(Right now, I’m focusing on my memoirist work that I’ll
call, simply, “Pictures of Tommy” -- all about my psychotic brother and his
legacy. If so inclined, please share, and tell me what you think. . . )
COMMISERANTS/COMMISERATI - part 1
I’m heartened by hearing from others who have mentally ill
brothers. I just met author
Mary-Ann Tirone Smith, whose memoir, Girls
of Tender Age, was partly about her deceased, autistic brother, Tyler. Referred to as “Rain Man” in the book
by some people in a hospital that cared for him, this guy had a very limited
life, socially. Back then, in the
fifties (Tyler was a good 10-15 years older than my brother, Tom), if you were
that strange, you were considered “retarded” -- strange because autistic Tyler
Tirone was an idiot savant and could read big books about WWII at the age of 8.
. .
He was kept out of school, stayed at home, slept all day,
and had a lot of quirks, among them the inability to stand noises like dogs
barking or people crying. In so
many ways, he was a lot worse off than my brother, Tom. Of course, they had entirely different
issues/devils. . . and medications too, of course.
Reading M-A Tirone Smith’s book made me relieved that our
family’s problems with Tom arose in the late nineteen sixties; at least it
didn’t seem like such a benighted time.
Sure, there was still stigma aplenty and my parents suffered a lot
because they couldn’t tell others about their wacko son (it just wasn’t
done). Still. It could have been worse, all right.
Fifteen years or so ago, I was visiting my West Coast Aunt
and Uncle (mom’s brother, Jim, and his wife, Kathy). They lived in Bellevue, Washington -- a suburb for the
Boeing families who moved there in the early ‘60’s, like them. We were sitting up late, in the kitchen,
after a nice gathering of the cousins and a sing-along with guitars in the
living room. We’ve always been a
musical family. In fact, one of
the Vonderlinns sang with the Trapp Family Singers. . .
Aunt Kathy said how sad it was that my mom couldn’t tell
her family about the hard times with Tommy. She’s a proud woman. . . how could she admit failure?
I remember reading something in mom’s room one time, a
letter from a doctor saying something about a “seductive mother” that I didn’t
understand. Her bedroom was a
total mess, a jumble of clutter & papers all over the place, not at all a
restful place. . . but how my eyes lit on that paper, I’ll never know. It just chilled me to the bone to read
it. Poor mom, what a double
burden, being blamed for her behavior AND for her son’s chemical imbalance. . .
poor mom.
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