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My brother, Dale, was born with mental disabilities. I never truly accepted that fact until 2006--the year he died. I was angry with Dale for most of his life and surely contributed to the sadness he carried, buried within. Now that he is gone, I cry for him often. I know he loved me--he loved us all so much. I can't begin to describe the pain I feel in knowing it's too late to show him that I love him, too.

He Ain't Heavy

July 6, 2006

 

Dale and Wayne

The words 'He ain't heavy, he's my brother' have always made me think of my brothers. The one, big, always needing, and the one, small, always giving. When I would hear the song, it would bring tears to my eyes, thinking of how the little one carried the big one and never seemed to notice the weight.

Now those words are even more powerful than before and they are ever present in my mind. The load Wayne never thought was heavy, the one he never complained about carrying, is soon to be lightened; his brother Dale is dying.

I never understood the patience Wayne had with Dale. Dale was always so demanding, so expecting, so unappreciative, and so self-centered. Wayne would shrug it off and say mentally he was like a child. He didn't know any better.

But I didn't believe he didn't know better. I believed he knew exactly what he was doing. I was sure he acted helpless on purpose, for sympathy, and to have someone take care of him. To me he was a burden. To me he was very heavy.

Taking care of Dale brought problems for Wayne. You see, no one wanted Dale around; not Wayne's wife, his daughter, his friends, his employees, or even his siblings. Wayne gave Dale a job, found a place for him to live, and stood in his corner anytime someone had something to say.

In the meantime, Dale would tell anyone that would listen that Wayne was holding him back, paying him too little, cheating him, using him, and on and on and on. He would run Wayne down verbally, using vulgarities, and even try to physically hurt him.

Wayne would take it all in stride, trying to keep peace with those around him, but never letting his brother down. He knew without him, Dale would not have a chance. To him, Dale was an overgrown little boy; never heavy, never a burden.

Three years ago Dale's health declined sharply. Wayne's wife began managing his affairs. She handled phone calls, doctors, social security, transportation, and anything else he needed. They even provided a very nice two bedroom trailer so that he could live peacefully on his own. Oh yeah, and bought him a dog. Linda says she's never paid for a dog in her life--but she did it for Dale.

This year Dale was back in the hospital. The doctors were giving up on him. They kept him sedated and restrained because he didn't understand he couldn't leave. He wanted to go home so badly, but every time he woke up, they would put him back under. Because of the drugs, he barely knew his name when they questioned him. They said he would not be able to take care of himself anymore. He would need to go to a nursing home.

What he really needed was someone to stay by his side, so that he could be calmed and get his system cleared of the medications. As much as I didn't want to, I knew I was the only one that could do this without complications. And so I went.

Well, going there turned out to be an experience I wouldn't take back for anything. The person I saw in that hospital bed was not someone I had ever known. Here was someone that genuinely needed my help and in turn brought out the very best in me; brought out things I didn't know I had within me. I saw the person that Wayne had always been able to see. I saw a two hundred and twenty pound little boy. I saw my brother; possibly for the first time in my life. And I saw that really--he ain't heavy.

Dale went home a few days later. He's now back to his demanding, expecting, unappreciative, self-centered self. But now that I've seen inside his heart, I know that he doesn't mean to be any of those things. I know how much his heart goes out to those who are facing death without loved ones. I've seen how much he cares when someone's troubled. I know he has a great sense of humor and he likes to joke with people and make them happy. And I know how much he loves his family and how sad he is that he has to leave us.

I will miss my brother.

Update - Dale Thomas Straight passed away on November 11th, 2006. He was 42 years old. Wayne was right there, holding Dale's hand, to the very end.

For those who may be wondering -- Dale never read or knew about this article.

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