sky to heaven - the invisible life.

Douglas Hamilton was my younger brother. In real life, he was a tall, lanky, pale-faced boy from my junior high school, with a baby’s face and smile. In real life, I have no brother, but in my dream life, Douglas was my brother. He had very few friends, and he hung out with no one on a consistent basis. So I could not see why he could still smile. Perhaps he was a little slow; perhaps he was a little too pure. He was like an angel, and angels didn’t really fit in at junior high school. In any case, no one was drawn to him, and strangely enough that didn’t seem to bother him.

He was neither happy nor sad; he did not give or take anything. He was just there. And because no one was drawn to him, others stayed apart from him. And I too, his brother, left him alone, for I was too busy with my own concerns of growing up. In school, he neither studied nor not studied; he neither failed nor passed. In sports it was also the same: he participated, but neither with heart nor without heart. He played, but did not bring victory or defeat to his team. In all aspects of life, he was simply there, doing no more or no less than what it took to stay there. And no one openly sought to either encourage him or discourage him. He was at the same time, a somebody and a nobody. This is how it was for the many years we went to the same school.

But things changed after school. When he grew up and it was time to leave school and build a career, instead of doing the minimum of what was expected, he did nothing. At least to me, it was nothing, but to him perhaps it was something. For he did get a job, but it was a convenience store job – a menial job with low pay and no future. The kind of job that most people would not respect, and I was one of those people. Having such a job was not the worst thing; it was him staying in that job and having no plan for the future that bothered me. I could not tolerate such weakness in a man.

I told him, “Why don’t you make something of yourself? Why don’t you go out into the world and be a man and build your life?” But my words just seemed to just float in the air, and he did not grab them and put them into his head. Maybe he didn’t understand, or want to understand. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he didn’t care because he just didn’t respect me, because how can you listen to the words of a person you don’t respect? Whatever I said seemed to have no effect on him. And I could not understand how he could think nothing was wrong, but I could think that everything was wrong. He was content to go to work and come home, and go to work the next day again. Over and over again.

I grew more and more upset. I began to hate him, for I believed he was a poor reflection on me and my family. How could anyone not be embarrassed by having a brother like that? I told him often to change his life, but still it had no effect on him - but there was an effect between us. For as I continued to press him, the hateful words I gave to him piled up in the air and created a thick ugliness between us. The more I hated him, the more I told him, and the more he began to hate me. I went to our parents and asked them to kick him out of the house, for that would be best for him. But our parents told me, “This is the way things are; this is the way your brother is. It is too late to change. Perhaps we spoiled him when he was young, and that is our mistake. But he is still our son and your brother - we have to take care of him. So don’t be too hard on him.”

But I could not understand nor accept this logic. Did they not care about the future of their son? So I continued pushing my brother, and he continued to ignore me. Until one day when I was again telling him to change his life, he took out from his black jacket a bright metal grey object. It was a gun, and the first one I had ever seen in my life; and it was my brother who obtained it because of me. I realized that it was me who had brought the first gun into my own life. He simply took it out, not pointing its barrel at me, but simply to show me that it existed. Whether he intended to shoot me or threaten me with it, I do not know, because in recognizing the existence of danger I instantly leaped and grabbed for the gun.

We struggled for control of the death weapon, two sets of arms and hands grasping the grey object between us. He resisted, but not with any great strength. I was the stronger one, perhaps because I had the stronger will to live, and so eventually the gun barrel gradually pointed towards the under part of his chin. And he looked into my eyes and said with no emotion, “Just do it. End my life.” There was no fear in his voice. Those were his only words, and he wished to say no more.

But behind the words I did notice a hint of his suffering, for in that moment I realized that those who wish to end their own lives carry a great amount of suffering deep inside them. This suffering has grown and grown until they can no longer carry it, and the tragedy is that many do not know the true nature of their suffering. They only know and feel that it is there, and in the end the only way they know how to relieve this suffering is to relieve themselves of life.

And so it was with my brother. And I realized that part of his suffering had been brought about because of me, and I had helped that suffering grow. I realized that instead of pushing him in the direction I felt he should have gone, which is what I did, or instead of just leaving him alone where he was, which is what my parents and everyone else in his life did, I could have at least tried to be with him. Just be with him. Perhaps then he would have let me into his world, and I could have helped him find his own direction and encourage him along his own road. But this I did not know before; they do not teach this in schools, nor did our parents teach this to us. And I, I had been too personally involved in finding my own road to notice that he was on the road that was leading to the end of his life. I realized that I had helped his suffering grow faster than it would have otherwise, but sooner or later the destination would have been the same – or maybe not. This is why I did not assume total responsibility for the present situation of two brothers struggling for a gun.

I realized all this while we were holding the gun. While those moments were simply moments to me, they were forever to him. He waited those few moments for me to make a decision. And when he saw in my eyes that I saw him for the first time, he closed his eyes at me for the last time… and pulled the trigger.

At that moment, I woke up, and realized that I had no brother. Perhaps because I had helped to kill him in another life.