Determination

Two Brothers … Two Lives … Two Deaths — Part I

I had two younger brothers. Both passed away this last decade, one from esophageal cancer and the other from suicide. Born two years apart, their lives on this earth ended almost two years apart. Both were far too young and far too good to leave this world. Each was, and remains, special in his own unique way.

This is the first of two short stories about brothers. This first story is about Andy, the oldest of my two younger brothers. And it’s about determination.

My brother Andy, simply put, was a “mind like a steel trap” kinda genius. He was two years younger than me and could do anything he put his mind to. He could write, play musical instruments, and talk endlessly about almost anything, but as for driving a car… he was the worst damn driver I have ever in my life been in a car with.

Andy was, in fact, a genius with a photographic memory and a 160-plus IQ and yet also an absolutely incredible, giving, funny, loving human being. I watched him compose a poem and put it to music, playing it on an instrument he had never played. He was that good.

We were at a party once and we were bored. He asked if I wanted to hear some Rolling Stones and I said sure. He walked over to a piano, sat, and within a minute was playing and singing “Wild Horses”. I asked him how and when did he learn that? “Learn what?” he responded.

Andy had never played piano in his life. When I asked him about that, he just shrugged his shoulders and said: “it just came to him”. He did the same with a wind instrument, with a guitar… he just could.

I guess the good lord felt he had endowed Andy with so much talent that he had to make him work for something. So my brother Andy ended up spending his life fighting demons.

Determination.

He was born schizophrenic and bipolar and suffered from anxiety and depression. Nobody had a clue he was living a tortured life. His life became my eventual introduction to mental illness, drug addiction, and self-medication. Nobody knew. He was looked upon by our parents (not their fault) and the schools as a bad person, a druggie, and was sent to a Military Academy. That went poorly.

He got out, never graduated from high school, got a job in a paper mill, and after two brilliant kids and a failed marriage, he ended up in a hospital, an asylum for the insane.

Back then, in the 70s and 80s, a mental hospital was still an institution that allowed doctors to practice with trial drugs on human guinea pigs for financial kickbacks, in between electric shock therapy and daily doses of Thorazine and Clozapine. It was easier that way… for the hospital and the doctors.

I knew Andy had issues. So did he. We talked about it. But we didn’t know what was going on. His life spiraled downward fast. I ended up 2000 miles away, and he ended up in an asylum and kept so drugged by the staff he couldn’t communicate. His head hung limp. He could barely walk. He certainly couldn’t think. I was angry and helpless to help him.

At some point though (I don’t know when) Andy realized what was going on around him while hospitalized. He told me later that he would fake taking the meds they were giving him and slowly the cobwebs blew away. When he discovered the game they played, he played it better.

Once he could think… game over.

It was the mid -’90s, and he had plans in the formative stages. He bounced in and out of hospitals until finally they found a cocktail that worked for him. He got an apartment and announced he was going to college.

Determination.

He never graduated past the 10th grade. He was bored and quit school at 16. And I mean truly and seriously bored. HS courses were simply too easy. No one believed him because his grades were so bad as a kid.

Once he regained his freedom and was clear of the hospital, he eventually got a GED, which he found pretty funny. He wondered why he couldn’t have just tested for his GED and gone straight to college, skipping high school entirely.

Then he announced to me one day he had received approval to test out of college courses. How he talked his way into that I will never know. I didn’t believe him at first, but he did.

Determination

He tested out of literally two years of college courses. And then Andy dove headfirst, literally, into Psychiatry, Biology, and even Philosophy courses. With his first Psychology course, he told me found the secret to getting perfect grades. He’d buy the course textbook or get it from the library, read it front to back in a couple of weeks, and go talk to the professor.

He also would read other information to widen his knowledge. He was hellbent on understanding everything in a subject area. Within weeks, he was assisting the professor and enjoying his “deep conversations”. His professor literally told him he knew as much about the subject as the professor knew.

Determination.

Andy would travel to NYC, Syracuse, and Buffalo … attending psychiatric conferences. He built a formidable knowledge base in pharmaceuticals as well. Everyone believed he was a Dr. of Psychology. He didn’t dissuade them. He was asked to be on a panel with other doctors on TV in Albany, NY. We watched. I laughed. That was my brother. He was awesome.

About then, he got seriously focused on an idea he had. He wanted to start a non-profit corporation with the goal of assisting kids in high school. The kids who were his focus were “different” from most others. They were addicts, they dealt with mental health issues and were involved with LGBT. Andy wanted to give them a place to meet, to talk and learn, to be themselves. He called it “The Community Bridge” or just “The Bridge”. He waded into the LGBTQ world to understand.

Determination.

He was literally high on life, loved what he was doing and building, and was as happy as I had seen him in many years. He wanted me to move to NY and join him. I couldn’t. I had a business and a family. Sometimes… life just gets in the way.

Waking one morning, he stood up… and collapsed. Massive stroke. Two of them. Now a paraplegic with only partial use of one hand, he no longer could type or use the computer. His business, Community Bridges, was turned over to others. He couldn’t even push the wheelchair he had to live in, and he became angry and depressed.

Andy told me once, before the strokes, that he feared one day there would be repercussions from all the drugs the State pumped into him, and he rattled off the drugs he knew of and their side effects. He knew they were going to be his downfall and was never able to shake loose from that asylum in the end.

Once the ability for him to learn, grow, communicate, and chase his dreams… once these things stopped being a reality for him, his life ended. The last time I saw him he could barely talk. The stroke left him physically destroyed yet mentally fully functional. He couldn’t deal with that. I didn’t want him to and I agreed to try and help him. But I couldn’t.

Determination lost. No. Determination stolen.

In the end, he was successful at everything he did, and jammed 60+ years of life into 15 years of freedom from living in an asylum where he spent over 20 years. Andy knew and was befriended by some very influential medical and political people. He was a truly unique person in this world and left his mark.

The best description of Andy is determination. It defined him. It wasn’t the fact he suffered from depression and anxiety, that he was bipolar and schizophrenic. It was the fact that he allowed none of that to defeat him. Just the opposite. He refused to allow any of it to take away his freedom again, or to steal from him his determination to live and help people.

I refuse to say “he lost his determination”. What took his determination, and his life, was the very thing that was supposed to give him his life and help him in life. But he never lost his determination to live life. It was stolen from him just as half of his life was stolen from him, by an asylum and a faulty if not corrupt medical system.

He was gifted with a love and desire for life, freedom, and the ability to follow and accomplish his dreams. So he did.

Determination.

He always laughed at everything, right? That was part of his secret I think. When he laughed, it was a kind of chuckle that made you wonder, just a tiny bit in the back of your head, “he knows something I don’t know”. And he often did.

Andy had a saying that I have never ever forgotten. When we were together he would more often than not do something really nuts. Sometimes, in a car. It was often a surprise… or shock. And usually, the result was my yelling: “Andy! What the fuck are you doing!?”

He’d look at me, grin, his eyes sparkling with laughter, and he’d say “It’s cool man. It’s cool.” And he’d laugh that little chuckle of his.