Read part 1 of the series first.
In fact, it wasn’t only with the onset of puberty that my brother became much more difficult to understand. All throughout his elementary school days, he was a runner. Leave the door open a crack? Gone. Playing in the park, look away for a moment? Poof. Shopping at the mall and let go of his hand for the second? Up in smoke.
I actually remember his running in equally traumatic and delightful measures. It was traumatic because literally losing your baby brother is horrific. My strangely joyful memories, however, descend from the images I have in my mind of our naughty, tiny, snow-white Pekingese dog chasing after him at all times, grabbing hold of his pants and underwear with her teeth, trying to drag his relentless ass home. Anyway, back to puberty.
We often speak about this phase in any adolescent’s life as difficult, but I can’t explain or comprehend why it made my little brother so much angrier than he had ever been. It was as if his developmental hormonal changes included an anger virus which invaded his being like Venom taking over Spiderman. Never before had my brother yelled or gotten aggressively upset over inexplicable circumstances in his environment like this. He had always been so cuddly, sweet, and openly vulnerable. You could create instant bliss for him simply by mentioning the words Sonic the Hedgehog. So, we were very much taken aback and lost on how to help our suddenly furious “baby” boy. Teachers always used to say how much they loved my brother. As high school life began, this all changed. We started getting many more reports on how much of a problem he was. It got to the point where our reactions to the phone calls and letters eventually became, “Alright, we get it, but don’t know what we can do about it either!”
It was around this time that I was going through my own share of existential crises, deciding that global work and travel would be the only thing to protect my own sanity. Although there’s a part of me that feels guilty for leaving my family at a time when they were most at-risk and dysfunctional (and our issues were far more exacerbated than caused by having a teen with such complex needs), I look back and realize that it was the best thing for everyone involved. The old adage which says that you can’t help others if you are unable to help yourself rings so true for me here. There was no way that I was going to be able to help until I sorted out my own ship.
Read part 3 or the entire series.
This is a beautiful entry! Last week I read part one and I found myself eagerly awaiting today’s entry. Your blog entries are written with such love and reflection.
Thank you for putting yourself out there again by peeling another layer off and exposing your inner thoughts to us. You are a remarkable man. I’m proud to call you my friend.
Angie
Thanks Ang! The feeling is certainly mutual:) <3
I’m with Angie. I read part 1, and all of a sudden, I had this extra piece to add to the jigsaw puzzle I know as you. I have worked with families who bring a child in to help with the interview – that’s a tough role, and not one that I had realized you played.
This is important reading for all of us. If we haven’t lived through this transition with a person we love, you’re giving us a chance to experience that huge, painful learning curve. Thanks so much for giving us another lens on the autism experience, and another lens on you. Looking forward to the next part of the journey.
I’m glad my story is resonating with others! Thanks for the kind words.
Royan, a bit emotional as I read this entry as we have had such similar experiences growing up. I have been reading up a lot about PTSD in siblings of those with complex needs, although realizing now that im lucky compared to some of the families i work with now. I really strive to speak as honestly about my own experience, I.e. the guilt. Wish I was there but I have a ways to go. Can’t wait for #3!