Blake’s Sibling

To be the sibling of someone who struggles with addiction comes with unique challenges. I’d like to introduce you to Lucas. Blake was five years and two months old when Lucas came into this world on April 15, 1996. (An interesting side note that Blake brought to our attention: Blake shared the month and day of birth with Abraham Lincoln, while Lucas was born on the anniversary date of Lincoln’s passing.)

Blake was pretty excited to be a big brother, and we were excited that our family was complete. Lucas was a great baby. You could set your watch by what he was doing. For instance, when he would wake from his afternoon nap, he would sit up in his crib and quietly occupy himself until someone came to get him.

Blake’s pride in being Lucas’s big brother extended beyond sibling rivalry or any perceived unfairness in how the two of them were parented. The bottom line was that Blake would protect Lucas, taking a stand against any of his friends that would pick on his little brother – reserving that right only for himself.

Those early years seem so long ago now, but I remember camping trips, Disneyland, Tahoe, trips to the wine country, Marine World, birthdays, holidays, meal time, stories, and weekend morning cereal and cartoons. Life was pretty good. Blake had some struggles with school, but all in all, these were simple times.

Things began changing when Blake was thirteen and Lucas was eight, although Blake’s trouble in/with school had become near constant by this time. Alcohol and marijuana entered the scene sometime during Blake’s 8th grade year. It was at this time that he was also diagnosed with chronic severe depression. Shortly after his 14th birthday, we knew we were dealing with something bigger than teenage ‘rebellion’ or risk taking. Things escalated so quickly that I feared, for the first time, that we were going to lose him.

Lucas quietly witnessed the chaos. He wasn’t one to create a fuss. His only reaction was shutting down. One Friday before the end of the school day, with Lucas in tow, I quietly withdrew Blake from school, checked him out, and escorted him to our packed car, where I told him we were taking a road trip to his Grandpa’s house. While that was the plan, I left out the part about going from his Grandpa’s house to a wilderness therapy program, where he would stay for at least 30 days. When Monday morning rolled around, I told him about the plan. He eventually got in the car, but not before running into the Umpqua River, prompting me to call the police for assistance.

I tried to spend special time with Lucas. Every child needs and deserves special time with their parents. I knew though, that Lucas needed it more. So much attention, out of worry, fear, anger, and frustration, was being paid to Blake, that there was little time or energy left for Lucas. I imagine our home was not a place where Lucas felt safe or seen. I know this because I had the experience of being the sibling of an addicted younger brother, and I remember a constant fearing of and resentment toward him and my dad and step-mom. I was also the quiet one in my family, careful to not cause problems, but feeling unseen, unappreciated, and even unloved at the same time.

One of my favorite memories of time spent with Lucas while Blake was away at wilderness therapy is when I took Lucas to San Francisco, just him and me. We walked all over seeing the sights, visiting the zoo, eating yummy food, and on our way home we stopped for a tour of the Jelly Belly Factory.

When Blake was released, 60 days later, Thom, Lucas, and I all went to pick him up. At that time, we began looking into moving from Reno to Central Oregon. We were encouraged to move Blake away from the people and places he had become associated with, as a move would give him a better chance at continued recovery.

At the end of the summer of 2005, we packed up our lives and moved to our new home. The same people, with the same problems, perspectives, and histories arrived in their new beautiful surroundings. Everything was new: new jobs, new schools, new neighbors – but we were the same. It wasn’t long before the turmoil would return.

There were arguments, periods of family members ignoring each other, and disagreements over how to discipline Blake. At times, the tension was impenetrable. All the while, Lucas navigated silently.

Things weren’t all bad. Blake loved working, and before his 15th birthday, he got a job doing prep and even cooking at an Italian restaurant. Like most teens, he didn’t spend much time with his family, as work, friends, and school (not by his own choice) were his priorities.

During Blake’s senior year, he got a job at a bakery and moved in with a friend and his friend’s mom to be closer to his job. This had to be confusing for Lucas. Heck, it was confusing for me! There was no negotiating this or making a plan. It was just done without warning or time to prepare for transition.

The real troubles began in June 2011 with an arrest and then another one within months. Thom and I had to go remove everything from Blake’s apartment while he sat in jail. He didn’t move back into the house then, but I spent a considerable amount of time driving Blake to court dates and doctor appointments. In October 2012, Blake attempted suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning in our garage. The only person home was Lucas. He was sixteen. Thom and I had just finished shopping when we noticed that we had missed calls from Lucas. Before I could return his call, I got a call from Blake. He said, “I just tried to kill myself.” At the same time, Lucas had gotten through to Thom and he had left the house to go to a friend’s home. We got Blake to the hospital, where we witnessed Blake code on the table. He spent the night in the ICU before he was released to Sage View Psychiatric Hospital for four days and then to Best Care for inpatient treatment. After an afternoon visit home, where he found and drank alcohol that he had hidden, he was kicked out of treatment. Again, all of my energies were poured into finding a new treatment facility.

Sometime during this chaos, Lucas tried his version of helping his brother. He started spending more time with him, and unbeknownst to us, he was putting himself a t risk in his effort to help Blake. Somehow, he realized that his efforts were ineffective and were going to be detrimental to him.

The chaos continued for Blake, with periods of content and seeming happiness. I refer to these periods as ‘glimpses of Blake.’ With each chaotic event, there was always some kind of reaction or response within the family. Even after Blake’s move to Los Angeles for treatment in November of 2017, there were relapses and overdoses, each one progressively worse. And then he was gone. And we are still reacting and responding.

Lucas and I had a number of conversations, in the months before Blake’s final overdose, about the possibility that this disease could take his brother’s life. He was fully aware and told me he had been preparing himself. But then it happened, and I’ll never forget Lucas telling me on the phone, “He was my first best friend.”Through it all, Lucas loved his brother, and every time I spoke to Blake on the phone, he said, “Tell Lucas I love him.”

In life, as in death, we all have a different story about the same events. While Thom and I, as the parents of an addicted child, fought, in our own ways, and with each other, to save our child’s life, the sibling of that child, our younger son, looked on, likely with anger and resentment that so much attention was being focused on his brother, and he was paying the price. He and I have talked about this. He knows that I can at least empathize due to my own experience. I’m not sure if it makes it easier. I hope with everything I have that he doesn’t come to understand it through his own parenting experience.

Lucas is a master wood worker. For Blake’s ashes, he selflessly designed and crafted an exquisite heart walnut and hard rock maple box, complete with a picture frame on the front of the box to display Blake’s bright smile posing with his catch of the day. Lucas told me it was the hardest thing he’s ever made. I cannot even imagine. It’s surely not the way I would have written the story, but it’s a beautiful act of love for which I am grateful.

May we all continue to heal ourselves, each other, and those with whom we come in contact.