As I’m writing this book, with the hopes of helping families understand how to help their own family members with substance abuse, I also hope that my brother’s life will have a happy outcome and good purpose. I hope he will be free from drugs, cancer and depression. I hope that someday he rekindles a relationship with his own children, and they get to know him as the loving father he once was. It’s very hard for me to watch my family grow old without the joy of a total family. But I can’t dwell on that. I must forge ahead like my brother does!
I’m not sure if writing this book helped me find my brother, or if it helped me find myself. After years of experience, I realize how much I have learned. I’ve learned to not be so hard on myself; not to be so hard on my parents for their decisions. Whether they were right or wrong, it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that we love each other; that we accept what is handed to us and handle it in a positive way. I accept my brother for who he is. I also try my best to make him see that he is a whole person, so he can be proud of himself and his accomplishments. I allowed him to fall on his face, hit a brick wall and get back up on his feet, and to survive this awful addiction! I know we’ve tried everything possible to help him. Now it is his time to try! He won’t be disappointing us anymore. He will either help himself or sign his own death certificate.
I’m so thankful for my parents. Dad allowed me to learn from his codependency. This taught me how to make the correct decisions while helping my brother. Mom stepped away, which taught me how to help myself, and to cope and deal with Angelo. I knew she was always there if I needed her.
As for my brother, I will always stand by him, thankful to him for allowing me to love him unconditionally!!!
I’m not sure if this book will have a happy ending.
“How dare you lie to me and say that my brother was ready for surgery?” I asked the nurse. “You know very well that you were going to leave him down here until you thought he was ready to be prepped. There are no signs of any medical equipment attached to him. You haven’t even started attaching a port in his vein for the anesthesia,” That would be a whole other ordeal. The nurse was very apologetic to me. I told her to apologize to my brother. “He is the one you need to care for. If that were me on that bed, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” I told her with a smile. She knew what I meant. The next thing I knew, she had found a good vein with as little pain and discomfort to Angelo as possible to administer his
medicine. He looked at the nurse, with a smile on his face, and
said “My sister’s tough.”
“She loves you,” the nurse answered.
Before they rolled him into the OR, Angelo responded,
“I love her too!”
Throughout the many stressful years, I’ve tried to be there for my parents. I’ve tried to make a happy family out of an almost dysfunctional one. I still craved a lovely home with a wonderful husband, where we’d work together, build a family business, and have healthy children. I longed for the days when my brother was still happily married, his children growing up with my children. Our families taking trips together and enjoying each other’s company. I will never give up my dream!
My life may have taken a different route, but my heart remained the same. I longed for my brother to be healthy, happy, loved and free of worry. I wanted to see his face pain free, and his body drug free. I told my brother once that I wouldn’t be happy until he had found his way home, drug free. When I told him that, I wanted to open the door and find my brother standing there—the brother I remembered from when we were children. Angelo looked directly at me with his innocent, childlike expression. He said, “Your brother is always here. I never left you.” My eyes filled up with tears. I realized he didn’t know how much I had needed him to be there with me throughout the years. To encourage me when I had wanted to open my business, to comfort me when I had gotten divorced; to laugh with me when our parents acted like teenagers; or to just be there for me with “the answers” I had needed at that moment.
In that moment, I felt blessed. Angelo was still able to function on his own, even after all the years of drug abuse and brain damage. He would always need some help though. So for now I was doing that—encouraging him, making him laugh, and comforting him. My older brother had become my child that I wanted to protect, to nurture, and to defend. My parents were now my teenagers that I looked after. I had my family—a good family at that!
Mom and Dad's wedding day
Angelo and Maria
Mom and Dad
Angelo
My older brother Angelo was an interesting, fun loving character who loved to joke around and have a good time with everyone. He was tall, thin, and handsome, with beautiful blue eyes. Along with being gifted, intelligent, stylish, and creative, he had a charismatic personality and was generous to a fault. Growing up, many of his so-called friends took advantage of him. He eventually learned how to weed out the fake friends, but it took him many years to do so.
Angelo was lovable and liked to tease me. When we were in the car with our parents, we’d end up fighting because Angelo would make faces at me or call me names like frizz-a-wig, because of my very curly hair. I’d yell back, “I’m telling Mommy.” He would then mimic me and the fight would begin. To make me smile again he would tickle me or wiggle his ears, making me laugh and forget that I was mad at him. (His ear wiggle would prove quite helpful in our later years.)
Angelo was two years older than me. I learned early on the benefits of having an older brother. I think that most of the coincidences in my life were planted by my brother and planned by my father. There was always a little guardian angel with me throughout my life. Sometimes it was a good thing; sometimes it was annoying; and many times, it was just plain weird.
Angelo brought mayhem and fun to my life. Most of my girlfriends loved him; others dated him. I don’t even want to know what happened with those girls!
Angelo, Sr. - Dad
My mother was actually born in the United States. They met at an Italian dance. My father and his friend Leone were going to the Italian dance one night. Leone had met this girl Gracie that he liked, and she was going to be there with her friend, Maria.
Depending on who you ask, there are two versions of this story.
My dad, a handsome young Italian, who had just come to America, had dark curly hair and beautiful blue eyes. He walked into the dance hall and saw this beautiful tall woman with big brown eyes and a beautiful smile, and he fell in love. That’s Dad’s version.
Maria Colavita - Mom
My mother was actually born in the United States. They met at an Italian dance. My father and his friend Leone were going to the Italian dance one night. Leone had met this girl Gracie that he liked, and she was going to be there with her friend, Maria.
Depending on who you ask, there are two versions of this story.
Mom’s version is much funnier. Your father and his friends walked into the dance hall like they were the sharpest men there. Not quite! After Leone introduced us, I couldn’t get rid of your father. He irritated me all night—wanting to dance and then walking me home. I’m telling you, he thought he was smooth. When we got home, he introduced himself to your grandparents and in his dialect, told them he was going to marry me. I didn’t understand what he was saying, so I kept saying “Yes,” just to get him to leave. Your grandmother told me to “Keep quiet,” because I didn’t know what I was answering yes to! The rest is history!
“Sixty-three years later and I still can’t get rid of him,” she says now, laughing with affection.
Testimonials
Testimonials
“I just finished your book. You guys went through a lot but were always a family. This was so touching.”
-M. Cedrone
“This book is amazing. It was a cathartic journey. I couldn’t put it down, even when I knew I had to go to work.”
-V. Londergan:
“I am not shocked at all, my daughter who is a substance abuse therapist has told me similar stories. What addiction can do to a person and to families. I can’t wait for my daughter to read this book.”
-P. Chiaffitella:
“Reading, Help Me Find My Brother, puts in prospective how mental illness and addiction behavior works. How the person who is suffering behaves and how it works on the family and how they react to these behaviors.”
-J. Schiavo
“I just finished Chapter 6 of your book. It’s fascinating!”
-T. Callas:
