Sibling relationships are strong. They can be tested by family dynamics and by societal forces. Sometimes they survive the stresses and sometimes they succumb. Sometimes the recovery teaches the importance of the underlying love and its expression. Brian was my son/brother. He was my son when we had no mother, and he was my brother on the rare occasions there was a mother. This story begins with Brian’s birth. It explores the forces that acted on our relationship. It ends with his death.
Brian was born September 30, 1945, in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was almost four when he was born. I remember putting my hand on my mother’s stomach and feeling him kick. Then I went to the orphanage and she went to the hospital. It was World War II, and families were scattered. My grandparents were in Nebraska. I am not sure where Mom’s mother was. When Mom went to the hospital, the normal stay was two weeks. Pop had to work and needed childcare, but none was available. It was accepted that I would be placed in an orphanage for the short term. The orphanage stay was even shorter than expected because I was found playing with matches and transferred somewhere else. Mom and I got home around the same time, and I now had a baby brother. He was so little, just lying on the couch. Mom let me give him his bottle. I thought he was really sweet.
By the time Brian was two, Mom was a serious alcoholic. I stayed home from school to keep an eye on Brian. I had one notable failure. Brian wandered off and I couldn’t find him. When Pop came home, I told him that Brian was lost. Pop asked me if I had called the police. I told him that I doubted they would pay attention to a six-year-old. He called the police and then asked me if we should tell my mother. I said “No, she couldn’t cope.”
Brian had wandered through the canyons of San Diego and was found about two miles from home. He was unharmed. There were no further incidents after that. I think Brian learned it was safer to stay close to home.
Several years later, Mom joined AA and attempted to act more like a mother. That continued until I was thirteen. At that point, we found out she had cancer and was dying. I took over as “mother” again. I went to parent- teacher meetings, bought Brian’s clothes, cooked and did the housekeeping. The assumption of these responsibilities was treated matter-of-factly. I was fiercely protective of Brian and incredibly responsible. Three times a week we drove to San Bernardino to visit Mom in the convalescent home. I don’t think we ever told Brian what was happening, but I think he knew. Mom died in June 1956. I continued in the role of mother until my father married Lorraine.
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