My brother Ron was 7 ½ years younger than me and was considered special from Day 1. He was named after my mother’s brother, who had been murdered a year earlier. He was very special to her, which made our relationship…complicated. I felt like I didn’t exist when my brother was around. At times, I was the butt of their jokes. They were best friends and had a bond that seemed to be greater than just a mother and son. As my brother, I loved him, but in reality, we got along better when there was plenty of distance between us. When we were together, we fought constantly.
I had always felt second to my brother. He was outgoing, confident, charismatic, and funny. He had relationships with members of my family that I never had, especially our mother. Before he died, I was living with my mother temporarily while saving money to move back to Delaware. At that time, my brother also lived there. One night when my mom was out picking up dinner, he came home high and went on a rant about how much he couldn’t stand me. Ignoring him only made him angry.
He went on about how I thought I was better than him and how he just hated me. He asked me why I was still living there with my kids since our mother didn’t want us there. We started arguing and then he hit me. We fought throughout the living room so badly that I eventually fell onto my youngest daughter, who was three at the time. My oldest picked her up, and they ran upstairs to my bedroom and locked themselves in.
When my mother came home, I was on the floor, with Ron choking me almost to the point of unconsciousness. I somehow made it to my bedroom and called the police. I could hear him threatening to kill me in front of my kids, while my mom was begging him to calm down. As he tried to come up the stairs, my mom and his girlfriend held him back. Finally, after hearing the approaching sirens, my mom convinced him to leave the house. I remember the police declining to arrest him, but I can’t remember why.
I moved out that night. In the days, weeks, and years after, our mother never acknowledged the hurt and pain he caused me. When I saved enough money to move to Delaware, I didn’t speak to either one for a long time. Truth is, I was okay with not speaking with either one of them for lengthy periods, as I was happily living 45 minutes away. Before he died, I wasn’t speaking to him and barely spoke to my mom for almost three years.
On June 6, 2007, on our father’s birthday, while getting dinner at a Chinese store in the Frankford section of Philadelphia, my brother got into a verbal altercation with some young boys. The store camera showed the argument, and the group followed my brother out of the store.
The next day, Ron was found by a Septa transportation worker on the way home from work. In an abandoned lot down the street from the store, he had a broken leg and three gunshot wounds – in the leg, chest, and a fatal shot to the head. Nothing else was on him – no identification, even the food he bought was gone.
Ron was picked up by the police, labeled a John Doe, fingerprinted, and laid in the morgue for a day and a half. He was finally identified once his fingerprints were processed from previous arrests. After his death, I handled everything because my mother was inconsolable. My dad and I identified Ron’s body at the morgue and I made arrangements with the funeral home to pick him up. I picked out his casket, and his clothing, wrote the obituary, and planned the program.
My mother yelled about and criticized every decision I made, and I prayed every time she did. I prayed for the strength to deal with her. It tore me down inside that she couldn’t see my support and love for her. I prayed for God’s help to complete his arrangements without worrying about what she would say and whether or not she would approve.
Whenever dealing with her got to be too much, I would sit in my car, close my eyes, and pray. I prayed until I felt I could face her. Looking back, I realize God was ordering my steps. Ephesians 6:2-3 says:
“Honor your father and mother” (this is the first commandment with a promise), “that it may be well with you and that you may live long on the earth.”
The first commandment with a promise has always stuck out to me. Looking back, I wasn’t actively thinking about this scripture. I was trying to survive losing my brother and supporting my parents who lost their son. I prayed to get through it all. Mom and Ron were not always the kindest or most loving, but they were still my mother and brother. After Ron was murdered, Mom went into a downward spiral that continued until she passed away 7 years later.
Even though I never received an apology for the violence and treatment from Ron, I did have memories of good times, especially of riding elevators with him. He hated them – he took the steps whenever he could, otherwise he would ride my back to keep his feet from touching the floor. The thought still makes me laugh today. As a little boy, whenever he was having a difficult time, he would sit on my lap and play with my ear. He loved Michael Jackson – he could sing every word of every Michael Jackson song. He was such a funny guy and made me laugh. Growing up, all my friends loved it when I brought him for after-school activities.
When I was taking care of his funeral arrangements, I didn’t think about anything about all those negative experiences. I knew I needed to take care of my mother and try to ease the pain she was feeling. I never considered myself, everything was about her. Most of Ron’s friends didn’t know that he had a sister. Many of those “friends” offered to help my mother with his arrangements, but somehow their help never materialized. I was able to move quickly and without obstacles because, to many, I did not exist. All the while, God was moving and helping me because, through it all, I was trying to honor my parent, as God commanded. I just didn’t know it at the time.
When I think about the violence that he experienced, I remember wondering if he ever cried out for God in those moments before his death. I felt ashamed, dirty, and stigmatized because of the way he was killed. It was extremely hard to tell people about the way he passed. Losing my brother to violence was one of the most traumatic experiences I have ever had. I couldn’t believe someone could be so callous about a life.
My life changed that day. All of our lives changed. Before it happened, I honestly had written Ron and our mother off. Once I left Philly, I didn’t care if I never spoke to either one of them again. I eventually re-established my relationship with my mother, but I couldn’t care less about what Ron did. I held on to that anger for a long time. Then he died, and my anger and hurt didn’t matter anymore. Letting it go so I could take care of everything and support my mom, allowed God to step in and help me make it through.
God allowed me to honor my mother unconditionally and unknowingly by taking care of her son when she could not, which helped in my process of healing and forgiving them both. I could have easily walked away and told her to figure it out and take care of it herself, but I couldn’t. Through my prayers God wouldn’t allow me to, so I needed to trust Him.
Looking back, I realize that tomorrow is not promised, so we must always tell our loved ones how we feel about them. When I get caught up in things – my mind immediately goes to Ron, and I’m reminded to let it go and enjoy my life.
I would think about him every day – initially thinking about the way he died, wondering if he was okay and if he was in heaven. Now my thoughts are just of missing him. I often wonder what kind of man he would be today and what he would be doing. Looking at old pictures of the three of us is tough – I’m the only one still here.
In closing, don’t forget to trust in the Lord to see you through everything you experience in life, whether good or bad. When you walk with Him, you’ll be able to see how He moved you through it, allowing you to learn from it.
PRAYER FOR MOMS:
Father God,
Please allow the person reading this to never forget that you are with them. Even when they think they are alone and that no one can possibly know what they are going through, please remind them that You are with them. Thank you for never leaving us nor forsaking us. We can believe You are always with us because Your Word says it, and you are not a man that You would lie.
In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
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