I Wish My Brother Knew My Name
He forgot it 9 years ago.
This story is going to cut deep. I’ve resisted hitting publish on it since I started writing six years ago.
Wearing your heart on your sleeve seems easy until you break down and cry at the very thought of it.
For me, the thought of my one and only older brother makes me feel overwhelmed. The song by Matt Corby called “Brother” really knocked the life out of me. It reminded me of my only brother I’d completely forgotten. The song says “he’s calling out your name.” I felt those words.
What if, for all of this time, he was calling out my name and I stopped listening? I’m always on the hunt for new relationships when perhaps the one I need so badly is right in front of me. Maybe the relationship I need is my brother.
Nine years ago I walked away from my brother.
We were in business together and I’d had enough. Enough of the long hours. Enough of the customers always begging for more. Enough of the alcohol. Enough of the pain. Enough of the darkness that became my undiagnosed mental illness.
It all became too much. I couldn’t take it anymore so I quit. I chose unemployment over entrepreneurship. I chose strangers over my brother. It wasn’t his fault. We just didn’t like discussing feelings. The truth was we were polar opposites. Polar opposites don’t make good entrepreneurs, I learned (the hard way).
It was a sudden argument that caused the separation. It was painfully slow. It started with one less phone call per day, then less and less contact. The separation then caused me to stop attending those usual family events like Christmas. I tortured my brother mentally for reasons I can’t explain. Perhaps it was my own mind whiplashing me daily that made me do it.
I can’t go back. I can’t say, “sorry brother.”
As kids we were inseparable. My brother always had a new adventure for me. It was Billy Cart (soapbox) racing. Then fireworks. Then soda bulbs that made tiny bombs that could blow up unsuspecting letterboxes.
The innocent adventures turned into money adventures. We found ways, together, to charge money for stuff. First it was delivering newspapers, then selling candy, then painting numbers on the side of curbs.
Money became a form of bonding. Money could buy us more adventures and that seemed to be attractive to two punk kids who grew up on Seinfeld and David Letterman. The thing we loved to do the most was buy a $19.95 Pizza Hut meal deal and watch movies that were rated outside of our age range. I remember my brother making me watch “Silence of the Lambs” and being terrified to go to sleep. I also remember playing Mario 64 on Nintendo and feeling like life was an adventure full of gorgeous fluro scenery.
There was one thing that brought us together: our dog. She was the glue in our brotherly friendship. Whatever she wanted, she got. A slice of beef? No worries, mate. A sip of beer? Why not.
She was everything because she loved anything. No joint brotherly plan was too hard for her. Like me, she just wanted to come along for the adventure to see what crazy antics my brother was going to come up with next.
Those antics accelerated quickly. Movies turned to girls. Pizza turned into alcohol and cigarettes. Before we knew it we were both under a different roof made of asbestos, selling stuff we imported from China on the internet. It was a wild ride. Every day was full of surprises that could make one bankrupt, or worse, the subject of a post on an online forum.
Customers found inventive ways to tear us apart on forums. They’d make up all sorts of stories and have customer experiences that were the stuff of fantasies. Part of the problem was we had lost our ability to empathize. Money made us see customers, not humans. This ended up being a problem later on.
Still, we came to work each day. My brother in his Merc, and me in my BMW. We’d made it… but our relationship was growing apart, fast. What mattered as kids didn’t seem to matter anymore. We wanted two different things: I wanted less stress and my brother wanted fame and fortune.
So in June of 2011, I walked away from my brother.
I still see my brother occasionally but he hardly knows my name. It’s like seeing a neighbor and saying hi because you have to. But things are getting better. As our 30s go by at lightning speed, we have learned to repair the past. Bit by bit we’re rebuilding and bonding over things like the stock market and comedians again.
I look back on this sudden change in our relationship that started a few years ago. It has been a journey. We’ve had to learn to stop being so stubborn and focus on what matters: family. Things are far from a return to normal, especially thanks to a mystery illness that has separated millions of families just like ours.
A relationship doesn’t change overnight.
No, I learned a relationship changes text by text. You start with a text that says “Did you see..” or “Remember…” and then you build from there. It’s not an easy process but damn it’s worthwhile.
You realize that your capacity to forgive outweighs your obsession to be right, or angry. Anger feels good up until a point. Forgiveness feels good for the rest of your life.