got into a minimal, yet harmless, amount of mischief. however at home, at night, while alone in my room, all i would want to do was sit with the lights turned low, listen to slow grunge ballads & write page after page in my journals. & maybe cry a little bit.

i think there is a deep down desire for people to be understood, not only by those around them but also by themselves. i think it was good for me to get my thoughts & feelings out on paper, however asinine & immature it appears now. they were true & real. & it helped me to better know myself. as i went off to college, writing became less & less frequent. i still have some journals from recent years, infrequent & partially-filled. but it wasn't like those in high school. i couldn't skip a day of writing back then; it was my water, my air. & i was slowly losing my sustenance when i stopped journaling.

eventually, i stopped being honest with myself. i learned the hard way that when you aren't truthful to yourself, you can't be true to anyone else. i was trying too hard to be what everyone else wanted me to be. & meanwhile i was ignoring my authentic feelings & needs, hiding them deep below those disconcerting moments you try hard to forget, like the first time you had to wear a pad after getting your period or when the entire school bus laughed at you when your neighbor called you "rudolph" after standing in the cold. it became easier to lie to myself, to become someone i didn't know, a complete & total stranger to myself.

it took a lot for me to even begin to embrace myself again: a lot of guidance, gentleness, grieving, & grace. i still have moments of regression, when i want to keep anger inside because it isn't always an appropriate emotion to feel. or when i feel neglected, i sometimes still feel the urge to press it down, along with the abandonment issues from my dad. but i remember that when i feel those moments as they come, express them as they need to be expressed, they won't stay concealed, festering & causing destruction to my insides. i can't afford to go back to being that stranger again.

being honest is a difficult task. but it is so liberating. i feel like i have this openness to give to others. i hope that by sharing these arduous & delicate stories that others can experience the same epiphany: that we don't have to live life alone. that there is nothing so unbearable & horrendous that we have to ignore our true selves. that we don't have to be ashamed or guilty. we are simply living out our lives the best we know how. we all make mistakes, some bigger & more harmful than others. but when we can get past all the harmful judgements we bring to others & ourselves, we can release ourselves from so much agony & finally be free.

about faith & marriage

tomorrow, mike & i will celebrate our 6 year anniversary. our ride together has been a roller coaster. a few years ago, we were separated. our unfounded & unrealistic belief that we were a near perfect couple & we didn't have to work on issues blew up in our innocent faces. after 7 years of being together, we took each other & our relationship for granted. we ended up living apart for 9 months. it was a profoundly dark & lonely time for both of us. scottie also took it very hard. i think he was forced to relive feelings of abandonment & extreme sorrow as a byproduct of my parent's divorce. but despite the dim outlook, he never gave up on mike & me. in the end, he may have been the only one to never fully submit to our break-up.

mike & i met when i was 19, a sophomore in college. he was 23 & had just graduated from temple. it was about 2 and a half years after my dad left. scottie was only 14 & took to mike immediately. he would tell me that he liked mike more than any of my previous boyfriends. scott loved that mike was a musician & valued his taste in bands. he would brag to his friends that his sister was dating mike from mewithoutyou. i think mike took on a fatherly role that was lacking in my brother's life. likewise, mike became very close to scottie & grew to think of him as a little brother. as scottie got older & formed his own bands, we would go & watch him preform at bowling alleys & school auditoriums. to my delight & mike's embarassment, one group even covered a mewithoutyou song, rather shoddily but very endearingly.

scott got caught smoking pot a year or 2 later. he got into drinking & eventually doing other kinds of drugs. we could see him & my mom falling into depression. at some point he threatened suicide & spent a short time in the mental hospital. mike & i decided to let scottie come on a brief tour with the band, maybe to inspire him with music, maybe to convince him that he didn't need to drink or do drugs, maybe just to reassure him that he was loved. we gave him some ground rules that even then, at about 17 years old, he wasn't able to obey. i left him by himself in the bus one afternoon & returned to smelled beer on his breath. he denied it, saying he had just rinsed his mouth with mouthwash. it was one of the first times he lied to my face. by then, the relationships scottie had with the rest of my family were slowly deteriorating, but i know my brother & i had a special bond that, until that point, was unwavering. i was so hurt by his betrayal, & ultimately he was too. he went to lie in a bunk in the back of the bus & cried. my brother told me that he didn't want to deceive me, that i was the one person he didn't want to upset. but after that, it became increasingly difficult for me to trust him again.

however scottie was never one to give up that easily on another. he equally stuck by mike & me during our separation. he would visit mike at our house & call to make sure that he was doing alright. he would tell me how upset mike was & how much he wanted me back. at the time, i was in too much pain to hear him. but scottie wouldn't stop voicing his desire to see us reconcile, long after it appeared that the rest of our families had given up hope.

he was with me when mike & i were brought back together. i met scottie at rittenhouse square. it was a beautiful & sunny day in april. it was one of those days that people long for after a cold, dark, lonely winter that never seemed to end. scottie was walking me through the park & introducing me to his friends. i mentioned that i was thinking about calling mike, to see if he wanted to meet up. the weeks prior, i had done a great deal of soul searching & been given a change of heart. i wanted to see if mike was feeling the same way, if somehow we could miraculously reconnect, despite all the shit we had endured. mike agreed to meet us. i could see how happy scott was, how strongly he was wishing for what mom & dad weren't able to do.

we convened in the middle of the park, a short distance from where scottie's memorial would one day take place. it was awkward for mike & me, having spent only short amounts of time together for the past 9 months. i was so scared.. wondering what was eventually going to happen between us. we all could agree that we were hungry & decided to have pizza together. it was there, in front of scott, that i told mike that i loved him. that i was sorry for all i had done, & took responsibility for my part in our failed marriage. but i had learned to forgive him & to forgive myself. then i asked him to take me back. at first he was reluctant. too much damage had been done. too much hurt had been committed that couldn't be rescinded. i told him that i understood, as tears fell down my cheeks, amidst the other paying customers of allegro's pizza.

scott went outside to smoke a cigarette & saw mike's brother aaron riding by on his bike. he flagged him down & pointed to mike & me inside. aaron came in smiling, hugged me & kissed me, & told me that he loved me. i earnestly told him that i loved him too. it was at that fleeting moment of love that mike believed we could miraculously overcome our past, that we could somehow make it. after pizza, i immediately moved back home & we tenderly cared for our marriage hour by hour, sometimes minute by minute, like a delicate newborn. we would focus on each other & ourselves, & move forward together, trying with god's help to not look back.

of course, it goes without saying that marriage is rough. every relationship goes through hard times, whether they are parental, sibling, workplace, or maybe with your intolerable neighbor. when you pledge to remain someone's partner - someone's one & only other, through the birth of babies & inconceivable betrayals, it takes a whole lot of work & faith in your partner, but also in yourself. & it doesn't hurt to know you have a little brother always in your corner who never stopped, & will never stop believing in you.