The Big White Elephant

Markus was a artist as well and a Muay Thai boxer. He went to art college and when he applied his portfolio was in the top 5 out of 5,000 submissions. I also do art but I have nothing in talent compared to his. I have recently started doing art again. Before I had my children I did plan on being a hobo to travel and draw. I wanted to see beauty in any form and I was not born a trust fund kid so I was okay with the idea of living out of a back pack and traveling. I was going to draw and send my sketch books home through the mail. Instead I had my first son. I was 20.

In our family I was the one who people would have assumed would have the drug problem. I was impulsive and rarely accepted my consequences. I did hitch hike and suffered from some serious depression for a great amount of time. Markus was my big brother who would talk to me about my behavior. My parents were frustrated with me and pretty much gave up on discipline by the time I was 16. I was the typical teen girl running wild with a little more guts (or stupidity) I guess. That all came to a stop when I had my first son Jacob. It was new and strange to be a Mom and not to act on all my impulses. It really made me sit and think to put value on my life and I threw myself at being a good parent.

It was about that time that I really noticed Markus downward spiral. He took in my travels and did it himself. He went to Woodstock 99 were he lost his ID and wallet and lived in New York for 8 months doing odd and end jobs and finally got his ID and enough money to come home. We are Canadian so he wasn't able to cross the border until that was in place. He told me about being robbed. He told me about cleaning up the gigantic mess after Woodstock. He built bird cages for Gypsies and never got paid for it. He also saw Willy Nelson from front row. (We were never Willie Nelson fans but he really is a legend and something to be in awe of to see in person)He had so much fun. When he came home he hitch hiked another time and decided to live in Vancouver. September 11 happened and the only person I called that day as I stared and cried while watching tv was Markus. We talked for a few hours and watched in horror of what we were seeing. Markus was just there a year before. All this time he was falling deeper into addiction. At first it was so silent I didn't know how bad it was. Part of the traveling I know personally is about finding your identity. Allowing the good and the bad to form you into a person. Part of it is also escaping a part of you you don't like. Trying to reshape it into a person you will be proud of.

I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was 13. My Mom would not hear of it as there was so much bad press about the over diagnosis and over medication on the news. I was diagnosed 2 more times and still nothing became of it. Two weeks before Markus died I finally went as a adult to get the diagnosis again and get medication. I knew people didn't think how I thought and even though I accept we are all individuals with different personalities some of the effects of this disorder was impeding on my life. When the medication kicked in I was finally level enough to start to get my own life organized. The impulsiveness was leveling out to a reasonable stage and I cleaned my home. In 3 days I had organized every drawer, corner and room in my home. I took out 9 bags or trash. My Mom came to babysit my children and saw my home. She joked that she thought she walked into the wrong home and had to go back outside and check the house number again. She then told me Markus was back on drugs. That they had kicked him out of there home as he was stealing and that my Dad and Markus got into a scuffle. When she got home that night the police were at her house. She thought maybe Markus came back and my Dad and him got into another fight. Instead she found out Markus was in ICU and had overdosed. I got home after work at 11pm and she called. She didn't want to call me at work.

Markus was tested in grade 4 because his teacher recognized he was extremely bright. He lowest school put his Math abilities at Grade 10 Math but his English studies was at a Grade 12 level. He was gifted. Consequently this gave Markus a huge ego. He did have a huge ego. He was super bright. He was also super lonely. He had trouble making friends. He was a bully. He was larger then most of the other kids and his social skills lacked a bit. He wasn't the fat kid in the class he was just big. I wonder now if this is were things really changed in Markus's self esteem. If being a gifted kid with little social skills created this bully. That the bully deep down inside was only trying to be noticed to be normal. If all of that made the beginnings of a addict.

A lot of kids are bullied not all of them become addicts. Some become Bill Gates others become Charlie Sheen. There is a huge amount of addicts out there. I know all of them start using because there is a part of themselves that they are trying to escape. We all try to escape from ourselves one way or another at some point in our lives. I guess we just find different ways to do it. I never liked the bully or the addict. I like the Markus that wrapped his arms around me in his gigantic hugs. I liked the Markus that would take me out to movies or long drives to Banff. The one who would love my children and tell me he was proud of me. The Markus that would help me with perspective when I would draw and the one that would talk about music with me. The one who saw past all my chaotic teenage antics and would ask me what I saw and how I felt when I saw it. I wish that Markus would have fought off the addict Markus. I always hoped he would come to terms with his short comings and found a wife and had kids, so my kids would have cousins. That we could have family BBQ's and talk about music, movies and art. That is a big part of my grief. I will never be able to have that now. Instead I have this big white elephant at Christmas and get togethers. That is what I have to come to terms with.

Anyways Markus, I love you.

Time getting softer.

I am told in time the ideals of losing someone will get a little "softer" on you. Parts of this is true. I don't cry everyday. I have lost other people in my life. My Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, cousins and friends. For some reason losing my brother is not as simple as losing my other relatives. It really does feel like I lost a big part of my identity.

I find it odd when I meet new people and the ask me how many siblings I have. I still say 2. I have a older brother and a younger brother. I do add my older brother died 2 years ago. This always causes the person to be silent and to change the subject. I think I would do the same thing. Sometimes it stings a bit to be this honest and sometimes its like a rehearsed line. Death is taboo but we all have to face it in our lives. It shouldn't be. I guess acting like everything, everywhere is fantastic and joyous is the only way we should display ourselves in public.

I do have a lovely life. I have great kids who amaze me everyday. I have great friends and family. It just sometimes it feels like I have a poorly sewn patch hidden underneath it all. There are times I want to cry and I hold it in. Its seems like I need a time and a place for it. For this wound to leak out a bit. By the time I am alone the sting feels less and I no longer have the huge urge to just sit down and bawl. I do think this isn't great. That by holding it in I postpone my heart from allowing itself to feel.

I was at walmart earlier this week and the anxiety started to rise like it use too. I started to panic and avoid the people around me and my heart started to race. My mind got really cloudy and I wanted to escape from it all. Its been quite some time since I last had a panic attack. My therapist had told me that my panic attacks were brought on by Markus's death. That because I was trying to avoid crying around people that I let it build up until my body reacted to it. It really scared me that this started to happen this week. Anxiety attacks are terrible terrible things. You feel so helpless and afraid that its extremely hard to put into words. I thought those days were over for me.

I finally hung a picture that Markus had drawn on my wall at home. I didn't hang it for so long because it did hurt to see his art. It was another reminder that he is gone. His artwork is so beautiful though. It should be displayed. I hung it and held back some tears. I can walk past it and look at it. Maybe that means its getting softer for me.

Anyways Markus, I love you.