When I was a child I used to make snow angels in our backyard with my youngest brother. Dressed in our bulky snowsuits, we would lie under the beautiful star-filled sky and move our arms and legs in rhythm. We would remain lying down and then just talk. I remember telling him all about the planets one time because I was obsessed with Saturn’s rings. Eventually we would get too cold, or our mom would call us inside, but before leaving we would admire our angels.
Now, this same brother thinks he is an angel, an actual angel. And not just any angel, but Archangel Michael, the only angel who is mentioned by name in the Bible, the Quran and the Torah. My brother told me this about two months ago when we were sitting outside on a patio on an unseasonably warm day. I was drinking wine and he was having a beer. I asked him what it meant to be Archangel Michael and he replied that he could create miracles.
I’ve been dealing with my brother’s mental illness for many years now and I sometimes use humor to cope. So in my mind I thought:
“Fabulous! If you can create miracles then can you please start by eradicating Covid, (or as he calls it, “the plague”) and then next can you please cure me of Peritoneal Mesothelioma?“
Instead I listened to him, nodding my head and I ordered a second glasss of wine.
In some ways my brother is lucky. He lives in a nice apartment on a nice street and he has enough money to live comfortably. My parents supplement his disability – disability payments put you living at the poverty line by the way. And my mom buys him new winter coats and boots and running shoes when he needs them. He needs new running shoes fairly often because he self-medicates by exercising obsessively. Dangerously long jogs and bike rides in the middle of the night. He keeps vampire hours staying up late, then waking at dinnertime.
He will not see a doctor, let alone a psychiatrist. Based on years of spending time with him and research, I’m guessing he’s on the schizophrenia spectrum, the autism spectrum and has OCD. Of course I could easily be 100% wrong.
Had he been born into a different kind of family, he could easily be homeless. One time I saw him walking down the street having a very animated conversation with himself and I thanked God for bringing him to our family where he is protected.
This holiday season, like so many others, I am burnt out. I have nothing left to give or say. I just want to take a Xanax, curl up under a blanket and listen to old Kate Bush songs. I don’t want to decorate or bake or cook or make conversation. But oh what I would give to make snow angels with my brother again. To have him back for just one night.