I received some upsetting news yesterday. My brother is being sent to prison. This is no ordinary trip to county for a few months. No, this is full-on, “Hi, my name’s Bubba,” don’t-drop-the-soap State Prison. The hows and whys are immaterial at this point. Let’s just say it’s been a long time coming. In fact, I’m surprised that at the ripe ol’ age of twenty-five, he hasn’t been sent down river sooner. Trust me on this.
The news in and of itself was devastating, but not at all surprising. After all, we had been awaiting this day since last July, when he was caught evading the police in a stolen car during rush hour traffic. But, when my mom told me over the phone yesterday, it hit me hard nonetheless.
This is my baby brother.
This is the little baby my mother held in her arms in the hospital, while I peered over the bed and asked if I could “pet” him. This is the child I fiercely protected against the slaps and punches of those who were sworn to protect us. This is the child who I cared for like my own when there were none to care for us.
Where was I? And how did this happen?
Yes, I was a child, too. But, it rips at me in a way that is so intrinsically primal that I want to rip my hair out and scream at the heavens and demand WHY!
After the storm of tears had waned, I was overcome with the crippling urge to write. Needed to write. Had to write. Where in the damn hell is my laptop?
Afterward, I felt better. Which brought to mind the countless other times in my life, particularly those black, bleak moments of my childhood when my only ally was a pen and a piece of paper, a book that I could escape into, if only for a few precious moments.
Writing is my saving grace, I realized. It has been the one true thing that has stuck with me through thick and thin. It got me through the tears, the pain, the loneliness, the drug habits, the depression, the wonder and terrifying brilliance of becoming a mother. It’s what’s kept me sane. It’s what’s kept me strong. A strong beam of light in an endless sea of chaos that is life. My life.
So, I realize that this is probably a little dark, a little deep. But, I’m feeling a little dark and a little deep lately. And I want to know if writing has helped any of you the way it has for me.
14 comments:
Man, Jen, this is really terrible for you and your family. I am so sorry. I hope that somehow, this experience provides the wake up call your little brother needs.
I understand this blog is not about your brother but about your writing and how it has always been there for you. I feel the same way. With the death of parents and friends, the joys of childbirth and agonies of health issues that all leave me breathless in different ways, writing is there. I wrote a book during chemotherapy. I wrote short stories after births. Writing is the way people like you and me and all the others on this blog tame the wild, fight back the dragons and make sense of the inexplicable.
I hope your writing now continues to offer you the solace and the outlet you need and further, that your brother finally wakes up. Everything you go through (and by extension, he goes through) will end up in your books, will leave their mark and validate your writing. That's the bright side. You already know the dark side.
Good blog and a reminder to be thankful for what you have...
Alice
For me the answer is yes and no. Writing gets me through things--especially journal writing. But, unfortunately for me, I can't write when I'm depressed. I know many others like you who use writing to get through the depression and to press through the dark side, but for me, when my demons come calling, my muse abandons me. This is really difficult because when I most NEED to write I often can't. I'm working on this though--because I know that writing is absolutely key to my sanity and well-being. Letting it do its good work has been a challenge.
I'm really sorry about your brother. I saw way too many cases like his when I was practicing law. There are resources for him though, and I hope he takes advantage of some of them. I have a student right now who did 4 years or so in prison and now he's closing in on his associates degree and has a stable life. Change does happen for some.
I'm so sorry to hear about your little brother. He's not little anymore, but he'll always be little to you. That's how I feel about my 25-year-old son, who is also a jailbird (and thankfully not in prison).
It hurts to see this happen to the baby you carried in your womb, endured 32 hours of labor with, breast fed for 18 months, listened to his first words, watched his first steps, and cuddled him close at night when he'd say "Mommy, play with my hair" so that he could fall asleep.
This is the same baby who's now grown up and won't even speak to me because 3 years ago I refused to deed my house to the bondsman for his bail. He's not a very forgiving child and continues to punish me for "not loving him enough."
I wrote through it, I write through it now, and my writing is cathartic for me. I often infuse my characters with close-to-the-bone emotional issues similar to what I've gone through with my own family. Our experiences, good and bad, strengthen our writing.
I hope your brother straightens out soon. My son is currently in a "book camp" style halfway house and according to my daughter, his attitude is improving. But he still hates me. I don't regret my decision, though. And you shouldn't feel guilty about whatever caused your brother to turn in the direction he chose. Our past may shape our future, but it's also up to the individual to make choices without blame on those who raised them. It isn't your fault.
Karen
Jen, Sorry to hear about your brother. I think every writer has times in their lives when they have to hang on to writing or not make it through.
I have a son, who, we believe is flirting with the law, since a friend saw him in a courtroom with a lawyer. All cleaned up and looking innocent! We don't know since he hasn't talked to us in 8 months because he brought two disreputable people to the house with him and I told him if anything came up missing, I'd know who to sic the cops on. The two he brought with him wouldn't look you in the eye, but they sure were taking in everything in the house!
Many years ago, a supposed friend accused my husband of having an affair with her to keep the real guy from being found out. Talk about getting stabbed in the back! My children and I had spent countless hours with this woman and her family. I knew my husband didn't have an affair with her because of the way he talked about her. I on the other hand was always telling him, "Oh she's not like that." Boy, did I get an eye opener. Then I turned around and wrote two books where a woman uncannily like that woman was killed. Now that was therapy!
Hang in there and believe this will be for the best for your brother.
My heavens, you guys have had some really difficult things happen. It's amazing what we have to get used to and accept and come to peace with, even if it's an uneasy peace.
With Wavy's comments, I thought about some of the major blocks I've had and there's always been issues preceding them, so I am going to have to amend my comments. While it's true I've written through some heavy stuff, it's also true that I haven't been able to write because of things. And feeling morose about a loss of any kind can gut creativity more surely than...well, supply a metaphor, I can't think of one.
I feel bad for everyone and I also echo what Karen said about this not being your fault, Jen. You asked where you were? I'll wager you were right there and for whatever reason, he just couldn't see you or accept your help. That was his decision, not yours.
And Karen and Paty, my hearts go out to you with your sons. I feel your pain and hope it all someday gets resolved. You were both perfectly right to protect yourselves and to also demand your grown sons grow up. Kudos for not giving in to guilt and second guessing.
Alice
Sheesh. My son is in "boot camp" not book camp. Can you tell where my mind is? 8^)
Karen--I thought book camp was some kind of learning thing to straighten wayward kids out---or something. I liked it. Way better than boot camp. But if he's in boot camp, military type, then maybe they'll pound some sense into him!
Alice
Though we can "write through" our pain, it's not always an easy thing to write about it. I can't. I have to attribute whatever it is to something untrue, like fiction. My mother-in-law is always trying to encourage me to write my life story. Bwahahaha! Not happening. Aside from it being a boring tale, I'm too close to it to write objectively. So I'll content myself with making stuff up.
Hang in there, Jen!
Karen
Hey, Alice, good point! Book camp. Hadn't thought of it like that. He does read on occasion, if only Stephen King. The boot camp is supposed to kick his booty in line and I just hope it works.
Paty and I share our son-stories with each other, and it always helps to know you're not alone in your grief. Thank heavens we have thoughtful daughters we can share news about as well.
Wow Jen, this is so heart-wrenchingly sad. I have a huge lump in my throat and my stomach hurts for you. If that makes sense.
I'm truly sorry that the two of you had to go through so much turmoil as children. It's so unfair what adults let happen to innocent children. I don't understand the selfishness at all. It more than boggles my mind.
While I was growing up, my parents made some really stupid choices and things were pretty f*cked up for quite a few years of my life too. I understand how awful life can be and yes, I used to write about it too.
I did my writing at school in English class and in homeroom in our journals that we had to write in every morning. Though we turned our work in, nothing was ever mentioned about what I wrote. The teachers were very good at ignoring. Sad.
My English teacher used to mark my papers all up in red ink. Nothing was good enough for her that I could tell.
At the time, I didn't write to be published; I wrote because it kept me sane. I wrote true things and feelings and let it all out through words on the page; otherwise, I'd have probably put my mom's boyfriend six-feet under somewhere out in the Arizona desert, never to be thought of again.
Hmm... Thank God for words on paper, huh?
You being the older sister and trying to protect your little brother as much as you could was a valiant thing to do. I know you did your best. I did my best too, and the bruises and aches were worth it to me to keep them from ending up on my mom and brothers and sister.
It didn't happen because of you or your brother. It was the selfish decisions of the adults that should have protected and watched over you in your childhood. We, the older sisters, can not blame ourselves. What's a kid to do against an adult? Nothing.
What you did for your brother and how you chose to deal with the after affects were logical and right for the situations you were forced into.
Your writing is witty and very entertaining. The experiences you've had can make you strong as a person and make you soar as a writer. Take the crap from your life and use it to fuel and fertilize your writing talents. Don't let the demons of the past or what's out of your control now ever get you down. You're an intelligent woman with a great deal of writing talent to offer.
Here's a great big, teary eyed hug from me! ((((SQUEEZE))))
My heart and prayers are for you today, Jen. Love ya girl!
That was beautifully written, Jen. I teared up reading it. I have baby brothers too, helped care for them and I can't imagine going through what you are.
Just don't blame yourself. It sounds like you might be, if even just a little. Your brother made the choices. You didn't make them for him.
That said, yes, writing has saved me from insanity many times. I wrote like crazy after my mom died last summer. I wrote like crazy when she and I fought when I was a teenager. I write like crazy when I have problems with my own teenager. Writing and family are interwoven in my life. My books always have children in them. The characters always have issues with family members (often mothers) to work out.
Just keep tapping those keys, Jen. I can't think of a more purifying way to release emotion. That's why we are writers. We have to do it. Publication or not, it is our therapy, a part of us. Glad you're in the club. Hang in there, girl. You're among friends.
Jen, I'm sorry to hear about your son/brother's imprisonment and about Karen and Paty's sons, too. I was also an older sister/mom to my younger sister (14 months younger than I am). Our mother was fighting for her and our survival with her PTSD/psychotic/alcoholic husband (our father) and, after her divorce, trying to raise two girls on the "pin money" that employers once paid women. It's a wonder my sister survived with a "mom" only fourteen months older than she, and she's been in and out of mental hospitals and chaotic marriages much of her adult life. I, too, have had to learn to forgive myself for not being "enough of a mom" for her. Like Bethany, I can't write when I'm deeply depressed. Sometimes doing photography helps me then--helps me to get outside of myself and focus on the world around me. I have journaled my way through many years of therapy, though, and my continued writing kept me sane and able to live without therapy once it was over. Writing is a powerful healing tool. In AA they say that a person who is still drinking is "Adding to their story." Here's hoping prison will help your brother get to a point where he can stop adding to his story and start sharing it instead with others to help them recover their sanity. Nothing is ever wasted as long as we can find the right place to use it to help others.
God, ladies. You're gonna make me cry.
I'm so sorry you're going through all this, Jen. Everyone's given you great advice and words of wisdom so I'll just add that I think you're a great sister. I'm glad writing is cathartic for you.
And Paty and Karen...ugh...you make me wish my boys could stay little forever!
Ah, Jen.
Isn't it interesting how some people use the traumatic events in their lives as stepping stones to better things and others are too hurt or disillusioned or angry or ashamed to see the opportunities?
This has been a theme in my writing even before I realized it. And it has been cathartic, as has been the devotion of the dogs in my life and being able to sit under a tree and feel nature soothe my soul.
Perhaps your brother is still looking for something that he can hang onto that will re-ignite the hope that's buried deep inside him.
You can't make the journey for someone else -- it took me sooooo long to learn that. But you can love them and believe in the good inside them, even if you have to make difficult decisions like Paty and Karen did.
Just don't forget to love yourself and the good inside you also!
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