I have deleted the first paragraph in this blog because my sister believes I should and she is probably right. It brings up some personal things that happened with my brother the other night that he probably would not like to have out there for the public to read and, if I were him, I probably wouldn't either. So, to be respectful rather than the storyteller, giving all of the facts, I have deleted what happened the other night after he left the hospital. So use your imagination.
It has always been amazing to me how a family can have three children, none of them looking much like the other. One has dark curly hair, the other has dark wavy hair, and another has straight light brown hair (naturally, that is). Two have brown eyes, the parents have brown eyes and one has green eyes. One of the girls is 5'9" tall, with a 34" inseam and can't find pants long enough to save her life; the other girl is 5'1" tall, with well, I don't know, my sister will have to tell you what her inseam is but she's short, and she can't find pants short enough to save her life. She has little legs, but they're very flattering. In fact, they are one of her most flattering physical features. The boy is 5'11" tall and I don't know his inseam either but he's a guy and probably can find all kinds of pants to fit him. And as for hair, my wavy dark hair is ever changing. My sister's hair has begun to be ever changing as well. My brother has lost a good deal of his hair and is very gray.
What is even more amazing to me is how these three children grew up in the same house, in an affluent neighborhood, with a swimming pool in the backyard, family vacations and a good upbringing. These children were taught morals, ethics, right and wrong. We were taught not to swear, smoke or use drugs. We were taught to respect our elders and be kind to everyone.
And so, here's where we hit the wall and, again, genetics - a fascinating thing.
One, the eldest (me), grows up to love poetry, romance, Wuthering Heights (which I read every couple of years, sometimes in English, sometimes in French), gardening, dancing, yoga and God. She is mischievous, but in a good way. She is always, and I mean, always happy, at least to those around her, even when she feels like she is dying inside because she grew up grateful and joyful and tries not to waste her energy on sadness. She likes spur of the moment decisions on occasion - like driving to Niagara Falls late at night on an anniversary, jumping out of the car, running to see the falls lit up in the dark of night, sharing a romantic kiss, and jumping back into the car for the long drive home, stopping for coffee at an all night diner on the way, and then laying awake in bed, talking and laughing until dawn.
The other sister (middle child), grew up more of an observer, a thinker, the math/science person, who does things slowly, methodically. She likes adventure in more of a daredevil sense. She likes to rock climb, investigate caves, even when she has to wriggle through some tight fitting spaces. She likes martial arts and technology. Her idea of fun is walking her dog in the dark through the woods - alone (which would scare the bejeepers out of the other sister even if she had a snarling Doberman as her protector). She also emits a great deal of positive energy and never lets things get her down - ever. She is a single mother of four who tends to date men her sister tries to find enchanting, but, for the life of her, can never figure out what her sister sees in these overly serious, intellectual, occasionally long-haired men. I suppose I should be quiet. My husband is a University Professor in Genetics and tends to be a nerd, but he has a good sense of humor and has great hair. OK. Let's move on.
And finally, there is the brother (the youngest), a sometimes overly sensitive man, who was always into pushing the limits, bending the rules as far as he could and, if he couldn't get what he wanted with simply bending, he broke the rules. He has a passion for animals, motorcycles, living dangerously, driving too fast and taking as many chances as possible, never thinking ahead about the consequences. He has a strange penchant for domineering women, but not simply domineering - more of the nitpicking, in-your-face, making him want to lock himself in the bathroom for the rest of his life or making him want to join the FBI's new identity program kind of women who don't let up. He uses foul language, has anger issues, and dares the law to catch him.
My great-grandfather suffered from severe depression/bipolarism. His daughter, my grandmother, did as well. My uncle, her son (and my mother's brother) suffered not only from bipolar disorder but, quite honestly, I believe he may have been somewhat schizophrenic. My mother suffered from depression. My brother caught that particular gene from mom, and my daughter caught it, apparently, from me (who acted as a carrier). What a bloodline. And a gene I hope that my grandchild, Liam, doesn't inherit. I frequently pray that the poison of this gene isn't lying dormant within me, waiting for just the right time to rear it's horrific head and bring me down with it as well. I have too many people to keep corralled, reined in, and harnessed, to join them.
And the story of my brother, for now, ends up OK. I will say that he hasn't been the same since my mother passed but I also know that when people suffer as do so many people with depression, it can become debilitating, consuming and lifechanging.
So, no humor this post, just gratitude.
Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma
