Two men very close to me died on this day. I’ve written a lot about my dad, who finally let go in 2014 nearly a month after he spoke his last words on Earth. I still feel his loss daily, especially when the Dodgers are winning (sure enough, they’ve won seven in a row this week, and I’ve gotten a lot of free pizza as a result).
The other was my brother-in-law, who left us far more prematurely two years ago today–or that’s at least when I learned of his passing. By that point, I had already fled the marriage that connected us, for a variety of extremely justified reasons, none of which had to do with him. I genuinely loved him, although it’s often difficult to process exactly why. To say he was complicated would be an extraordinary understatement.
He was a rebel WITH a cause, usually to try and make his world respect and understand him. He was given all the trappings of a successful upbringing, a first born son to well-off parents who seemed to have an idyllic relationship and a lifestyle that the outside world envied. He idolized his paternal grandfather, a self-made millionaire who I did know, and his maternal grandmother, who I did know and was far and away the most resillient lady I’ve ever met before and since. He had a brilliant mind and an attention to detail that could have made him richer than even his father and grandfather were.
But he was also the most deeply impacted of his siblings when his dad, shortly after a Hawaiian vacation, up and left the family for his secretary, whom his mom lovingly referred to as the “shiksa c-nt” whenever there was a rare family gathering when they were in the same room. He justifiably resented his dad for this choice, and like many other San Fernando Valley teens from broken homes he found some solace, not to mention spending money, in dealing weed. He developed an edge and attitude and resolutely chose to never suffer any fools despite any benefits that doing so may have resulted in. When his mom found her second husband, he could and would not respect the judgmental, entitled sons this man had, and refused to kowtow to their behavior even though mom felt it was her family–er, HER–best interest to take this man’s desperate offer to share his successsful life and lifestyle with them. So he was banished to living with his dad and said “shiksa c*nt”, as well as two adopted step-siblings who they chose to love far more than him. As he would repeatedly tell me during our mano a manos, “Mom chose a big house and entitlement over me”.
The fact we had any relationship at all was, in hindsight, astounding to many. It’s easy for an outsider to say “poor you. Shut up and deal”. Many others in his world did just that. As his life fell into self-inflicted ruin he grew increasingly distant from all but his sister and, tangentailly, me, as well as his maternal grandmother. Indeed, he established a satellite life in her Beverly Hills condo, conducting “business” under her nose that an outside observer might have wanted to call elder abuse. The poor lady had more weed in her den at times than did
