Family Studio

“Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The Carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.”
—- Emily Dickinson

Sometimes life’s innate obstacles can be too overwhelming, even for the strongest individuals. We all want to believe that a resilient person can survive any challenge, but sometimes there is no bottom; sometimes nothing or nobody can help.

Early Memories:

One of my earliest memories of Tom was watching him perform in his high school play, Annie Get Your Gun. He played the role of a Native American who performed a powerful dance around a rather large drum. Tom completed this dance without soaring uncontrollably off the drum or the stage, which, given his issues with poor eyesight at the time, might have been described as a minor miracle. Tom wanted to prove he could perform this part in the play, and he did just that. In his first character role on stage, Tom clearly entertained the audience. As he performed his dance, I listened to the applause and remember feeling very proud of him.

Tom wanted to participate in other events in high school, most specifically, team sports. Most sporting events that required any degree of finesse were prohibitive for Tom, primarily due to his challenges with poor eyesight and, thus, his basic struggles with eye-hand coordination. He earned a position on the football team, but he was not given many chances to play. This harsh reality seemed very debasing to Tom. Many of his friends were “jocks,” and his father was a football star in high school and college. It was clear to many of us that his wish to perform at their level was important to Tom.  No amount of work or tenacity could have made that dream materialize, and so the search for another passion was his only option.

Tom was a good student, but that didn’t seem to fulfill his needs at that time in his life. It’s difficult for me to recall his behavior back then (I was 7 years younger than him); however, looking back in time, this seemed to be a pivotal moment in his life, and a time when perhaps some type of cognitive intervention might have been appropriate. Nonetheless, in those days, such assistance in a small Nebraska town was not easily accessible.

Middle Years:

Years later, Tom began his career in the hospitality industry. I worked with him during this period of his life, and I often marveled at his unique ability to scan the room and quickly conclude what service was needed at any given time. It would be foolish for me to attempt a diagnosis of Tom’s mental health, but the ability to hyperfocus is an ordinary positive skill often associated with attention deficit disorder (ADD). We will never know where Tom might have resided on the ADD continuum, so speculating on that issue clearly fails to provide any solace to family members and other loved ones. Still, I wonder…

It was obvious that family members were important to Tom.  After purchasing a restaurant/bar in Grand Island, NE, he promptly named the entity “Generations,” which was clearly a salute to his family members who chose careers in the hospitality industry.

Time after time, Tom affectionately expressed his love for his family. Indeed, there are far too many moments to journal when Tom quickly imparted his help and encouragement to family and friends. This aspect of his personality may become his personal legacy.

Epilogue:

My luggage was nearly packed as I prepared to travel to Mexico for the Christmas holiday, when my phone rang. My ringtone was a seasonal jingle—a rather distressing digital rendition of Jingle Bells. Nevertheless, it captured my attention, and I answered the call.

The voice on the telephone line, speaking in a relatively soft tone, was Tom’s son, Nick. He said, “Jeff, the police in McCook found Dad today, and they told me he was unresponsive—he was found dead.” We continued a brief conversation about Tom’s circumstances, and then our phones fell silent.

After suffering from a long-held disease, my brother, Tom, had finally found peace. His life in the months before his death could be described in a graphically detailed manner, but there’s no utility in dwelling on that dreadful time in Tom’s life. The life that inhabited his battered body had passed on, and the belief that his suffering had finally ended only slightly pacified our family’s pain.

The memorial service was held at St. Patrick’s Church, the only Catholic Church in the small town of McCook, Nebraska. As I entered the building, I was overcome with my memories of that church. The images passed through my mind like an old movie. My experiences as an altar boy, and, of course, the often misunderstood tradition of confession, left me with some clear images of those days gone by. The realization of the power of early childhood experiences consumed me for a brief period.

As I observed the interior of the church, I thought: after all of these years, nothing here has changed. Every brick, every tile, each wooden pew, stood timeless, unchanged since I moved away so many years ago. The original crucifix stood, as always, predominantly behind the same large marble altars. Two long, linear granite structures occupied my attention for some time. It’s where those who are in good standing with Catholic customs receive holy communion. It struck me how they stood as partitions to the large altar and lecterns that defined the space that was duly reserved for the priest and altar boys. The granite was a barrier, a symbol of compulsory separation between the priest and the parishioners.

The stained glass windows were unchanged, yet they seemed more beautiful than I remembered. A prominent circular wooden light fixture was snugly affixed to the ceiling, shining a bright light on the large crucifix, and the Stations of the Cross were still tightly fastened to the walls near the windows. As the long and tedious memorial service began, I contemplated the notion that even beyond this building, nothing had changed within this dogmatic institution.

The memorial service for Tom reinforced the unfortunate reality that an antiquated institution was placed in the position of eulogizing my brother’s life. But it was the missing piece of the eulogy that was actually the real parable about Tom and his life. There were many potent reminders of how Jesus was the only Son of God, and how he died for our sins to save us from eternal damnation. In my view, this was a very trite and uninspiring moment, given the circumstances. Tom, it seemed to me, would not play a strong role in his own memorial.

The Jesus proclamation became the homily headliner. A brief, pejorative comment by the priest describing how Tom was now serving his time in Purgatory did capture my attention—and rage. And the final ceremonial words conveyed to the family and friends of Tom at the burial site included a comment of how “…Tom was solely responsible for his actions, and thus, he should repent for his Earthly deeds” simply failed to consider that many of his “deeds” were unquestionably virtuous. That comment sparked a hot streak of righteous indignation inside of me.

John 14:27

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

Addiction:

Sarah McLachlan wrote and performed the iconic song: Angel (see video below). The lyrics in this song expose the dreadful results of addiction. Some of her lyrics in this song declare: “…it’s easier to believe in this madness, oh this glorious sadness, that brings me to my knees.” Her lyrics so accurately define the life of an addict. But let us not forget that an addiction like alcoholism is, first and foremost, a disease, not a choice. Sometimes the “choice” is outside of the addict’s control. Such was the health condition Tom lived with, and that died with him just days earlier.

This brings the word “choice” into question as the only adequate treatment for this disease. How can such a widespread disease as alcoholism possess such a lonely solution whereby the only means to a cure resides exclusively within the will of the very person who is afflicted with the disease? Physician, heal thyself.

I continue to struggle with his brief and brutal mêlée with life. I’m sad that he was never able to accomplish his full potential. At approximately the age of 50, Tom had retreated from his career and thus abandoned any pursuit of new, creative endeavors. Somehow, I need to get past the thought that “what he never did is done.”

Nonetheless, to define Tom as simply an addict would be a monumental mistake. He was compassionate, non-judgmental, often very humorous, and quite generous. His inspiring imagination stood second to none. In fact, many of the stories that he represented as factual seemed to many of us to be more imaginative than factual. However, that quirky aspect of his mind was one of the many things that made him so endearing to many of us over time.

The sober Tom was a loving father, caring husband, and beloved family member. Tom’s active mind was brimming with ideas that often resulted in some of the most entertaining moments of our lives. He was a very good man. So let that, too, live on as his legacy.

I never fully appreciated the words “rest in peace” until I applied them to Tom. He deserves to rest in peace. The image of Tom being carried in the “arms of the angels” and experiencing a loving embrace from our father, Doug, is my vision of Tom’s current existence.

Tom believed in an afterlife. He expressed to me on many occasions that: “There must be an afterlife because something better than this life must exist.” So that is, in my view, his current state of [non]being. A new formula for his new life, without the pitfalls he endured in his worldly life.

So, Tom, if you’re standing beside me as I type this memorial, I hope you have a smile on your face as you laugh at me and others who fail to fully understand that our struggles in life are, in fact, the building blocks to our next adventure.

We were brothers—and we were friends.

Peace.

—Jeff