My Brother's Keeper

"Matt's back."

I had no way of knowing how those two words would impact me when my sister phoned a year ago.

It all started 53 1/2 years ago, when my parents brought home a several day old baby boy.

I was only 3 1/2 at the time, so I doubt I understood he was adopted, but even today I don't know much more than he was born out of wedlock to teenage parents who couldn't raise him.

My mom told me that like us, he had some Italian in him, and in addition, Greek as well. It was probably that Grecian background that allowed him to bronze like a god in the summer when all I did was burn.

I was always jealous of that.

Matthew was all boy. One day he got a new bike, rode it down the driveway and straight into a telephone pole. He broke his arm.

A few years later, I remember being "in charge" at home after school. Next thing I knew, he was running into the house, blood seeping out between his fingers as his hand tried to hold together the wound he'd given himself falling off his bike. I was freaking out and he just looked at me and said "I'll be fine." I think he was 9 or 10.

Then there was the time he "ran away from home" as a young teen. He rode his bike from our house to our grandparents home 23 miles away.

Matt had a history with bikes for sure.

These are the things I think about when tells me these days that he wishes he had a bike to get around on.

Sadly, I'm not sure he'd be any more safe on one as an adult than he was as a reckless kid.

At 53 1/2, he's a shell of his former self. He's not steady on his feet and his short-term memory is shot. He looks a good 10 years older than he is and he can barely care for himself.

I'm not sure what demons he fought for years, but his current state is the result of doing pretty much every drug known to man for more than 3 decades.

He would disappear for stretches of time, mostly heading down south, resurface "back home" when he lost a job or needed a place to stay, burn familial bridges in the process, then somehow land mostly on his feet and disappear again.

The sad truth was, we figured one day someone would call to say he had overdosed and was gone.

We tried to talk to him about the drugs, his fiscal irresponsibility, and getting treatment, but he was all swagger and big talk, long on promises, short on keeping them.

If you know an addict, you know what I'm talking about.

Then last February, my sister called and my world hasn't been the same since.

"Matt's back. I can't deal with him. He's living in his truck and he's asking for money and a place to stay. You do this for a living, can't you help him?"

I didn't want to deal with this problem. I had literally just been told I had lymphoma and my head was spinning from that unexpected news.

Still, I agreed to meet with my brother for the first time in probably five years.

He was broken. "I know I messed up. I'll do whatever you ask. Please help me." He said he hadn't slept in a week, so I thought putting him up in a motel might help.

They were calling for a major snowstorm within a week. I only had enough on my credit card to put him up for 2-3 nights, but I thought it would buy him a little time to figure things out.

I bought him dinner, gave him the motel information and sent him on his way.

He still couldn't sleep even with a warm, clean bed and I was out of money. He spent another night in his truck.

Once again, I bought him dinner. This time, he barely touched it.

"Don't you like your food, Matt?"

"Yeah, it's good."

"Then why aren't you eating it?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to go to the bathroom, and I've already had to poop outside once today. It's freezing out."

I sat there stunned. My brother had messed up his life so badly. He had nothing. He was reduced to defecating outside in the woods in 10 degree weather.

I was so angry with him for the life he'd wasted, but he was my brother and I couldn't let him live like an animal.

In that moment, I believe God showed me there was more going on with my brother than any of us had ever taken the time to see. It was easy to recognize the drug addiction, but I don't think we ever really addressed the mental issues driving him to it.

I sent him to a crisis center for evaluation. They discharged him without admitting him.

I began calling mental health and drug hotlines. I spent the next 48 hours being sent in a thousand different directions, but finally, one person listened when he said he had thoughts of harming himself and had a plan.

Hours before the snow began to fall from that predicted storm, I sat with him in yet another ER, but this time, they too listened and got him admitted.

It has not been an easy year.

Since that meeting last February, he has gone downhill rapidly. I'm convinced if I had sent him on his way, he'd be dead today.

Two inpatient hospital stays, transitional housing, social services programs, more permanent housing (courtesy of temporary rental assistance), many, many doctor visits to pinpoint the cause of his short-term memory loss and other physical issues, two social security denials, adult day care, home health aides and more. The journey has been frustrating, complicated and long and it's not yet over.

There have been many times in the past 12 months I wish I hadn't responded to the call. I'm angry that his poor life choices have infringed on my time and energy. I'm resentful that even though I have cancer, I often can't tend to my own needs because he's not capable of tending to his.

So after all that, am I my brother's keeper? I Peter 3:8-9 would indicate I need to be.

Finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble. Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.

I don't know what the future holds - for either of us. I don't excuse his poor choices or bad behavior. But he is my brother and I'm called to love him even on those days when, I confess, I don't like him much.

To all of you who find yourselves in similar circumstances, God bless you. It's not an easy life you've been called to. Walking that fine line between caring for and enabling is a tough one. I'm sure it's not the life you would have chosen. I know it's not mine.

But I believe God honors the effort and we will inherit a blessing. I believe my brother matters to God and therefore, he matters to me.

And so, I am my brother's keeper.