The story of my youngest brother’s mental illness is a familiar one to those who know me well. Last Fall, he moved out of my parent’s place into community living, meaning he, Dennis, lives in a suite with a roommate in a home that is maintained by the local mental health authority. It was a huge step, and in my opinion, a very healthy one for him and my parents.
A few weeks ago, our brother Ken (the middle child) suggested we get together for dinner at Dennis’ house so last week, we did just that. Dennis made us dinner—minestrone soup—a recipe our mom had given him. The soup was really quite tasty and I was really proud of him for hosting his siblings so well. He even offered us tea when we first arrived.
It may seem commonplace to many, but this dinner of three adult siblings over bowls of homemade soup is a milestone for my brothers and I—in our relationships and in Dennis showing he is capable of living a functional life. In the past, I as the eldest and most independent, have entertained, hosted and fed my brothers. Those moments often leave me drained emotionally and physically. Now, the sibling that is struggling the most has taken a turn and it is a slice of hope for better times ahead.
Let us raise a glass—or rather, a soup spoon—to “firsts” of all kinds.
