My Brother, Schizophrenia, and Hope

Bud introduced me to Socrates and Aristotle before I was a ten. Down the basement stairs on the far wall, where our Dad stored rows of leather-bound and paperback books, Bud had discovered The Art of Philosophy by Will Durant. One summer afternoon, Bud took me down into the musty room and opened my mind.

Buddy and I were born 5 years apart. we shared the same birthday—December 26. A lousy day to be born for us. Our parents, having seven kids, must have been exhausted by end of Christmas Day. Bud never seemed to mind and I eventually got used to it.

But, my gentle, soft-spoken Bud, as a young adult, suffered from schizophrenia. And as I type “suffer”, I remember too vividly what befell him and those who loved him—”suffer” in the drip, drip, drip of daily erosion and the explosion of psychotic breaks.

Two months ago, another friend caught in the sinewy arms of this monstrous, overwhelming disease died a needless death.

Today, I listened to an episode of a podcast that, swells my heart both with gratitude at the openness and fortitude of the hosts and with sorrow that it cannot benefit my brother and my friend .

May the future be better for those who “suffer”.

Listen to “Inside Schizophrenia” by Rachel Star Withers and Gabe Howard.