In my last post I left off telling you a little bit about what it was like to grow up with an older brother who was never around. I will say that while he wasn’t physically around much it was still clear that he was part of the family and that my parents cared very much for where he was and what he was doing.
He always had an open bedroom at our family house, his new born son and then girlfriend would stop by to visit, and every once in a while there would be a situation that reminded us he wasn’t around… and that, perhaps, something was wrong.
The following story is something that I had completely blocked out of my memory until a few weeks ago, when I was talking to my parents about those years back when there were early signs that something serious was going on.
I think I was about 13 years old and I was most likely in the living room watching a horse training video or something like that (I was a bit horse crazy – in a good way – throughout most of my life), when someone came to the front door. I walked into the kitchen and opened the door to a man asking where my brother was…
“Where is he? I need to talk to him? I’m going to gut that [insert expletive], I’m going to kill that [insert expletive].”
I can’t tell you what happened next because I honestly don’t remember. But I’m guessing one of my parents came to the door and dealt with the stranger who was yelling into our house.
Until a few weeks ago I had completely removed this memory from my mind. My parents explained that they later found out the person was looking for drugs or money, or perhaps both. Once that memory came back I was flooded with emotion… having someone tell you that they want to kill your brother…and you believe it.
Obviously not a good thing.
Watch me talk about that experience here (minute 3:30)