From Hate to Healing

By Lynn Robin Miller

The final scene of my mother’s life is scorched into my psyche. My younger brother leaning over my mother’s hospital bed—her death bed—water from his glass spilling over her semi-paralyzed body all the while begging our stunned relatives for money that we knew would be used to buy drugs for his “friends.”

My brother constantly nagged our mother for money, despite his income from disability insurance, and a pension from his post office job. He received as well, a monthly stipend, phone, and condo from our mother. She was stressed every time he got in trouble, became addicted to something new, got evicted or had a psychotic break; but she promptly came to the rescue. At my suggestion, she tried going for counseling a couple of times but dropped out each time the therapist spoke the word she dreaded — co-dependent .

I resented my brother for what I perceived as his taking advantage of my mother’s kindness, taking all her attention and funds, and stressing her to the brink. I had long ago tired of hearing her complain about him. I intervened only during emergencies such as when my brother was arrested for driving the car that his druggie friends used to sell stolen property. In retrospect, I probably should have let him go to jail. But consequences were lost on him. He had been a precocious child, but now his mentally ill brain was incapable of understanding cause and effect relationships. And that was his downfall, and perhaps our mother’s as well.

My mother’s doctor tried to get through to my brother after her warnings to my mother fell on deaf ears. She bluntly told him “You are killing your mother!” But it didn’t even register. Later that year, my mother, who was already suffering from chronic leukemia and a bevy of stress-related ailments, was hospitalized with pneumonia.

The hospital discharged her a few days later with the proviso that she rest and continue to take medication at home. Living and working far away, I begged her to take advantage of the assistance afforded her by her Florida retirement facility.  But not only did she refuse any help, she insisted on driving down to my brother’s condo to help in the latest emergency. That night, she fell in the bathroom and hit her head on the sink. The pneumonia worsened.

After she was re-hospitalized, I flew down to see her. My mother was also my best friend who I spoke with almost every day of my life. Ironically, now I could only watch as an uncontrollable brain bleed slowly took away her ability to communicate. Day after day, without words, I laid in bed with her, holding her hand, until finally, with my health care power of attorney, the support of our family, and upon the advice of her team of doctors, I made the heart-aching and gut-wrenching decision to transfer her to hospice care.

My husband joined me in my mother’s apartment while she was in hospice care. One night shortly before she passed, I awoke around three in the morning to use the bathroom. When I returned to bed I gasped. The darkness seemed to play a trick on me.  I was startled to see my sick mother lying where my husband had been in the bed. I had to get nose to nose to finally see my husband again.

Even with all the drama, I had promised my mother I would look after my brother when she was gone. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could swear that I saw her face make an expression that said, “No, you were right. Don’t waste your time on him. He’s a lost cause.” Either way, I intended to keep my promise.

My brother missed my mother’s memorial service. Later I asked for his help in dealing with mother’s belongings.  I asked him to throw out a pile of photo albums that I had used to make a 45-minute slide show of her life. I couldn’t bring myself to do it but he threw them straight into the dumpster without looking at a single photo or blinking an eye. I recalled my mother wondering whether my brother ever really loved her.

As A Course in Miracles student, I knew that the Course implores us to look beyond our brother’s behavior to the light within them but in that moment, I couldn’t see a glimmer.

When a hurricane swept through Florida some months later, I feared that my brother was in danger, so I requested the police check on him. They found him barely conscious, mumbling incoherently and not recalling where he was or that his mother had died. I learned that his live-in “girlfriend”, whom he had met when she worked as a prostitute, along with her actual boyfriend who were purportedly taking care of him, were selling my brother’s insulin for his diabetes so they could have drug money!

They were also draining his bank accounts, forging checks, applying for, and running up credit cards in his name, keeping his phone, using his car to buy drugs, and moving in more cronies, one of whom OD’d and died in his bathroom.

An ambulance was called and took my brother to the hospital. I locked his bank accounts, but to my dismay, my brother was so smitten with this woman that despite a serious bone infection requiring surgery, he tore out the IV line and left the hospital against medical advice. His girlfriend whisked him to the bank to unlock his accounts and withdraw more money for drugs.

I called the police and Adult Protective Services but they both told me they were powerless to do anything if my brother gave his friends permission to access to his accounts and willingly housed them. And as he appeared competent, I was unable to get him a legal guardian. His roommates began refusing to take him to the doctor. They wouldn’t let the health care workers I sent into the apartment. They also intensified their campaign to poison my brother against me, and left death threats on my voicemail.

The resentment I had toward my brother now made a full turn toward his roommates. I was consumed with anger and fit to be tied! I called them and swore that I would “see them rot in jail.”

Finally, one day I got a call from the hospital. His roommates had stolen his car, wallet and credit cards and had left him alone for several days without food. His pain and hunger became unbearable. They had long ago sold the life-alert button I had sent him.  Emaciated and in excruciating pain, my brother crawled downstairs to ask a neighbor to call 911.

This time, it was clear that my brother was no longer able to live on his own. I was finally able to change the locks and press charges, although the case was dismissed as my brother had no desire or ability to testify.

Unfortunately, aggressive gangrene was now threatening to take my brother’s life. I got a scary call that he would die without emergency bilateral leg amputation. My husband and I raced down to Florida in our RV, parked it in the hospital lot and spent two weeks with him. We renewed our relationship. I wiped his brow daily with a cool washcloth and my husband played music for him. When we returned home my brother had developed diabetic-induced dementia and had no recollection of our visit or even getting surgery!  He cried to me on the phone repeatedly that he had no legs, and I suspect he awoke every morning in complete shock.

I was beginning to understand how my mother became so enmeshed in his life, and I felt very guilty that I hadn’t been more involved or supportive. Now, even though I was physically far away, mentally I was fully committed to help. In the meantime, my sleep, my health, coaching practice, and relationships all suffered.

It was around this time that I experienced what I can only describe as a miracle, born in what A Course in Miracles calls “a holy instant.” Strangely enough, it was while I was on the back of a motor scooter!  During that ride I began thinking about the situation with my brother. I felt the familiar hatred and anger begin to rear its ugly head. This time, however, I was determined not to let it ruin my present-moment experience. With the help of the Holy Spirit, I thought about my brother’s “girlfriend” who had brought me so much angst and anger. Now I focused on her with the intention of forgiving her.

Suddenly, I felt love well up from someplace deep inside me and saw her as a beloved child of our same Father-God. I was overcome with such indescribable joy, ecstasy, and bliss that tears began to flow! It was crazy, but I went so deep into forgiveness that I felt gratitude for everything that had brought me to this glorious state, even the most difficult times.

As we scootered through the lush countryside, it was as if I were looking through different eyes. I was awestruck by the beauty of the green rolling hills and mirrored ponds. I took deep breaths and became absolutely intoxicated by the perfume of the flowering trees, honeysuckle bushes and spring-time flowers. I felt such incredible love for oneness with everything – all the fawns, farm animals, dogs, ducks, geese, and swans, as well as the people we passed.

We live in a very xenophobic part of the country where you’re considered a stranger until your family has been there for at least three generations, and people are loathe to say hello. As a transplant from New York, I was an outsider. Nevertheless, on the back of this scooter, I waved to everyone we passed, and for the first time, without exception, they waved back! I could literally feel my love being felt and returned in kind. I had gotten a glimpse of what the Course calls “the Happy Dream.”

Like most people, I thought that I was relatively happy, but now by comparison, I realized now how miserable I had been. I wanted to apologize to anyone I had ever inadvertently hurt or offended out of my own hurt, misery, and false expectations. I wanted to stop worrying, taking offense, and complaining. I just wanted to stay in that present-moment state of love-joy forever!

I became vaguely aware that my stomach was aching with hunger since I hadn’t eaten for about 20 hours. Normally, even a slight sensation of hunger was all-consuming but now it was only a tiny, tiny little blip on a vast and wonderful radar screen that was so easily ignored considering the loving feelings in which I was immersed. I certainly didn’t want to do anything that might interrupt that. I thought about the momentary pleasure I had tried to squeeze out of worldly mundane things.  These things seemed meaningless to me now.

I grieved for all the lost years I could have been so joyous! Tears flowed again and now I was crying tears of joy and grief simultaneously! Yet, it is God’s will that we remember his Love.

I wish I could say that I remained in this healed state permanently, but it faded that evening. Perhaps someday or lifetime it will stick. I am still working on releasing the remaining guilt I took on, but I am happy to report that I never again felt the same hatred or anger toward my brother or his friends.

As for my brother, after overcoming COVID-19, he developed diabetic kidney failure. Despite my best efforts to keep him alive, he refused any and all tests and treatment. The doctors threw up their hands and placed him in hospice. He was only 61.

A text from my brother’s hospice nurse told me that he had called out for me and my mother in his sleep, something he had never done before. Later that day the nurse called to say he had become non-responsive. She put me on speaker phone although she didn’t know if he would still be able to hear me.

I wanted to help my brother cross over peacefully. Drawing on the dozens of near-death experience videos I had watched, I encouraged him to go quickly into the light. I assured him that he would have peace.

When I told him that he would be able to grow back his legs, the nurse said his eyes seemed to light up. Finally, I asked him to give our mother a great big hug. Then I told him I loved him. And I meant it.

After the call, I sat in meditation. My brother made his transition then—five years almost to the day my mother made hers.

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The holy instant is the Holy Spirit’s most useful learning device for teaching you love’s meaning, for its purpose is to suspend judgment entirely. [CE T-15.V.1:1]

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