Wolves - When The Calls Stop Coming

Some "firsts" just suck.

First broken bone. First heartbreak. First termination. First death of a loved one. There are a lot of "firsts" that lurk along the edges of our worlds like rabid wolves waiting for us to take the wrong turn and come a little too close. Unsuspecting, we meander through our day, mostly doing the next right thing, when suddenly the beasts are on us, dragging us into that dark place in the woods.

But these wolves are not killers. No, their intent is not to kill because that would let us off the hook. Their goal is to maim, mangle and crush. They are aroused by our fear, grief and confusion. They resonate with the frequency at which we tremble. Their fangs merely prick rather than rend our vulnerable flesh. They want to weaken us and keep us...that is how they feed.

The wolves are always waiting along the edges.

Today, is the first anniversary of my brother's death by suicide, and the wolves have dragged me within.

Michael and I are brothers of different fathers. We are separated by eleven years and we have two older sisters close to my age. So, he came into the world, a little on the outside. I supposed we over-compensated for that by spoiling him rotten. And why not? He was a sweet boy: bright, caring, handsome, intelligent. Consequently, he rode his formative years wanting for nothing, for everything he wanted he received. This became problematic later on.

Michael never learned to finish things. He started projects that sat half-finished on his shelves. He wrote stories that stopped short of conclusions. He took jobs and soon tired of them. He joined the service (photo above) but took a discharge just months before completing his tour. He could not find his rudder. This pattern became an endless cycle, he would work himself into a corner, and we would come to his rescue. What shocked us, was how belligerent and cruel he could be after we made him whole. My mother bought him a car to get around in, with the condition he would pay for the insurance. One day she asked him to produce the insurance card, he boiled over, screamed obscenities at her before jumping in the car and squealing away.

He estranged himself from us then. Showing up for a few minutes during holidays, birthdays and the like. He would come in like he had never left, sit, and then get up and disappear. He confided in me that he had started going to AA meetings. I had been recovering for many years at that point, and I offered to help him any way that I could. He expressed an interest in working in the industry like I was doing, and I introduced him to some people. He never followed up. He never reached out. Instead, he spent his time recycling through the revolving door between abstinence and active addiction.

I grew frustrated with him. I stopped reaching out to him. The calls stopped coming. I stopped making them. And Mike fell off the map.

On May 3rd of last year, I did receive a call, it was from an old friend of mine actually. A guy I had studied theater with in college. Somehow, he and Michael had connected and Mike had been his roommate for the past year or so. I was surprised. The surprise gave way to concern when he told me that my brother was missing...had been missing now for three days. All of his IDs and personal possessions were left behind. My friend informed me that Mike had recently lost his most recent job and he had bought a hunting knife with his last check. I got on a plane and flew to Chicago to look for him.

There are many patches of woods in the western suburbs. Private woods and vast forest preserves line many of the major thorough ways. I hunted for him. Walked tens of miles along 59 from Army Trail Rd to Aurora Rd. Between walks, my friend had shared with me how Mike had effectively put a split between my friend and I. Mike told my friend that I hated him, hated my friend and that they should never reach out to me because I would cause trouble.

He had walled himself in and now he was in another corner. He owed a couple thousand dollars to Renta-center and was behind in rent to my friend. He had sold his car. No job. No transportation. Rather than humbling himself and asking for help, he texted another friend of his that he was going for "a long walk now," and left without a word. I looked but could not find him. I returned home to Florida.

On May 16th of last year, my family received a call from the Naperville Police Department. They had found the body of a white male laying along the railroad tracks just south of where I had looked. They wondered if we recognized the picture of a tattoo they emailed to us? We did.

Death is always hardest on the living. Questions, timelines, investigations into why, why, why? And the wolves come.

My mother is among the wolves even now. I've been trying to help her by connecting her with grief therapists...but she is among the wolves. She leaves a pair of Mike's shoes by the front door as if he never left.

I recognize these were Mike's choices, his alone. The wolves have tried to make me believe that I played a greater role in his death, but I'm on to them. I choose to believe that he didn't do this so close to Mothers' Day as a last swipe at his own, I choose to believe he just ran out of time in his own mind. I have let much of the anger and sadness I carry spill back into the earth. Much of it.

I am disappointed in myself, however. I work with addicts all the time. I know they are miraculous absconders and deaf to the calls of rescue around them. I stopped calling to him. I did. And that is my lesson. And I've learned much more.

The wolves cannot suffer direct eye contact. When I look them in the eye they whimper and draw back just a little, but enough space to allow me to stand, turn and walk out of that dark place. They run to me, nipping at my ankles, my fingers, my thighs as I continue walking. Eventually, wolves get tired too.