In case there was any doubt, my brother is still a Mormon. I was able to parlay a business trip to Seattle into a weekend visit with my brother, Geoffrey and his young family. Since the time he moved to the Emerald City six years ago I have only had short and infrequent visits with my brother. In that time I went from being Ward Sunday School President to flaming apostate. In spite of that, Geoff is accommodating and hospitable and has never said a word to me about my apostasy. He seems to be respectful of my choices in every way. For that, I am thankful. That said... he is himself, as was made obvious to me this weekend, extraordinarily Mormon.
Geoff reads scriptures to his boys during breakfast. They also read scriptures as bedtime stories. Not AND bedtime stories... AS bedtime stories. These boys are 4 and 2 and he's tucking them in at night with tales of Nephi beheading the wicked Laban and Coriantumr decapitating Shiz. (By the way, what is this "The Highlander"esque preoccupation the Book of Mormon has with beheadings, anyway. I was shocked when I reached the end and Moroni didn't exclaim, "There can be only ONE!")
The boys also pray at every meal. They pray when leaving the house. They pray when their dad leaves the house. They pray when they get up in the morning and they pray before turning out the lights. These prayers are usually exhaustively complete. "Thank you for the X-Box, and the Nintendo DS. Thank you for Daddy's job. Thank you for Cheerios. Thank you for church. Thank you for spiders. Bless the food that it will be tasty. Thank you for salt and pepper." And on it goes.
On Sunday, Geoff left for church an hour early to help prepare the sacrament. After church he stayed for another hour of meetings. Once home he changed from his suit pants to a pair of slacks. A few hours later, He changed back into his suit and left... for another meeting. All the while leaving his wife to chase the two boys around the house while trying to nurse the newborn girl... or clean up vomit... or bathe the children... or find her sanity... or cook dinner... or pick up toys... or whatever else it was she needed to do. So much for her day of rest.
Keep in mind, none of this is a criticism of my brother. He is doing everything he believes he should be doing to be a good husband and father. This is a criticism of the system that tells him that neglecting your family and home is a priority and that doing so will actually benefit your family. Not that the rest of us are spending all the time and energy we could be on our families either. After all, I left my children with family while my wife and I were in Seattle. On the other hand, I'm not offering frequent travel and long work hours as the prescription for eternal familial happiness.
I see my brother as a victim in this. Geoff has struggled with depression his entire life. At one point he was very suicidal, frequently cut himself and wrote violent poetry about his own death. I see him proceed through life with that depression untreated and covered in the blanket of Mormonism and religious activity. His fanatical religiousness comes off almost desperate, like a plate juggler, as if slowing down or stopping would cause the whole works to come crashing down. So, he keeps the plates spinning. If he medicated with alcohol the way he seems to with religion we would be staging an intervention, or perhaps a funeral. Instead, he gets social acceptance and encouragement to continue.
All the while he seems to be in a haze, distant from reality. Not unaware of reality, just sort-of looking through it to the other reality he envisions he chooses to be real. His eyes literally seem to not quite be looking at what is going on most of the time.
I'd love to get him some help. Years ago, before leaving home for two years as a missionary and on the recommendation of our Stake President, he saw an LDS Church-employed psychologist. After a fifteen minute session, the pseudo-shrink prescribed an anti-depressant and encouraged him to pray and read his scriptures, that Jesus Christ would see him through. He never took the Zoloft but he still keeps a bottle full of Jesus pills to pop whenever to mood to drive into oncoming traffic sweeps uncontrollably over him. (I use this particular example because he has told me on a number of occasions that he has frequent thoughts of slowly drifting his car across the double yellow line) I fear that one day his need for the medication will exceed its effectiveness.
If that day comes, I hope he confides in me instead of becoming the lead story on the KING 5 news so I can share with him what I know. I'll also make sure he talks to a professional. This time one without a religious agenda.
Filed under - Family | Mormonism
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I just stumbled onto your blog. The account of your brother's life makes ME want to reach for the anti-depressants. I have to say that I see this same scenario played out in my own overly religious (though not Mormon) fundamentalist family. As the lead apostate in my family, I see my older sibling spinning those same plates. The sad part is that in some church and family systems, you can never spin them fast enough to be just right. I'm SO thankful that I saw the light prior hooking up with my spouse and don't have to live that way. I think I'd rather drive into oncoming traffic.
Truly, the best part and the worst part of being the odd man out are the same...you get to be out.
Susan