We really are more normal than we seem

For a few minutes on the plane, Craig and I discussed putting his house up for sale. It's paid for; he could live off the money from it for a couple of years while he gets his feet planted a little more firmly, or if he finds a job it would give him a cushion, something he doesn't feel he has enough of. I get a say in it; his house is the family house, where we grew up, it's supposed to be divided equally between the three of us if ever sold. Craig moved into it when I moved my parents closer to me; it wasn't a wanted move on his part, but our parents didn't want to sell it at the time, and he'd given up his house to his ex. He would have been happy enough in an apartment somewhere, but he had kids, and our parents were more comfortable with the idea that family was living in their house, not tenants.

So we talked about selling it; I have no problem with Craig selling it and keeping the proceeds, but we both assumed our sister would. And that's not laying judgment on her; it's as much hers as it is mine, I just happen to think it's more Craig's than anyone's.

A few minutes into batting the idea around, though, he said he couldn't do it. His best times were spent in that house. Some of his worst, too, but I take it as a good sign that he's focused on the good. For the most part lately he's been looking forward, but with the house he can't help but stay a little bit in the past. He's torn. He doubts he can ever go home again for good, but he wants that option. So in the meantime, he'll pack up what he wants to take, stick the rest in storage, and his youngest will move into the house.

Like our parents, we want family living there, not tenants. And we want family that would respect the property as more than just a place to live; Craig's son will never forget that first and foremost this was the place his grandparents chose to make a home for their kids. One of the first things Craig did when we got here was to ask his son if he would move in; as awful as it is, we wanted that set before our sister got wind of anything. She could make a case for being the one to take over that house, but the truth is that it wouldn't be well cared for. And as screwed up as Craig has been, he took care of our parents' house. Which is why I can think of it as his house now and not theirs; Val might intend to take care of it, but she tends to live on impulse, and we've both seen the results of her impulses. I've spent years mopping up the results of one of her impulses, and I don't think my niece will ever get over it.

So he's packing. He's not finding a lot that he wants to take with him; most of it he thinks he can leave behind--the furniture his son can use--but there are a few things he's wrapping carefully in bubblewrap and setting in boxes. There have been a few things he's thought I might want, but most of that--pictures--we can have copies made. There's one thing, though, that we're surprised to find. Neither of us can figure out why it's still here, and why our mother didn't take it with her when she and Da moved. It was a fixture in our lives, something we took note of frequently, something we were encouraged to touch and to hold, but to always put back exactly where we found it, as we found it, nestled on top of her dresser, leaning against the mirror.

It's a very old, very small toy puppy; if you saw one in a store today you'd think it was a prototype for a Beanie Baby, but this is 52 years old. It's not worn out, but you can tell by looking at it that it's old. Other than the times we picked it up when we were little, it was never really played with, never held tight by little hands. At best, it was cradled in the crook of a baby's arm, or brushed gently against her cheeks. When our parents decided to leave Ireland for the U.S., they didn't bring much with them, other than their kids, but this made the trip wrapped in a soft cloth in our mother's purse, and it's the only thing they had, other than a few pictures, of the daughter they lost at just a few months old.

She was born before either of us; Val was only a year or so old, so none of us have any real memories of her, but that puppy is something we all connect with her. I know our mother was likely terrified that one of us would destroy it, but she desperately wanted us to have some kind of connection to our sister, which is why she allowed us to touch the toy at all. Craig and I are puzzled, though, why it was left behind. He'd seen it every day for a dozen years and never thought much about that; it was where it always was, and he left it there, but now there's this looming why in front of us. He says if he had clued into it, he would have sent it when she died so that she could be buried with it.

Craig realized, too, that the puppy belongs on that dresser, and he doesn't want to leave that behind; his son would respect it, but his grandkids might not. They're good kids, but they are just little kids. He offered it to me, reasoning that I had the space for it, but something tells me he needs it more. He can jam the dresser into his room at TK's, and TK won't mind.

He keeps trying to argue the point, but when it comes right down to it, for all these years he's basically cared for our parents' most bitter but very treasured memory, and that might be intentional. When they first moved, I think they expected to eventually go home; Craig was moving in and would watch the house, but I wonder, too, if our mother hadn't fully intended for him to be the one to care for her daughter's only material possession. I wonder if she hoped some kind of stronger connection would develop for him. Or knowing her, hoped that her Angelica (not her name, but what she was called all the time) would become Craig's guardian angel.

Our mother believed in saints and angels, and I wouldn't be the least but surprised if somewhere in the back of her mind was the idea that somehow her lost baby could be Craig's guiding force.

I don't think she could have ever accepted that the specter of the sister we never knew may have played a part in his tendency toward self destruction. It's something we've been talking about, though, the unspoken expectations of being raised in the shadow of someone who never had the chance to be anything other than the perfection that she surely was.

There's definitely a lot to wade through when he gets back. I'm heading home tomorrow, with assurances from all his kids that they'll stand guard between Craig and Val (who is pissed beyond pissed that she wasn't told what was happening. I get that, but in this Craig comes first.) I had lunch with her yesterday, and she still doesn't grasp her role in keeping Craig a functional drunk, and still doesn't get why he can't handle just one drink or how even being around it can unravel everything he's managed to do to get even a toehold on recovery. Still, she was glad to see me, something I didn't really expect.

You know, we all had a perfectly normal childhood. Our parents were as good as parents get. It makes one wonder how the hell we all got so screwed up, because it really wasn't anything they did or didn't do.

Homeward Bound

In a couple of hours, my brother and I will be getting on a plane and taking him home. He wants to spend Thanksgiving with his kids and grandkids, and who can blame him? He hasn’t seen them in months and he misses them; more than that he appreciates them, and wants to figure out ways to show them.

There are two things he won’t be doing, however. He won’t be seeing our sister. He won’t be staying.

Our sister is one of his triggers. While she can be a heavy drinker, she can also walk away from a bottle of alcohol without a second thought, but she has no issue with convincing him that it’s all right to go hang at a bar with her, that she’ll stop him at “just a couple of drinks.” He didn’t understand for years why he allowed her to manipulate him, or why she does it, but he’s made a decision important to his ongoing recovery: he can’t see her right now. He’s not sure he can tell her no, and he’s not at all sure she respects his efforts to stop abusing his body.

His boys are fully prepared to physically block her way to him, though I doubt it will be an issue. I don’t think anyone has told her that he’s coming home, so she’s not sitting there making plans. Once we’re there I’ll call her, and I’d like to see her for lunch or dinner, and I hope she’s not too offended by the fact that I won’t allow any access to Craig, and once I go home his kids will make sure it doesn’t happen.

And he’s not staying. One of the things we’ll do in the next few days is arrange to have his stuff packed up and moved, and then I’ll come home. After Thanksgiving his son will fly back here with him, because Craig does not want to fly alone. He’s fully capable, but he has a few doubts about being by himself in a situation where a few bucks will get him a drink or two. He’s fairly sure his internal dialogue will try to justify it as “just one drink” and he’s very aware now that just one drink will never be possible.

If you had asked me a year ago if I would be willingly bringing my brother this far into my life, I wouldn’t have even been able to laugh it off because that was a level of absurd too impossible to think about. But now he’s moving here, maybe not for good but for a year or two. It’s either this or move somewhere else, because he’s fairly sure that going home for good is the wrong move.

The thing that has been most helpful to him here, I think, is living with TK. With TK there’s no emotional baggage to pick through as there would be with me, and TK has significant experience in helping people pick through their personal crap. Their friendship is somewhat symbiotic; TK helps Craig with his addiction issues, Craig helps TK with his relationship issues. That’s something I never saw coming, because Craig doesn’t have the greatest track record, but apparently TK is learning from Craig’s mistakes.

This isn’t all about Craig, either. It started with him asking for help, but it’s turning out to be important to both of us, and not just important to our relationship as brothers. We’ve touched upon a few things that I’d frankly never considered as being pivotal in childhood development for each of us, though I should have. We seemed to have taken then same issue and gone in different directions with it, something both curious and little bit sad.

I’ll touch on that some other time.

But, in any case, we’re going home, me for a few days, Craig for a couple of weeks.