The Alien

I don’t talk about my brother much because we aren’t really in each other’s lives. It’s very sad, but a choice he made a long time ago for reasons I can’t understand. We are close in age, just under 18 months apart, and growing up we were the best of friends. I don’t think I was ever jealous about having a baby brother, at least not that my parents could remember, but rather I was over-joyed at having a constant companion and playmate. When my little sister came along I had just turned 5 and my brother was nearly 4. I was again excited to have a baby sister while my brother lamented the fact that she was a girl and not a brudder. Since we were older and closer in age, my brother and I spent many years trying to run from my sister rather than include her in our trivialities and play. But, something happened to my brother when he hit age 15. He turned into an alien species that eventually slayed the brother I formally knew and forever inhabits his body. Gone was the boy who could make me laugh so hard my ribs literally hurt. Gone was the kid who would play Barbie’s and dinosaurs with my sister just so they could spend time together. Gone was the brother I could tell my secrets to and listen to his. Gone were the Friday nights we spent cramming three restless bodies into one bed. Gone was the adventurous explorer always willing to traipse around the farm with me, my sister and our dog. Gone was my 4-H partner, my sports explainer, my math tutor, my fort builder, my crazy story teller, my partner in crime, my brother. I tried to formally reconnect with him once. It was during training in the Peace Corps. He had just lost his best friend, the closest thing he had to a brother, two weeks before I flew to Miami to join the Peace Corps. This young man was 2 weeks shy of his 22^nd birthday and his sudden, unexpected death (most likely at his own hand – although this was never confirmed) rocked my family and his. My mom and his mom had been best friends since the 8^th grade and we grew up with him and his older sister. In fact, he and I had been slated to walk down the aisle as best man and maid of honor in his sister’s wedding just nine months after his death. Still reeling from the loss, I felt compelled to reach out to my only brother, thinking he too would realize that life was too short and too precious to be estranged. I wrote a long, heart-felt letter asking for us to put aside the petty things (and not so petty things) that seemed to keep us apart and to rekindle our relationship as siblings. I never heard from him. Not an email, not a letter, not a phone call, not a conversation when I came back home. Nothing. So, I gave up. The alien had won.

My brother put my family, especially my parents, through a lot. For seventh and eighth grade we were being homeschooled for the first time. My sister had been homeschooled starting the year before in 2^nd grade for political and academic reasons. My brother and I begged to be homeschooled as well, so my parents acquiesced and brought us home the following year. Away from the harsh bullies of school, I flourished and enjoyed learning at my own pace. My brother, never one to over-exert himself in school, just coasted along. To be successful in homeschooling takes diligence and perseverance because it is so easy to blow off school work and do other things. For my brother, that “other thing” was the computer. I think it was sometime in 1996 or so that we first connected our home computer to the internet. Back in the day when chat rooms and AOL Instant Messenger were all the rage, my brother fell in love with the computer. He would spend every moment he could surfing the web, absorbing a world that existed only online. Maybe that’s the land the alien came from, I don’t know. Soon my brother was fighting with my parents over not doing his school work and sneaking down to the computer at night to stay connected with his newfound friends. My brother returned to public school in 9^th grade. It was a tumultuous year, to say the least. My brother had started getting interested in girls and there was one girl in particular that he liked yet she didn’t seem to reciprocate the feelings. I had just gotten my license and he convinced me to take him to a town about 40 minutes from the farm where he met his best friend (the one I described above) and told me his friends parents would bring him home later that night. It was after midnight when the phone rang. I heard my father answer but couldn’t hear the conversation. A few minutes later he was waking me up, asking me to come along with him and show him where I dropped my brother off. My mom was up and getting dressed as well. My parents didn’t talk to me much, but I knew they were angry. We drove to the police station of the other town and there found my brother. His friends parents had already been to pick up their son. My brother and his friend had apparently gone to this girls house and because she wouldn’t talk to my brother, he grabbed one of her scarves and tried to choke himself with it. His neck had a nasty red rash on it and his eyes were bloodshot from the strain. This was his first, but not his last interaction with the police. It wasn’t too long after that first incident that my brother took an entire bottle of Tylenol because of his infatuation of this same girl. He told an online friend from another state who contacted the state police who sent a car and ambulance to the farm late at night scaring the entire family (my grandparents live on the farm too, in another house). My brother was whisked away in the ambulance with my bewildered parents following behind. My sister and I stayed with my grandparents. After the hospital assessed my brother’s liver function and forced as much of the drugs out of his system as they could, he was sent to a psychiatric facility where he hurled invectives at my parents and especially my mom. Things quickly unraveled from there. When he returned to school some of the other kids threw empty Tylenol bottles at him, making fun of him for his latest stunt. My brother lashed out violently at home. After failing the driving exam twice, he finally managed to get his license. He and I were sharing a car my parents bought from my aunt. He had his license for less than a week before he totaled the car. Not the last time he destroyed one of my cars. That was his second incident with the police. Before he had his license, he tried to leave with the car late one night. To stop him my father climbed onto the hood. The driveway from our house (the last house on the road) to the state road is nearly a mile long. It’s a dirt road with curves, hills and lots and lots of pot holes. My father rode nearly the entire driveway before he was able to get my brother to stop and my mom could wrestle the keys from him. The computer caused a lot of issues as well. My brother monopolized the computer despite my need to do use it for my online AP courses. One night I desperately needed to use the computer to complete an assignment. My brother refused to allow me on for more than 5 minutes. When I accidentally scratched him while trying to grab the mouse, he shoved me so hard I flew off the chair and hit the metal baseboard heater, slicing a 6 inch gash on my hip. My father intervened at that point and although my brother was a few inches taller than him, he jacked him up against the wall with a forearm to his throat. It was an ugly night. Not long after that I was working and my sister called me. She was scared because state police had just shown up at the house and there were big problems going down. I found out, when I got home, that my brother had been illegally downloading music to the computer. Somehow, other things were also downloaded and he got caught up in a sting operation. The police did find out that my brother was not the source for the disturbing material and so he was just served with community service, but it was a huge long ordeal that resulted in our home computer (the same one I had my school assignments on) being confiscated and never returned. In addition to all of the incidents mentioned above there were countless fights and fits in which the alien destroyed property of one person or another. Once, my parents were repainting a room in the house and the paint cans were sitting in the kitchen. My brother got mad about something and kicked the paint cans causing an eruption of paint to spray all over the wall and floor. He ruined a pair of my mom’s heels by putting them on and stomping around the yard because he was angry with her. He broke his bedroom door twice and both my sister and my doors once. His fourth go-round with the police was when he was 18 and stopped for underage drinking, which resulted in more community service and a hefty fine plus his license was suspended. As much as my parents fought with my brother, they also fought with one another. At one point my mom spent the night somewhere else, stating she was going to leave my dad. Somehow they worked things out and she came back but my sister and I were devastated by the whole thing. To this day my brother does not participate in any family functions. We have not seen him on Christmas day since he was probably 17-18 years old. Up until about 2 years ago my mom would buy him and his girlfriend presents and leave them under the tree, hoping and praying they would come only to give their gifts to me or my sister weeks later when they still hadn’t shown up.

So why tell the story of my brother? It’s not a happy story, there’s no happy ending. My brother sort of has a relationship with my dad and he comes to the farm to hunt and wander the woods. He did come to Easter dinner last year, probably because it was right after my mom’s cancer diagnosis, but he only made a brief (and odd) appearance this year. When he is at the farm and I’m there, we hardly talk. I talk more to his girlfriend, who is too nice to be with him, if you ask me. When there were difficulties with my grandfather my sister sent me my brother’s cell phone number and it was the first time I ever had his number. It’s sad. But, the point in this whole story is two-fold. One, it has been suggested by different people at different times over the past several months that I should reconsider moving forward with Primero because things were difficult. In all that my parents endured with my brother, never once did they say they wanted to give him up or give up on him. Never did they send him away because his behaviors were tearing the entire family apart. Never did they stop loving him while simultaneously hating his behaviors and poor choices. I committed to adopting Primero, he is my son. And, he hasn’t done nearly half the terrible things my brother has done. Why then should I entertain ideas of sending him away or giving up on him, when no one would have expected that of my parents when they were dealing with my unruly brother? Parenting isn’t easy. Life isn’t easy. Why should we give up just because we are in a season of struggle? The second point to telling this tale is more precautionary. I grew up in the same household as my brother – same parents, same home, same relatives, same treatment. We had a good childhood. In all honesty, it was probably the most ideal childhood you could imagine. My parents loved us and loved one another. We had a nice home and the entire farm to explore. We had loving and involved grandparents who would spend time with us, help transport different kids to different functions and spoil us just enough. My parents had rules and consequences for breaking the rules but they weren’t overly strict. We were encouraged to learn as we played and no topic was off limits during our family dinners. Yet, despite this ideal up-bringing my brother turned into an alien who now eschews any and all family functions. I know my parents prayed that with age my brother would gain wisdom and return like the prodigal son, but he’s 32 and that has not happened. As I watched my parents’ gargantuan struggle with my brother, I vowed I would never have a son like him. I realize now that there’s nothing a parent can do to prevent having a son like my brother. My parents gave him their best, offered him every opportunity possible and still he turned out to be a giant ass. Still, this is a fear I have for Primero or even Love Bug – something will invade their congenial personality and a hostile alien will take over. I need to fight to not make this a self-fulfilling prophesy, something my actions turn into reality. Yes, things are hard right now with Primero. But, the ongoing struggle between us is mirrored by my internal struggle as I battle my personal demons of loss and infertility. There are things I find incredibly painful in adopting an older child and I don’t expect those wounds will heal quickly or without proper attention. But, that doesn’t mean they won’t heal with time.

Recently I’ve struggled with how involved to get with bio families and Primero’s family specifically. I’ve struggled with coming to terms with always and forever being My Name and not Mom. I’ve struggled in dealing with Primero’s indecision about adoption and trying to be ok with PLC, if that was the choice he had made. I’ve struggled with the continual comparison Primero makes between his mom and me. I’ve struggled with confronting my own insecurities regarding motherhood and being the “other” mother. I’ve struggled with learning to let go of a teenager while simultaneously trying to forge a bond with him. I’ve struggled with how to help a teen failing in school. I’ve struggled with little to no sleep for nights on end due to a colicky baby. I’ve struggled with explosive temper tantrums from a child who feels lost and confused. But, I think my greatest struggle is my current situation with Primero and his teen mom girlfriend. I find layers upon layers of issues with the whole kit and caboodle and would very much like to just walk away from it all. This issue weaves my infertility insecurities into my moral expectations and plops it all on top of dealing with teenage rebellion and narcissism in a way that leaves me breathless and hopeless for most hours of the day. I can’t be ok with it, I can’t accept it, and I won’t like it. Until they break up (and I am still hoping and praying that comes sooner rather than later), I have to find a way to live with it. I feel so resentful towards the girlfriend for being selfish and not just letting Primero go to live his life without her complications. I dislike her rude mother very much and hope to not have much interaction with such a dour character. But, I’m a terrible actress. Anyone old enough to talk would see right through my façade if I tried to be all happy-go-lucky about the situation. At best, I think I could convincingly drum up basic tolerance, but even that might be a stretch in some instances. I want to just scoop us all up and transplant us in an entirely different environment far, far away from her. I do not see what is so special about her that Primero would wish to throw his life away just to be with her. I guess she’s nice enough but mostly I think she is incredibly dull. To be fair, I don’t really know her all that well. I remember her from last year when Primero attended the acting camp and she held Love Bug when he was teeny tiny. At the time I thought she was a nice girl, but my opinion of her has changed a lot since then. Now I wish he had never met her that she would just evaporate out of our lives altogether. I hate being in this situation, I hate that this is even a situation I find me and my little family involved in. It’s not by my choice. I hate it. Hate it. Hate. It. And I see no way out…..

I want to end this post on a positive note, so I will tell a little story. It’s a story that has played over numerous times in the last several months, but this is the one most fresh in my mind. Last night I attended a special training to learn how to take care of ethnic hair. It was very enlightening and I’m glad I attended. Love Bug and Chica Marie were being cared for by the volunteers who brought the children to us at the end of the night. A young woman was holding Love Bug and as soon as he saw me walk towards him he began kicking his feet and smiling. He has now started reaching for me whenever he wants me to hold him. The workshop ran late so we were rushing to get to Primero but Chica Marie had to go to the bathroom (what is it with 4 year olds and visiting every bathroom in a 20 mile radius?), so we went inside, which is unusual since we usually wait in the car for Primero to come out. Primero held Love Bug so I could take Chica Marie to the potty and when we came out Primero wasn’t holding Love Bug. A quick glance around the room and I didn’t see the baby, so I called to Primero, “Where is Love Bug?” As I did I noticed the program director walking out of his office with the baby in his arms, talking to him. They walked over to me and this time when Love Bug saw me he broke into the biggest most beautiful grin that just steals my heart every time I see it. He flung his arms out to me and nearly jumped into my arms. He does this thing where he lays his head on my shoulder and kicks his feet while patting my shoulder with his arm. When we were finally home and Primero was holding Love Bug so I could get Chica Marie to bed, Love Bug fussed until I could take him in my arms and soothe him to sleep. This baby knows me as his mommy through and through and it is so precious to see. He loves his sister and Primero as well, but when he’s cranky, when he doesn’t feel good, when he’s scared or sleepy only my arms will do. There is just something so pure and sweet about it, that sometimes it nearly brings me to tears.