My Friend Kenneth
By Michael Woyan
Page 7
No matter how late we'd be out
on Friday
night, Kenneth would be in a
southbound taxi
late Saturday morning.
Rarely would Kenneth get phone calls from
family at home. He seemed to
enjoy the separateness
of his lives here in America,
and I saw no
argument in an adult keeping
family life
separate from home life and keeping
both
lives separate from his work
life. Kenneth
must have had that basic respect
from all
who knew him because although
there were
occasions where he might mix
them together,
they never, ever encroached.
That is precisely
why it was so unnerving when
Bernard began
to call.
Most of the really good friends I know have
or have had a crazy brother.
Certainly everyone
I know knows someone who has
or has had a
crazy brother. I know. I have
one. So Kenneth's
sense of tension in matters regarding
his
brother were familiar to me.
A gifted individual
with a contagious smile, Bernard
was the
most popular instructor at the
secondary
school in which he taught in
Ireland, especially
with the young girls who developed
crushes
for him of the teenage variety.
Bernard was
an especially talented horseman
winning medals
in various competitions. Brilliant
and charismatic,
he was always a favored guest
at most gatherings,
and was engaging at a variety
of topics.
However, over time he became
less so. Although
Bernard was considered the most
creative
of his siblings and talented
at a great many
things, it also seemed apparent
to those
who knew him that he was unable
master any
of his gifts, possessed a limited
attention
span and struggled with a dreadfully
poor
self-image.
His wandering Irish soul brought him to these
shores roughly about the same
time Kenneth's
brought his here. Bernard had
developed skills
in carpentry and hoped to make
a life here
in the professions of his brothers
Adrian
and Fenton. Over the years that
Kenneth and
I lived together, I only received
bits and
pieces of information about him
and his developing
challenges with drugs and alcohol.
For Bernard,
it seemed that being a three
dimensional
thinker in a two dimensional
world had its
problems. By the time that I
met him, he
was clearly and sadly in the
final stages
of his descent toward the abyss.
Having buried
two parents and having witnessed
three near
death bouts with substance abuse,
I recognized
and was chilled by the smell
of death on
Bernard.
He had been calling recently in a state of
despair asking Kenneth for help.
Prior to
this, Kenneth having one of the
strongest
senses of self I've ever met,
wisely offered
support and encouragement in
seeking help,
but also expressed disapproval
toward his
choices, and offered no financial
help whatsoever.
The day finally came when Bernard
reached
what the experts call "rock
bottom,"
and immediately Kenneth extended
his formidable
hand up, Bernard came over and
they talked
it through making the necessary
agreements
of honor and commitment toward
recovery.
Kenneth offered to accompany
his brother
to AA and NA meetings twice per
week, more
if necessary, until Bernard was
able to find
a sponsor. And for a time that's
exactly
what occurred. Then came the
calls from Adrian
and Fenton telling us Bernard
was missing
work for two day stretches, which
were followed
by the emotional calls from Bernard
of regret
and resolve. For the first time,
Bernard
was indeed fighting his disease.
However,
it was beginning to look like
he was frighteningly
overmatched. Their parents no
longer wanted
Bernard in America. In fact,
they probably
never completely approved of
any of their
children venturing too far for
too long from
the hearth fire of home. Plans
were being
made to bring Bernard back to
Ireland for
some form of sequester and professional
treatment
to be determined in an effort
to solve the
root cause of his troubles.
It was Sunday evening at about eight o'clock
when I received a phone call
from Bernard
asking for Kenneth to whom I
replied that
he hadn't yet arrived from the
south side,
that he was in route and that
he'd be arriving
shortly. When I asked Bernard
for a phone
number, he said he too was en
route and that
he would try again later. We
talked for a
short while; Bernard was lucid
and in excellent
spirits. He said he was feeling
very optimistic
that everything was going to
be OK and was
looking forward to enjoying the
holidays
at home. It was then I felt a
sensation that
can only be compared to an adrenaline
rush.
Bernard never called back.
When Kenneth arrived home, I delivered Bernard's
message and Kenneth promptly left a word
on Bernard's answering machine. It was then,
Kenneth having already missed most of Masterpiece
Theater, that I persuaded him to join me
in the bar downstairs for one of the most
difficult beers of my life. Having witnessed
death personally, and having that powerless
sense of its inevitability, I felt compelled
to tell Kenneth he might be wise to begin
to prepare for Bernard's passing. I explained
my reasoning of planning for the worst, hoping
for the best so that collateral emotional
damage might be reduced somehow and that
he might be bit stronger for his family.