Peter was born in 1948 when I was 7 (and a bit) years old. He was the youngest of five children and we derided him for being 'Mommy's baby'. For most of my life, I had this attitude towards him and I suppose he was somewhat of a lonely child who was not welcome in our 'space'. I have come to deeply regret this very arrogant and cavalier attitude to "my boet".
However, when he was in his early 50s, I was somehow drawn by the grace of God or whatever prompts us to look inward, to look at this attitude that I carried about my brother. It must have been an experience of unconditional love which pushed me to think about how I felt about this human being, comparing my attitude to the Christ's dictum to love others as you love yourself. I reflected on this and made a commitment to at least try to listen to him. Almost imperceptibly our relationship changed. In retrospect it is quite apparent that he sensed a new attitude - my trying to understand - and in his most purely innocent psyche, he interpreted it as a caring kind of love. Our whole relationship changed dramatically over the next year.
It is for me a classic example of "giving is for the Giver far more rewarding than receiving"!
Peter was diagnosed at about age 40 as a late onset schizophrenic. He was boarded from his job and came to live (at the persuasion of my younger sister, Maureen) in Durban where we both resided. For more than ten years, I felt he was just a huge pain that I had to put up with. Oh, God, I thank you for your Mercy and Grace.
It was mostly very difficult to converse with him; he was also quite stubborn and one could only push him so far and no more. Nevertheless, I am so grateful I made an effort to change my attitude and LISTEN. It became easier and easier not to get uptight with him. He had always been on the fringe of My Life but now I began to be a part of his, more and more. He knew that he need only contact me no matter how small the favour. No, I was not suddenly the perfect older sister, but I CARED!
He still irritated me, his chain smoking, but he could carry on regardless as long as he did not smoke in my car or my home. He happily conceded this and our outings together would always be where he could smoke and I (and anyone else) would not be encroached upon. I came also to worry about his obsessions with his medication. He became more and more aggressive about doctors not knowing and not prescribing the right medication. I soon got on top of this by realising that he was not taking his medication on a regular basis. Without going into all the details, the place of residence was a Municipal home for men with 'disabilities' and the rules kept him from straying too far off track. I am grateful for this.
I do not want to go into his quite quick deterioration from being quite active, out and about, to bouts of needing to be hospitalized. Ultimately, my only regret is that he died alone in Addington Hospital on 4th May 2008. The death certificate reads from Natural Causes but the doctor who signed the death certificate said that he had cancer. My response to her was – in all this time of his illness that is the first time anyone has said 'cancer'. But one is so distraught at such a time that one cannot really bring any rational questions to mind!
All I know is that I would never have gone away for the weekend if I had known. My only comfort is the new relationship we had. He "knew" that I loved him and cared. I still care and that is why I have spent hours reading all his little 'dairies' and finding a 'boet' that I understood so little but know now, at the core of my being, that he was somehow untainted, unobtrusively generous, kind, forgiving. He held no grudges. More than that he gave to all who asked and then some but especially if they were at the bottom of the pile!
I will be proud for him to meet me, and welcome me, when I pass from this life to the next.
The following are excerpts of quotes and poetry that caught his heart. They were all written in little pint sized notebooks and it has been such an eye opener to the questing soul of my brother, Peter. I have tried to make sense of them by finding the source and, where necessary, copied the whole poem or quote. The colour purple is what I chose to mark the words that he actual painstaking wrote down in his 'dairies'. Truly it makes my heart so proud to have known him – although I knew so little!
{The only way to upload my pdf. file with the quotes it via the link: http://www.scribd.com/rgravenor. At the bottom of the page is a zoom facility. The document is not perfect and I will practice getting it into shape}
No comments:
Post a Comment