My Brother’s Keeper

I knew something was wrong when he didn't call me on my birthday. 

May 13th, 2019. Mother's Day.

My mother, bless her heart, gave birth to three boys—all Taurus's. All addicts/alcoholics. My oldest brother, Justin, celebrates his birthday the day after mine, which also happens to be the day before Mother's day (usually).

This year, we were all riding the Hawaiian Railway with family friends who were visiting us here in Hawaii where they used to live. I was expecting my middle brother to call at some point, but the connection never happened. I didn't think much of it when I called it an early night to prepare for a busy work week ahead.

Sometime around 9:00 the next morning, I was finishing clearing SPAM from my Inbox when my cell phone rang. It was Jonathan Reid, my brother's close friend of the same name who also worked with/for my brother. He sounded concerned that my brother's cell phone was off. As an owner of a Tech company, my brother's phone was never off.

Jonathan Reid asked me to perform a welfare check on my brother and I didn't hesitate to drop everything. It wouldn't be the first time. Within twenty minutes, I was walking up his steep driveway to his home on Ward Avenue. Breathing heavily, I saw his doors propped open, which was not uncommon for those who knew my brother even semi-well. But when I called up from outside, he didn't respond, and that silence put the fear of God in me. 

Charging up his stairs, I went straight for the living room, and saw more beer cans than any single 7-11 has in stock at any moment. It reminded me of how I used to drink, binge-drinking for weeks on end and throwing up a silver tongue. We are, after all, brothers from the same mother. When I didn't see Jonathan sitting in his soiled lazy-boy or in his bed, I kicked back the bathroom door with my heart in my throat. 

The last place to check was his kitchen, and I slowly made my way through the hall. Two dirty heels stuck out from around the corner, and my eyes exploded in tears. When I rounded the corner and saw his head in his open fridge face down, I caressed his skinny back and dropped to my knees. I was there for him, just not when he needed me most. Choking on regret, I kissed the back of his head and burst out of the room. 

Collapsing on his handrail overlooking Honolulu, I wailed one hopeless torrent of rage and hung my head. If the earth didn't shake beneath my feet at that moment, it never will. I made three calls: 9-1-1, to my father, and to my wife, then stepped back into the kitchen to pray for my brother as best as I knew how.

My brother was a good man who left this life before the miracle happened and those who know him will remember him as such.

In my sobriety, I am very clear in that I do not drink and do not drug, and have no business hanging out with other alcoholics or addicts who use. Jonathan was the exception, in that I had missed out so many years of brotherhood at the hands of my addiction that I wasn't interested in instilling any boundaries that cut him off from me. I was there for him always, and though I requested him to not be loaded when we hung out, I knew that his drinking was so ingrained in him that if he wasn't drunk, he was coming off it or ramping up. 

In many ways, I had so much to offer my brother regarding recovery, but he refused any mention of his drinking at every corner. So, rather than talk about it, I showed him what a good life could look like. A new house, a beautiful wife, money in the bank, good friends and healthy relationships. He wasn't interested, and I never held it against him, even as I handed him my first draft and waited for him to make it past the first chapter. 

Sadly, he never got that far, and I regret spending so much time writing a book in hopes of helping others that I distanced myself the one person who needed me most.

The lesson from my brother's death is that in hindsight, so many friends and family members are living with regret that they didn't do more. Some will say, "What more can you do for an addict or alcoholic who doesn't want help?"

To me, that's an excuse.

Waiting for an addict to ask for help is the common convention but I know from experience that the day may come when they're no longer around to ask for help. 

So what to do?

Talk to them. Don't let their addiction push you away or quiet your concerns. Don't be bullied into every setting aside your concern for their health and well-being. It is the most common thread between nearly all addicts—our addictions push away those we love because they are the single biggest threat to our using. While it's true you can't force a person into getting the help they need—it is equally true they can't force you into not caring.

Be there for them, when they can't be there for themselves.