When Will It Be Morning?

Not sure how this will work. I feel like I’m totally consumed with the difficult and numbing process of grieving, and yet I know if I wait until it all makes sense, I may never write again. Here is my attempt to put some words to the horror of my life.

I am the youngest of six children. I grew up in a highly dysfunctional family. Both of my parents were alcoholics. My mom and dad divorced when I was seven. As I grew up, I saw my dad for a few weeks out of the summer. By all accounts though, the relationship between us has always been skewed at best. My earliest memories consist of my dad cussing at me while telling me how worthless, incompetent, flawed and pathetic I was. I have few positive memories as they relate to my younger years with my father. As much as it pains me to write those words, they are true.

My five older siblings and I all grew up with our own twisted self image and deteriorated sense of value. From our earliest days, we each had a common heart condition – it was that we believed that we somehow did not belong, were completely inept and therefore were not worthy to exist. An accurate assessment would be that we each found different ways to attempt to anesthetize this enormous pain and heartache that we lived with each day of our lives.

As I mentioned, I am the youngest of six kids. I am forty and my oldest brother is fifty three. Each of us were affected by our home life differently and we’ve each responded to it and compensated for it in different ways. But, if you spend any significant amount of time with my family you’d quickly see where the fractures are and the affects of growing up in this kind of destructive environment.

Unfortunately though, the affects were more obvious and more devastating for two of my brothers. For one of my brothers, Dwight, I cannot count on one hand how many times I remember seeing him sober. He was by all accounts a functioning alcoholic. His life was ruled by his desire and consumption of alcohol. Our family gatherings were all greatly affected by his presence because he was always acting under the influence of whatever liquor he had consumed that day. It was heartbreaking to watch him waste so much of his life trying to drink away his pain.

Darin was the brother I was closest to and is five years my senior. I’ve spent more time with him than probably all of my other siblings combined. Because we were closer in age, our lives intersected more as we were growing up and thankfully our bond continued through adulthood. When my parents divorced, my mom moved away with me, Darin, and my only sister Denise.

From the time I was about 8 or 9, I remember Darin going out and coming home smelling funny. I didn’t know what pot smelled like back then. His recreational pot use later turned into a recreational use of alcohol and cocaine. Into his adult life, his frequent use of drugs and alcohol seemed to invade and disable his desire to live a normal, healthy, functional life. Darin would have days, weeks, sometimes even months where he would live without the influence of drugs. But, early on a pattern developed. He seemed to be caught in a vicious cycle somewhere between (clean and functioning) and (abusing and emotionally/physically MIA). This too was incredibly painful to watch. Countless efforts to help and intervene by many of those involved in Darin’s life would bear only temporal results. It wouldn’t be long before the destructive and devastating cycle of abuse would repeat itself, each time yielding greater consequences and deeper pain and turmoil to Darin and those closest to him.

Five years ago my brother Dwight killed himself by an overconsumption of drinking liquor. For several years the doctors told him that if he didn’t stop drinking it would end his life. One year before his death, his doctor reiterated this critical warning and told Dwight that if he didn’t stop drinking he would be dead within a year.

I’ll never forget the phone call. I was working outside in the yard with some college students. My brother Darin called and told me that Dwight was bleeding internally and that he was being rushed by ambulance to the hospital. I ran to the airport and hopped on the next flight to Ohio. I arrived that evening only to find that my brother was already on life support.

For two long weeks we watched as the machines did for him what his body was unable to do for itself. From time to time, he would respond to verbal commands to squeeze our hands. Throughout the two week 24/7 vigil we kept in Dwight’s ICU room, there were several times that the doctors told us that his internal bleeding had started again and they would need to perform surgery to tie off the bleeding. This happened three or four times during the two weeks Dwight spent on life support.

One evening we left for dinner, which was a rarity because we really never left his room. This evening, we left to head home to clean up and grab dinner. Our plans were quickly altered by a phone call from the hospital telling us that we needed to make our way back immediately. We all had a sense of what was happening.

When we arrived, the doctors told us that Dwight had more internal bleeding and that they would not be able to do anything to stop it. We were left with two choices - we could let him bleed to death which the doctors told us would probably take about 24 hours. Or we could turn off his life support machines and end his life immediately.

After a short, emotionally charged family conference, we decided to turn off the machines that were keeping my brother alive. We did our best to process the events that were unfolding around us, said our good-bye’s and stood by his bed and held his hands as the machines were turned off and his body stopped breathing. Four days later I performed Dwight’s funeral and later that day we buried his body.

Those were three of the most difficult weeks I’ve ever lived through. I cannot even begin to tell you what it was like. If you’ve lived through something similar, you understand. If you haven’t, then you probably don’t and perhaps can’t understand. I remember coming back to my home in North Carolina and having what amounted to a physical, emotional and spiritual meltdown. I just found the pain and sadness consumed the entirety of my life. That lasted for several months before God eventually lifted the consuming darkness that had enveloped me.

Three months ago I got a phone call that my brother Darin was missing. He had gotten his hands on several thousand dollars. So, after twenty four hours and lots of detective work it was discovered that my brother had had contact with a local drug dealer and was more than likely alive, but had consumed an incredibly large amount of crack cocaine.

As I was making my flight preparations to get to Ohio, I got the call that Darin had been found. He somehow ended up at a local hospital and they were currently holding him in the emergency mental health wing for assessment. The story of what unfolded during the following week is long, convoluted and incredibly painful. One I plan on sharing someday, but not now.

For now, you should know that after many years of watching my brother weave his way through the destructive cycle of his addictions and mental illness, most of my family agreed that the only thing we could do for my brother to help him was to encourage him and help him get in-patient and long term therapy in some kind of treatment facility.

The short version of the story is, our efforts failed. My brother decided that he didn’t need the treatment and was going to make another attempt at getting his life together, making better decisions, keeping his medications regulated, attending AA meetings, etc , etc, all without the help of any outside agency or medical supervisor. He was in essence going to make this work on his own, a futile effort he had made countless times in years past.

On Tuesday January 25th at 11.30 a.m. I received a call that will be etched into my memory for the rest of my life. My oldest brother’s wife was calling from my mom’s phone. When I answered it, I was expecting to hear my mom’s voice. Instead, my sister-in-law said “Dirky, it’s Sue. Darin hung himself.”

I cannot even begin to tell you how instantaneously dark things got. I fell to the floor and wept for what seemed like an eternity. I could not escape the haunting images in my mind of my brother hanging himself and I was unable to process the incredible depth of sadness that my heart was feeling. All I could do was weep and wail.

It hasn’t even been three weeks yet. Some days I feel like it happened yesterday, other days I feel like I’ve been walking through this hellish pain for years. And perhaps in some ways I have. I don’t know.

What I do know is this – God has been preparing me for this season of pain, sadness and suffering. I don’t feel ready for it, but I’m confident that God has been working on my heart to equip me to process it and respond to it in ways that will ultimately make much of His sufficiency and greatness.

I must say, I love my family deeply. Each of my brothers and my sister are incredible people. Dwight and Darin were two extraordinary human beings. Of course, like all of us, they each had their own junk to manage and navigate through. But, aside from all of that, they were amazing people. Huge hearts, creative, talented, generous, gregarious, great golfers, one was an introvert while the other was an extrovert, but both were the life of the party. If you walked into a room, you’d just need to listen for the most noise. Wherever the most noise was, there you would find both of my brothers. People around them were laughing and enjoying a moment that would no doubt be etched into their minds for years to come. That’s just the type of people my brothers were.

But, they’re gone now. There are no more parties. There is no more laughter. The noise has all been eclipsed by the deafening sounds of sadness and grief. This road marked with suffering is indeed a painful one, but one I know must be walked in order for there to be a triumphant display of the magnitude of the grace and glory of God.

For months now, I’ve been praying that God would allow me to experience a degree of suffering that would deepen my understanding of His sovereignty and also better equip me for the ministry He has called me to. And here I am.

Some days I can’t quite figure out how to get my clothes on the right way. Other days I don’t even have the desire to breath. My heart aches. It hurts. Not just emotionally but it actually hurts physically. I’ve cried more than I thought was possible. I fall asleep thinking about my brothers and wake up thinking about them. Most of my days are consumed with thoughts of the final hours of Darin’s life. It’s hard to escape those haunting images as I learn to process this grief and sadness.

I have great friends who I know are praying for me. They’ve delivered food, sent cards, emails, texts, left messages, visited, etc. I also have an amazing wife and seven really sweet children who are also very sad. In their own ways of course. It seems it’s been significantly less debilitating and easier for them to “move on” than it is for me. I don’t know exactly what “moving on” looks like, but it doesn’t feel as if it’s on the immediate horizon for me.

So, why am I blogging about this? Truthfully, I’m not sure. Most days I feel like I don’t have anything of value to share with anyone. My heart seems awfully achy and incapable of doing much for others at the moment. Some day, I believe this story will be told and it will be clear. And I believe that God will use it to minister to others, either those walking through their own misery or those living with the aftermath of the tragedy of suicide and loss.

But, today is today. I honestly don’t really feel like I have much to offer. What I’m writing I hope will prove to be therapeutic for me. I also hope the pain and chaos of my life can somehow help you find hope and healing with what you might be walking through yourself.

From the first moments that I could put words to my pain, I was saying…’God, I am very weak. But You are strong and Your power is made perfect in weakness. Your grace is sufficient for today and Your mercies are new every morning.’ That really is about the extent of what I could muster up on most days.

I have few answers, but the Scriptures that God has been leading me to are:
Psalm 119.27 ‘My soul melts away for sorrow; strengthen me according to Your Word.’
Psalm 119.50 ‘This is my comfort in my affliction, that Your promise gives me life.’
Psalm 119.68 ‘You are good and what You do is good.’
Psalm 56.3 ‘When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You.’
Psalm 56.8 ‘You have kept count of my tossing’s, put my tears in Your bottle.’
Psalm 56.12-13 ‘I must perform my vows to You, O God; I will render thank offerings to You. For You have delivered my soul from death, yes my feet from falling, that I may walk before God in the light of life.’
Psalm 91.15 ‘When he calls to Me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will rescue him and honor him.’

I usually fall asleep listening to Steven Curtis Chapman’s CD Beauty Will Rise. I resonate with Steven’s heart when he sings:

“I don’t even want to breathe right now, all I wanna do is close my eyes, but I don’t wanna open them again, until I’m standing on the other side. I don’t even wanna be right now, I don’t wanna think another thought, and I don’t wanna feel this pain I feel, but right now pain is all I’ve got. It feels like it’s all I’ve got, but I know it’s not, and I know You’re all I’ve got…and I will trust You, I’ll trust You, trust You God I will, even when I don’t understand, even then I will say again, You are my God and I will trust You.’