He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

  

Facebook may want to tell me what my year in review was, but I’m going to go against ‘the man’ and tell you my own review of the most important events of 2013: 

Kevin moved back to FL after a painful breakup. He and I ended well. I was grateful. Its not easy living with your parents. It’s not easy watching your kids drive off into the sunset. I am glad he’s back in FL where he’s happy. My back healed after 6 months and thousands of dollars later. In addition to teaching yoga, couples yoga, I've started a program working with women for 6mo at a time to find mind/body/spirit transformation. It's an invitation to the present moment. It's been the honor of my life to work with women who 'want to heal.'  I’ve got 1-year of menopause under my larger belt and have not hurt anybody. Rich and I had countless opportunities to connect with our interfaith friends that forever changed us. Also Rich and I celebrated 25 years of marriage. That’s a big deal. Angels in heaven lost bets on us. Thank you God for growing us up together and growing us closer! And I turned 50 along with all of my childhood friends. We partied our way into our 50^th decade. Bring it on! However, nothing was more important to me then the SALT-3 Peace Treaty that happened between my brother Rich, and I in 2013; we put down our ballistic, sibling, verbal weapons and really talked—while ratifying a long-term armistice. If you know me, you know that I hate conflict and peace is my highest value.  

(With my brother’s permission, I’ll share a part of our story.) 

At the end of winter of 2013, I reconciled with my little brother Rich, after 3-1/2 years of not speaking to each other. In May of 2010, I was attending yoga training for 19 days and stayed with my brother. After a week or more, he and I got into the BIGGEST fight we’ve ever been in (and we were in some doozies when we were kids). This fight was nuclear! It ended with me packing my bags, calling a cab, and leaving within 30 minutes.

It took me a few years to realize that I’d rather ‘be in relationship then be right’. And honestly, nobody is ‘right’ when they are in a fight.  

At the time, in 2010, Rich had already been deeply hurt by some things that were happening in our family of origin. Me too, but I was further down the road and had a few more tools to cope with the pain. I had better boundaries. Hurtful things were happening outside of his control. (And In case he didn’t know what his part was, me, being the self-righteous older sister, took it upon myself to let him know.) I cut him deeply with my sharp words.

Nobody more then me knows Rich’s familial pain. Nobody more than me knows how difficult it is to build a bridge over the unsafe raging rapids of Wayne River (Wayne is my family name). 

I triggered Rich in 2010. In the moment, my words came off as disloyalty. I couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t hear me. We defaulted into old patterns that we learned as kids: scream the loudest, and then be damned to hell and exiled to the wasteland of Unforgiveness. I was mad at him because we were in disagreement. I was reacting to his anger. So like all controlling big sisters, I fired back with a verbal bomb to shame him into his place. It grew into a hurtful misunderstanding that only could be repaired by love. 

I grieved for 3+ years and wondered if we’d ever reconcile. I gave Rich space and waited. When either of us is upset, we are both a force to reckon with. God help anyone in our path if they are on the wrong side of us. (Yes, I know that is a growth edge.) However, it’s what we learned and it needs to be unlearned.

We grew up constantly being shamed and blamed and rejected by our parents (even well into our adult years). That has a incredible impact on your personality, on your soul. Our reaction in 2010 towards each other was more about the past. I thought it was about what was happening in the moment, about our disagreement and how we were each seeing things. No, I had a lot of time to think about it. It was decades of pent up frustration and hurt. We both wanted something that we would never be gifted. Our fight was not with each other. 

Our parents never valued harmony and love; never showed us how to resolve conflict. They were always mad at someone (and by someone, I mean us). They treated us in a way that were unfathomable for little kids to comprehend. However, it’s all they knew. They never modeled how to heal our ‘crazy angry’ family. We could have forgiven them, but they never owned or took responsibility for how they made us feel as kids or adults. We were always on their ‘shit-list’. It was always our fault. My two brothers and I tried to get our parents to hear our hurt or anger. It never worked. It was too scary for them to 'go there' and listen to their adult children call them on their 'shit-list'. Denial and blame was safer. We asked for course correction to drop the mean pettiness. We asked for full acceptance of 'everyone in or married into' the family. They always opted for a cold war strategy, built impenetrable walls, and gained allies to concur with their justification and reasonable pride for ignoring or rejection us. And as imperfect as my brother and I were, we were good kids. We were good adults. We tried. 

In 2010, Rich had an automatic reaction to me as he was blamed for the One-Thousandth time (again by someone he trusted); I was trying to fix him and get him to see my way. (I know, it's a bad habit.) I became my mother and my father in one-fell-swoop. The pain is deep and when it comes out, it isn't pretty. I know why more than anyone! 

In the past, Rich and I have had to choose to love each other and ourselves when there is conflict between us. In my adult, sisterly mind, when it comes to family, Rich and I need to work extra hard to offer acceptance and understanding when we are offended. We know we are not always right. We know better. And we do not want to repeat history (but we have at times). 

I know the good in Rich and vice versa. I have not wrote about this yet in detail, but the time is now to share 'a piece' of the most private part of my life story. In fact, my brother Rich was really the only one I felt I could truly sort out the family history with. Back in June of 2008, just after being released from the hospital because of suicidal ideation and a nervous breakdown, ‘my’ husband, Rich, asked me what I wanted to do that weekend as we ate our burgers at Red Robin. I said, “I want to go see my brother, Rich. I want to drive to Arizona now. Nobody more than my brother knows how much pain I’m in. Nobody more than him knows the abuse, and insults we’ve been through—the insanity. Nobody knows how much rejection and unkindness that’s been heaped on us. I need to process some of this shit with someone who was there, someone who knows me.” One hour later, we packed up that car and drove 33 hours straight to Arizona.

My brother and I have a long history of trying to make sense of our childhood—our sadness and loss. When are parents were fighting or not speaking to each other, Rich and I would fight. We picked up the energy in the house. My other younger brother, Mike, he’s not like us. Rich and I are wildly expressive and emotional. Mike is the quiet one; internalizes it all, He's like my dad. My youngest sister, Becky, who is 17-years younger than I, has a different relationship with my parents. (I’m happy for her.) She wasn’t around growing up so she has no idea what happen or the patterns that were in place for decades for my brothers and me. She was spared. Rich and I have been purging our pain together for years. Both my brothers were there for me in my darkest hours. In 2010, when Rich was going through a hard time, I was not in his corner. I went into fix it mode; my way of coping when their is family conflict.  

Sidebar: I don't like writing about my parents. God knows I wish I could be writing about cheerful, loving experiences about my parents and lifting them up on a pedestal. It's not the life I've been given. I've always been envious of close families. Every time I (pause) see mothers and daughters shopping, there is a ting of sadness. Every time I (pause) see a loving father with his daughter, I wish mine would have be that way to me. I've always struggled between telling my story, (how I experienced them and how they impacted me) and being real and authentic when writing. Plus, how would it make them feel to know I put it out there? Do they care? My intention is never to hurt others. If I only wrote about happy things, my writing would be fluffy. In fact, I spare most of the unpleasant details. I struggle to let my parents be flawed human beings who (may) have no clue about how much damage they inflicted on 3 of their children and a few of their grandchildren. My friend Steve McNitt told me, "Hurt people, hurt people."  I've always expected them to be the loving adults. My parents have never sincerely apologized to us. I am not angry with them any more. I wish them peace and God's best. I just can't be in their lives without love and harmony. But I can't keep them out of chapters of my life any more than I could keep Rich or Kevin out of my story. Life is life. I also am not the hero or the victim. I've made lots of mistakes as a parent do (some of my best parental screw ups end up in blogs). And as hard as it is to embrace the hurt my parents have cause me, it's made me who I am today. My love for peace (between men, women, nations, faiths, families, dogs and cats). My loyalty to my friends. My willingness to own my crap because they didn't own theirs. As much as I've failed with Kevin, I own my shit because my parents didn't. Thank you, Mom and Dad. (I genuinely mean that.) Had that not happen, in my distorted need to always be right and control others, I may have always steamrolled over Kevin's feelings and caused him to question his worth and goodness. Oh I have flatten Kev at times, don't get me wrong. However, there is always a little bell that goes off in my head when I see a look on Kevin's face. I know when I've crossed the line with my arrogance or stubbornness. I feel crushed when I hurt my son. I never want him to feel rejected or abandoned. Our kids tell us the truth we need to hear. I will always receive what Kevin has to say about my faults and how it's impacted him so we can be in relationship. Our parents teach us good and even harder lessons. And because forgiveness is what makes the world a better place, I will honor my parents by always keeping the door open to the hope that they will choose to change and repair their (entire) family. That will take some work on their part. Healing is possible if there is true repentance and love. Thank you Jesus! Maya Angelou said, "When you know better, you do better."  

In our many hours of conversation, my brother Rich and I decided that we didn’t want to have the same kind of family legacy that our parents and grandparents (even great-grandparents) had. We choose: No blaming and cutting each other off forever. 

In 2010, we didn't have the strength under pressure because what we were dealing with was 'bigger than us'. History was about to repeat itself. There were too many players and our parents were involved. We couldn't fix all the problems by ourselves. By not speaking to each other, we lost our way. However, I never wrote off my brother or stopped loving him. I was just mad. OMG, I was so tried of being at war. Each prayer I prayed for 3 1/2 years was one of love and hope for peace. Rich and I just didn't know how to reconnect. Our family history is so complicated and disappointing. To protect ourselves, we stayed away so we wouldn't eventually hurt each other by reminding each other what is wrong in our family and how we can't fix it. 

Then finally in 2013, I reached out through a casual text. The first few dozen back and forth texts didn’t go well. Rich was being defensive and protective. I understood and hung in there. Miraculously, my brother heard me. He knew I was sincere. He knew I was on his side. He knew I never wanted war between us.

In order to heal our relationship, I owed my part of the blowup and admit that I was triggered by his body language and tone of voice. I have a low tolerance for anger and defensiveness with my brother. I was unable to bear his differing opinion and I pounced. I forgot that anger is a cover for hurt. So in trying to shut his opinion down, I activated world war 3 between us. 

Honestly, I understand Rich so well; it didn’t matter if he owned his part. I didn’t know if he was able or ready to do that. Yet, I needed to be crystal clear about my part. Because we made this pact to ‘change our legacy about getting along’, he reminded me of that when we talked. I know Rich isn’t perfect. Both he and I have lots of growing still to do. Besides, he couldn’t live without me…I’m a great sister. 

And even though I suck at being the ‘family diplomat’ and self appointed fixer of ‘all things’ broken, all I ever wanted was peace. If I couldn’t have it with my parents, at least I’d have it with Rich. He knew that. However, I could not resolve our dispute by myself. It takes one person to forgive. It takes two people to reconcile. Within an hour of texting back and forth, we were on the phone. After a few hours on the phone, all was well. Thankfully, whatever damage there was between us, it wasn’t so high we couldn’t build a bride over our sibling pride or hurt.

In October of 2013, my brother and I had a reunion in Maui. (I know, great place to have a reunion, huh?) He was renewing his wedding vows and we were celebrating our 25th  Anniversary.  From the moment we saw each other I was at home in my heart.

Even though Rich drove me crazy as a kid, I’m very protective of him. I know what he didn't get as a kid. He knows what I didn't receive that would have helped me be more mature.

 

I have long let go of all need to repair our unending family dysfunctions. In fact, we no longer spend hours talking about our mother or father's unwillingness to be loving parents; we’ve moved on. I’ve also come to my senses about correcting my brother’s faults. Rich never told me what I’m doing wrong or how I was screwing up. He just wants to be loved and accepted. I’m to bring understanding to the sibling table—nothing more (unless he asks for my feedback). It took me this long to know my purpose as his older sister.

There were times that weekend on the beaches of Maui that I got choked up as I watched my brother. In a way, I’m like a mom. I ‘see’ him for who he is and love him unconditionally. I know his long history. I know why he does what he does. I know he tries.

Rich lives in Oahu now—a thousand miles away from his pain in AZ (where my parents live). He looked different: older, content, a tad calmer, but much happier then I had ever seen him. I never saw him so happy and in love, so affectionate to everyone around him. We laughed and joked. There wasn’t any tension between us. It dawned on me that he was beginning to heal from the deep ache of rejection in his heart as a son. I understand that rejection. I also know it's possible to find healing. I felt like God was allowing me to see a special moment into his heart. Rich is my little ‘big’ brother (he acts like the oldest even though he’s not). I am his big ‘little’ sis (I’m okay with that when were not fighting). We had a great time together in Maui.

I don’t know when I’ll see Rich again; Hawaii is a long way away. I shed some tears just thinking he's so far away. What if I never see him again? I can’t just get in the car and drive 33 hours to see him. When we said goodbye, I hugged him and whispered in his ear, “I’m glad you are starting to heal. We are both healing.” Only he could know what that meant. He kissed me on the cheek and said, “Love you, Sis.”

That was the best thing that happen in 2013 (and there were a lot of great things that happen.) My brother and I, we’re good! Lord only knows how much we’re good despite what any one else thinks of us. :-D