Thank you for this compact and heartfelt pram-to-early-grave story. I have known several “Jacks”, although, of course, they are all unique. For they are all human, and by being human they are all mysterious. Thanks again.
P.S. Thank you for Stella Kalaw's stunning collage illustration, "Remembering Jack". Her choice of colours, and the fluttering mess of cereal, spilling lovingly as babies' food does- right off the page!- is a wonderful evocation of babyhood.
The love you had for your brother courses through this piece. Thank you for sharing a bit about him and about the complexities of loving a brother whose specialness shines through the damage caused by the disease that killed him. It struck a tender spot for me. Six months ago, I lost my brother, the second of the five of us and not even a year younger than me. He suffered for years with depression and alcoholism. He was a quiet, private, man with a dry sense of humor and an infectious laugh He gave love and was loved by so many that the auditorium where we held his "celebration of life" was packed. There is no replacing the place he holds in my life and in my heart. I imagine it is the same for you even nine years later. I wish you peace. My condolences.
My condolences for your loss. Coming from an Irish Catholic family ( is it a stereotype?) I have lost too many friends and relatives to ‘the drink’. One day at a time I have escaped the scourge but know, there but for the grace of god go I.
Thank you, Kathy. According to European Union statistics, the Irish consume about as much alcohol per capita as do the French and the Spanish, but more than the Italians and less than the Germans. Good to point out, however, that the disease/disorder of alcoholism is treatable. Sadly, some, like my brother, fall through the cracks.
I knew Jack. He was a warm and loving man with a philosophical wit and I miss him.
This story pays tribute to his sensitive humanity and charm.
It examines the culture and mythology of male drinking that disguises the pain addiction brings to oneself and the ones around. I've been there.
Paula, you tell so much, so openly, so courageously in this work. Your choice of words, the voice and the compactness of the narrative are impressive examples of your writing skills.
It is a beautiful homage to Jack that took a labour of the heart to produce. You should be proud.
You have a great gift for taking us by surprise in a matter of fact way. Jack was charming, witty, handsome, and he died of alcoholism at 52. I didn't see that coming which is often the case when I read your work. You are splendid at revealing paradox.
Your love and caring shine through. As does the honesty about the limits of your understanding - you can only conjecture about possible abuse by the Christian Brothers, and Jack’s inner traumas underlying the addiction). I’m struck by the poignant contrast.
The ending is a beautiful example of “show, don’t tell”. What a wonderfully written story.
Paula so many of us have lived with a Jack. Over the years, they become their disorder in the minds of those around them. No longer Jack. No longer someone’s beloved cherubic baby brother or adored youngest child. Your brother died too early as is often the case with addiction related illness. Some Jacks get better though because someone is brave enough to share a story like yours and it becomes their survival guide. Thank you.
Thank you for this compact and heartfelt pram-to-early-grave story. I have known several “Jacks”, although, of course, they are all unique. For they are all human, and by being human they are all mysterious. Thanks again.
Thank you Spyro for pointing out the uniqueness of each of the much loved "Jacks" in our lives.
P.S. Thank you for Stella Kalaw's stunning collage illustration, "Remembering Jack". Her choice of colours, and the fluttering mess of cereal, spilling lovingly as babies' food does- right off the page!- is a wonderful evocation of babyhood.
The love you had for your brother courses through this piece. Thank you for sharing a bit about him and about the complexities of loving a brother whose specialness shines through the damage caused by the disease that killed him. It struck a tender spot for me. Six months ago, I lost my brother, the second of the five of us and not even a year younger than me. He suffered for years with depression and alcoholism. He was a quiet, private, man with a dry sense of humor and an infectious laugh He gave love and was loved by so many that the auditorium where we held his "celebration of life" was packed. There is no replacing the place he holds in my life and in my heart. I imagine it is the same for you even nine years later. I wish you peace. My condolences.
Elizabeth, my condolences on the loss of your own beloved brother. You write about him so eloquently and the place he will forever hold in your heart.
My condolences for your loss. Coming from an Irish Catholic family ( is it a stereotype?) I have lost too many friends and relatives to ‘the drink’. One day at a time I have escaped the scourge but know, there but for the grace of god go I.
Thank you, Kathy. According to European Union statistics, the Irish consume about as much alcohol per capita as do the French and the Spanish, but more than the Italians and less than the Germans. Good to point out, however, that the disease/disorder of alcoholism is treatable. Sadly, some, like my brother, fall through the cracks.
Your love for your brother and anger with the pub culture that nurtured Jack’s alcoholism is strongly conveyed.
I love the line “an affront to my big girl dignity”
I also had Irish uncles that eventually succumbed to alcohol.
I knew Jack. He was a warm and loving man with a philosophical wit and I miss him.
This story pays tribute to his sensitive humanity and charm.
It examines the culture and mythology of male drinking that disguises the pain addiction brings to oneself and the ones around. I've been there.
Paula, you tell so much, so openly, so courageously in this work. Your choice of words, the voice and the compactness of the narrative are impressive examples of your writing skills.
It is a beautiful homage to Jack that took a labour of the heart to produce. You should be proud.
He was too good for this place.
One of the strongest pieces of love is honesty. This was gently written and open. Thank you.
You have a great gift for taking us by surprise in a matter of fact way. Jack was charming, witty, handsome, and he died of alcoholism at 52. I didn't see that coming which is often the case when I read your work. You are splendid at revealing paradox.
An honest and well written tragic story of addiction and love.
A heartbreaking story, beautifully and lovingly written.
Your love and caring shine through. As does the honesty about the limits of your understanding - you can only conjecture about possible abuse by the Christian Brothers, and Jack’s inner traumas underlying the addiction). I’m struck by the poignant contrast.
The ending is a beautiful example of “show, don’t tell”. What a wonderfully written story.
Thank you for beautifully written and very touching story of your brother.
Paula so many of us have lived with a Jack. Over the years, they become their disorder in the minds of those around them. No longer Jack. No longer someone’s beloved cherubic baby brother or adored youngest child. Your brother died too early as is often the case with addiction related illness. Some Jacks get better though because someone is brave enough to share a story like yours and it becomes their survival guide. Thank you.
Both touching and tragic. An insightful commentary on addiction.
“He kept a pet canary named Wharf” this line, this line. Heartbreaking and tender and angry - oh Paula.
That broke my heart...