1999 december 3
silence.
silence. seven letters of dread that choke its way throughout the house and invade my mind. seven letters i have come to destest. that ground me to reality, that inform me my parents aren't speaking to one another again. seven letters that are result of one unescapable whirlwind. my brother, jeremy.
the silence prevails whenever we hear from him. the all too familiar at&t operator and the usual "dad i need help, dad i need money". we have become the tree whose money grows on branches, except now we've aged from spring to winter. the branches no longer laden with funds, family vacations or shopping sprees. picked bare by a long forgotten son now known as "the addict".
and my parents? torn between helping him or letting him suffer the consequences, often suffering themselves. my mother decided her heart was aged enough. enough to open her eyes and realize his soul was sold. enough to fight the quaver in her voice when time arrived to say NO. my father, the father of a son who needs "just one more chance", the unspeakable hero, my superman.
superman has aged though and it's more apparent than the wrinkles in his forehead and the graying of his hair. he often speaks about jeremy with pain in his voice. never shedding a tear, he's a man, and his eyes reflecting the sadness of one who faces the devil. but this time the devil is an innocent boy, his son.
son. the word rolls off his tongue like glass piercing those who hear it. isn't it time to give up? isn't it time to stop? don't you realize how much grief you're casuing your family? those words never spoken though, because he cannot bear to. perhaps it is the fear of knowing he cannot help him anymore, or the fear of letting go. letting go of what used to be his ray of sunshine, a mop headed boy with a lopsided grin and energy. now just another nameless face that overflows clinics. those faces are bonded together by one thing. their addiction.
the death of jeremy began early, as the rebirth of a monster unfolded. a son whose ulterior motives only involved himself and not others. he was only 16 when he started smoking pot. a game of peer pressure and that's all it took. the concept of integrity and education never reaching him because he reached out elsewhere. he reached out like a child in a candy store, fascinated and mesmerized. not knowing exactly what he wanted, he reached for his destiny, fate, and plucked the wrong branch.
now a young man and not a child he grasped hold of the only thing he knew. drugs. this only worsened and furthered his journey toward self-destruction. spiraling out of control his "problem" grew worse. it became more than pot, more than drinking, and partying with friends. it became a habit that was so high-priced he resorted to theft or "borrowing" from mom or dad. the addiction grew and so did the intensity of the drugs. marijuana was long forgotten. unleashed were the big boys. psychedelic shrooms and acid, and the blissful nirvana created by heroin.
heroin. what ultimately destroyed him. a sensation so incredible he thrived only to get one more fix. it was what he sold his soul for. gave away his chance at life to become the addict i call my brother. the only glimpses of what was left hid beneath the skin and bones, beneath the scabs on his arm, result of shooting up so many times he bled.
sometimes you can catch the old jeremy. in his voice when he reminisces about good ole times with dad, or when he remembers what truly gives him passion. often times though, it is an unbearable silence that quenches the air. the very same silence that forwarns me. the silence, what he possesses and inflicts on us. the silence, a result of the prace we pay for continuous love. but how i wish it would disappear.
silence. seven letters of dread that choke its way throughout the house and invade my mind. seven letters i have come to destest. that ground me to reality, that inform me my parents aren't speaking to one another again. seven letters that are result of one unescapable whirlwind. my brother, jeremy.
the silence prevails whenever we hear from him. the all too familiar at&t operator and the usual "dad i need help, dad i need money". we have become the tree whose money grows on branches, except now we've aged from spring to winter. the branches no longer laden with funds, family vacations or shopping sprees. picked bare by a long forgotten son now known as "the addict".
and my parents? torn between helping him or letting him suffer the consequences, often suffering themselves. my mother decided her heart was aged enough. enough to open her eyes and realize his soul was sold. enough to fight the quaver in her voice when time arrived to say NO. my father, the father of a son who needs "just one more chance", the unspeakable hero, my superman.
superman has aged though and it's more apparent than the wrinkles in his forehead and the graying of his hair. he often speaks about jeremy with pain in his voice. never shedding a tear, he's a man, and his eyes reflecting the sadness of one who faces the devil. but this time the devil is an innocent boy, his son.
son. the word rolls off his tongue like glass piercing those who hear it. isn't it time to give up? isn't it time to stop? don't you realize how much grief you're casuing your family? those words never spoken though, because he cannot bear to. perhaps it is the fear of knowing he cannot help him anymore, or the fear of letting go. letting go of what used to be his ray of sunshine, a mop headed boy with a lopsided grin and energy. now just another nameless face that overflows clinics. those faces are bonded together by one thing. their addiction.
the death of jeremy began early, as the rebirth of a monster unfolded. a son whose ulterior motives only involved himself and not others. he was only 16 when he started smoking pot. a game of peer pressure and that's all it took. the concept of integrity and education never reaching him because he reached out elsewhere. he reached out like a child in a candy store, fascinated and mesmerized. not knowing exactly what he wanted, he reached for his destiny, fate, and plucked the wrong branch.
now a young man and not a child he grasped hold of the only thing he knew. drugs. this only worsened and furthered his journey toward self-destruction. spiraling out of control his "problem" grew worse. it became more than pot, more than drinking, and partying with friends. it became a habit that was so high-priced he resorted to theft or "borrowing" from mom or dad. the addiction grew and so did the intensity of the drugs. marijuana was long forgotten. unleashed were the big boys. psychedelic shrooms and acid, and the blissful nirvana created by heroin.
heroin. what ultimately destroyed him. a sensation so incredible he thrived only to get one more fix. it was what he sold his soul for. gave away his chance at life to become the addict i call my brother. the only glimpses of what was left hid beneath the skin and bones, beneath the scabs on his arm, result of shooting up so many times he bled.
sometimes you can catch the old jeremy. in his voice when he reminisces about good ole times with dad, or when he remembers what truly gives him passion. often times though, it is an unbearable silence that quenches the air. the very same silence that forwarns me. the silence, what he possesses and inflicts on us. the silence, a result of the prace we pay for continuous love. but how i wish it would disappear.