Everybody
has a let out, a ventilation, the place where piled up pressure is released.
Mine is in music, writing and watching oooh, let me add exercise to the list.
If I were to rank all these, writing will top it, I write my feelings,
literally. At my lowest, I type my feelings away. My eldest brother, Hudson,
was an artist. He drew with passion and
colored enthusiastically.
Hudson
was short in stature and naturally quiet, the most laid back member of our family. He loved cartoons
and spent his time even as an adult watching them, they were intriguing and from then
ideas for his art were birthed. Whenever possible, he’d choose a serene location
and have his brush, ink and paper at hand. Hours in, he’d engage in his skill
fervently, his ventilation.
Hudson
was intelligent too, lived in the days when grades made the whole difference
and the difference he made, setting the bar high. As high as his high school
grade was, it was lower than what he hoped for and was capable of and wanted
to give it another shot but as fate would have it, he did not retake the class.
All this in addition to failed attempts to go overseas to further his studies
took a toll on him.
I
don’t remember the genesis of his break out but I know my silent brother got
louder at some point, his thoughts weren’t coherent with his speech. He acted
out time and again and started visiting the mental clinic where he found
solace. He was on medication which I later found out were antidepressants that caused him to slow down, too much for comfort. His weight went up the roof and the intelligent him was off the window.
Until
I was diagnosed with depression, I wasn’t the supportive sister that I should
have been. I didn’t understand the change, neither did I seek to deeply know
what was ailing him. I wanted my eldest brother back, I wanted him to be a man and
stand up for himself and the rest of us. I wanted him to style up and shake off
the insanity.
My
brother, more than anything needed to be cared for, he needed to be reassured
that all will be well and most all to get the much needed emotional support.
Thank you sister Nancy for the time you spent with him and the love you showed
him. You were consistent, patient and most of all empathetic.
As we mark five years since his demise, I can't help but stretch a
helping hand to somebody and anybody in need of mental health help. All we've got to
do is notice unprecedented changes and reach out to people around us, you could
be saving someone from an early grave.
