I had a brother and then I didn’t…

Yes, you read that right, I had a brother, and then I didn’t. He didn’t die. He didn’t cease to exist. He still exists. We still even talk to each other from time to time. We disagree on a lot, we are probably as far apart as two can get on ideas about politics and the economy.

But for a little while, about four decades ago now, I had a brother. I’m not sure exactly how long I had that brother. I’m not sure because I was about 4 years old at the time.

My brother, well he was, and I suppose always remains about 7 or 8 months older than me.

I have pretty sketchy memories of our times as brothers. Mostly those memories were of two little siblings getting up to mischief together. At the time, my parents, owned and ran this great big guest house in the Blue Mountains west Sydney, Australia. So there were lots of places we could get up to mischief. Lots of hiding places, lots of knocks and crannies to sit together and just be siblings.

I remember so clearly the day he went off to his first day of school. It felt like a ripping away of something. I just wanted to be with him, I wanted to continue our times of play and joy together. But it was as if they were being ripped away.

That’s almost my last memory of him as sibling. It’s a tough one, but not as tough as the very final ones I had. The final ones were devastating. So devastating, they resulted in me going so far into myself I have virtually no memories of life during that time.

I know, that as a five year old kid, I started having bad nightmares, I apparently began wetting the bed, which remained an issue for several years. I became convinced, apparently that I too would be sent away.

How I know this, is through a letter, my grandfather sent to my father shortly before he died. I was about 14 at the time, and that letter detailed some things, gave a little clarity to me about some of what happened and some of the stuff about how it was that I had a brother and then I didn’t.

My final memory of my brother as a brother, was standing at the doors of the Anglican Children Homes in Carlingford, Sydney. We had all, my parents, my older sister, me and my brother, gone for a drive, what seemed like a long drive. It was probably about a two hour drive.

We arrived at this childrens’ home, what was going on was very unclear, even now it’s fuzzy. I don’t have a recollection of the drive, I don’t have a recollection of the conversations that were had. Just one sentence.

One little snatch is the only enduring memory of that deeply traumatic moment. Your brother is going on a holiday. And from conversations had since then I know that was what my brother was told too.

standing in front of this big two story red brick building, at a white double doorway, my brother was bustled through and then, at that moment, he apparently ceased to be my brother.

Home we all travelled, told we were just four again and not five.

It transpired that on our return home my mother phoned her mother to explain the situation. My grandmother, was an amazing woman, who cared deeply for many children across her life, be they her own or others, was as you can imagine absolutely outraged.

My grandparents, that next day drove to the childrens home and collected my brother. They took him in, they loved him, cared for him, and eventually they adopted him.

My brother had become my uncle. And in a sense this was perhaps my salvation, my ability to go on in life, to negotiate my way through being a kid and living in the horrendous family I lived in.

I only discovered in the last decade or so, that in the aftermath of my parents dumping my brother, and my grandparents transforming him to become my uncle, my parents, for a period of a year refused to speak or have any contact with my grandparents.

There argument for this was apparently it would be too traumatic for me to deal with. I pretty much have no words about that reasoning except for What The Actual Fuck.

In the time line of my memory, which I no now, is actually really fragmented at that period. We drove from where we dropped my brother directly to my grandparents house. We all came in the door, the front door, which in itself was odd, because we never ever entered that way before or after.

I heard a familiar voice from the end of the long corridor near the kitchen, I saw a familiar face and there was my brother. Somehow this was for me a celebratory moment. I recall it being a moment of intense joy.

I’m not sure what I thought it meant at the time. I do know this though, my brother, the person who had been closest to me that had been ripped away to essentially not exist, did exist, was alive and standing right in front of me.

I suspect I thought this was the end of the so-called holiday and we would all go home together again. Of course, that was not the case at all, and again at the end of that day I would have to say good bye again to the person I had this intense and close and somehow unbreakable connection to.

I had a brother and then still I didn’t

But I had him, in a small way I had him. And in small ways I still do. We don’t talk much. As we’ve grown up, we have had periods of closeness. As teenagers we would talk on the phone quite regularly, we would go see movies together.

Throughout the years during school holidays I would be able to stay at my grandparents and we would get up to mischief together all over again. I recall as 13 years old we took ourselves off to the movies together to see Tom Cruise in Risky Business, and in that same period of Holidays Henry Winkler in Night Shift.

I’m sure you can imagine the unimpressed reaction we got from my grand mother when she discovered it.

This brother I had and then didn’t, well I think, at some primal level deep inside myself, I still see him as a brother. I am pretty sure he doesn’t see it in the same way, and yet still he, I believe, has a connection to me.

Growing up I would describe us as cousins, he would always say he was my uncle. It was just the way we did things. I think it was just him asserting his eldership, and, I think, in a way, seperatness from the disgusting horror that are my parents.

If you remember, early in this piece I spoke of how different we were politically and so on. When I began to transition, he was actually pretty rude. He referred to me as doing a “Bruce Jenner”. It hurt.

It hurt a lot, but I felt I had to block him on social media, which in a sense meant cutting him out of life. We live about 1000km away from each other these days so it’s rare we catch up face to face. It felt like cutting a thread of connection that was the strongest and longest. Perhaps the most dear of all threads of connection I ever had.

Time ensued, I began a new account, on social media and one day I received a friend request and a message asking to reconnect. I recieved an apology and a statement that he remained always interested in me and my life.

I was surprised and pleased. I think it spoke deeply to me, that even though he may not understand what it was for me to be me, he still had some faith left in the strand of connection that was forged and woven as we as little kids played together in that big old guest house. As we joined together in protecting each other as best as little kids could from the danger of my parents.

I suppose at the end of all this, is a sense, that, no matter how I have verbalised and articulated this relationship, over the last 40 odd years it has existed. Deep within me, has been the feeling, the belief and the desire, that he remained my brother.

One day I had a brother, and then one day I didn’t have a brother any longer. The tearing away of my brother deeply impacted and traumatised me. The tearing away of my brother has contributed strongly to a life characterised with mental health issues, lack of confidence, fear of so many things, especially of my father.

One day, on this day, in this moment, I realise, that I do still, at least from this side of the relationship, have a brother after all.

I miss him, we missed out on so much time together, we were robbed of so many sibling moments.

We have had our times, of arguments, fights, laughter, love and care for each other.

But somehow we remain connected.

One day I had a brother and then I didn’t, and now I do.