There was a book that I read once, long after I saw the movie, called Hotel New Hampshire. It’s by John Irving, who is by and far one of my favorite authors. He tells a story in a slow way that lets you believe the characters are real people whose life he is recording, rather than fictional characters who romp around in his head. In the novel, there is a dog, named Sorrow. He’s a black lab, who’s very old, and has a severe case of flatulence. Sorrow was a beloved family pet, and he had to be put down. But because one of the younger kids couldn’t let go, Sorrow was then stuffed. Sorrow then fell out of a closet, I think, and killed grandpa. When the plane carrying 1/2 the family across the ocean crashed, sorrow’s stuffed corpse was a bit of the wreckage survived, when none of the passengers did. It became a bit of a theme with the book. And the line after the plane crash was Sorrow floats. Though most of the book escapes my memory most of the time, every so often that quote, sorrow floats, comes back to me. Today was just such a day.
My brother is not sorrow. He is a person that is virtually indescribable. He is something different to every person he knows and he knows so many people. I think that if you spoke to enough of the people that he knows, you would easily find the few common threads. I think most would consider him funny. He’s likeable. He’s adventurous. He thinks outside the box, the triangle and any shape having fewer than 12 sides. He has a good sense of humor, likes a joke, and doesn’t care to play a joke on someone, or be the butt of one. He is artistic. He is smart. It’s a paltry list, really, because when I try to describe him, I don’t have adequate words, except for one: worry.
My brother is the baby of the family. But I’m not sure if he’s the baby of the family in the way that it is stereotypically depicted. I don’t know that he was spoiled, that he got more than the rest of us. My sister might disagree. And there were times in my life that I am sure that I would have disagreed. Sometimes I think that he might have gotten the short end of the stick in a lot of ways. My sister and I were well behaved and good students in a small town school. He probably had to suffer a bit with those expectations. He dealt with them by totally ignoring them. Maybe he was ignored as we all focused on our own teen age or middle age angst. But if that was the case, he definitely took advantage of it and had far more freedom than I needed, or wanted, or that my sister had.
But what Jason had more of than my sister and I, was the ever present worry and concern of my parents. And as I got older, of my sister and I as well. My parents worried about him through high school. Would he graduate, would he get someone pregnant, would he die in a car crash, what was he going to do with his life, where was he, who was he with, was he safe. When he got out of high school, he joined the army. It seemed an odd choice to me, but it seemed to fit better than college. And not long after that, Operation Desert Storm began. And then we had to worry that he was in Iraq. That we didn’t know where he was. Was he safe. Was he near the fighting, was he protected, was he o.k., did he need anything. Please let him be safe. It was the first time I saw my mother burst into tears at the national anthem.
He returned from the army, decided to be a barber, got married, got divorced, and started cutting hair and doing drugs. He decided on a whim to put his stuff in the car, and leave town, driving across country to parts unknown. Where was he, what was he doing, did he have enough to eat, was he o.k., who is he with, is he safe. Sometimes tempered with, the creditors are calling, the car is being repossessed, who will find him, will have have to go to jail, what will happen to him, what is he thinking, what is he doing, and still always, is he safe.
This whole phase could be a rinse, repeat, rinse repeat sort of thing. But then he started to work in Dallas. He was making money, he’s got his feet on the ground. He wants to move back to Cadiz, open his own shop. Where will he get the money, thank god he’s safe, he’s making plans for the future, we are so proud of him, that’s really something. And he comes back, opens his shop, is making money, but then it’s disappearing. And my brother is addicted to oxycontin, spending 500 a day. Borrowing money on the bank to work on the shop but blowing the money on pills. What is he doing. Is he sober, is he high, what is he thinking, what do we do, please don’t let him over dose, how do i talk to him, how do i make him listen, does he understand what he will lose, why is he doing this, doesn’t he understand how it scares us all. And there was rehab, and we all held our breath. Maybe this time it will work. Maybe this time it will be better. Maybe this time he’ll be fine.
And there was the army again, during the war in Iraq. And he wants to be a combat medic. And he’s sent over seas. where is he going, what will happen to him, is he going to be o.k. is he going to be in a car, what will he have to do, will he keep in touch, what is he thinking, please be safe, please be safe. And it was the first time that I began to cry at the national anthem, and the pledge, and the army march. And he made it home, and he seemed normal. Will he be o.k. will he mess up his finances again, will he balance his check book, will he be o.k. will he be happy, will he find a girlfriend, a wife, a family of his own. Will he reenlist, will he leave the army. He seemed to fit into his own skin. He seemed relaxed, not seeking a thrill and rush. He wasn’t always running off to see and do, but staying and being. And today, I found out that he’s going back to Afghanistan on Thursday. And it all floods right back. Where is he going. will he be safe, what will he be doing, why is he going early, are they going to take care of him, are there rebels there, who will be with him, will he be careful, will he not volunteer to do stupid dangerous stuff, is there stupid dangerous stuff that requires volunteers, will he be able to keep in touch, will he find something good where he is, will he meet someone new, will he be safe, please let him be safe. He is not yet the person we have all waited for him to be, but getting closer all the time. i don’t want him to go. Does he know how much we love him, does he know how much we worry.
