The Big Brother I Never Had

       The following excerpt is from the end of chapter one of my book, Mornings with Larry. I named the chapter Scared to Meet You, Larry because whenever I arrived to work each morning as Larry Browning's caregiver, I was confronted with the reality of his very hard life. At times, Larry's trials were hard for me to grasp because

Mornings with Larry can be purchased on Amazon:
 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HNQKB1L

of the relative comfort of my own life. I had difficulty reconciling my existence with his existence. This excerpt is my attempt at understanding my amazing brother in the Lord, Larry Browning. May you be comforted as you face your own difficulties and the fears/anxieties that accompany them.  

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Scared to Meet You, Larry

       When we imagine the difficulties of being severely disabled, the obvious physical restrictions come to mind. We couldn’t run, walk, throw balls, read, write, watch movies, feed ourselves, blow our nose, fish, hunt, drive, etc. Think of your favorite activities. A blind quadriplegic person probably can’t do them, or needs assistance doing them.
I asked Larry what he considered the hardest thing about his condition.
“I think loneliness is probably close to the top,” he said. “It takes away being able to do things with your spouse—like work or sitting on the couch and enjoying watching something together. I’m here by myself because Ann has to keep the yard up, maintain the house, the flowers. So a lot of times I’m just left alone. I sleep a lot, but other times I’m left to listen to the television. Basically, MS has changed the relationship with my wife from being my partner to being my caregiver. And that in itself brings a lot of loneliness.”
It surprised me that loneliness would be one of Larry’s biggest struggles. It seemed to me the worst thing would be the claustrophobic frustration of not being able to move—that “buried alive” feeling. And Larry does find that awful. But even worse is the isolation he feels from not being able to participate with others in activities that require movement or sight.
“It affects every relationship,” he says, “your relationship with your wife, your children, your friends—because all you can do is sit and talk. You can’t go down the river and fish, or go for a walk or anything.”
Loneliness.
Larry loves fellowship. He describes himself as a people-oriented pastor. His ministry involves relationships, first with God, and then with fellow human beings. Prior to the disease, he led an activity-oriented social life. Whether taking a friend down the river in his drift boat or playing church-league softball, Larry often interwove physical activities with relationships.
But now he just sits. When people visit, he talks and listens.
There are positives in all this. Although Larry detests sitting in a wheelchair twelve hours a day, he enjoys back-and-forth dialogue with others. He has the rare gift of being both a good speaker and a good listener. Larry actually asks me questions about my boring life—and listens to my long answers. He remembers the names of my nieces and nephews, and knows details about their lives. Now that is something.
“When I interact with other people,” he says, “I think less of what I’m going through and instead focus on where they’re at. It gives me an opportunity to pray specifically for their needs. Of course, I’ve always been a people person and I enjoy interaction with people.”
He finds conversation even more enjoyable if it involves a road trip. Food and fellowship at restaurants are always a treat for him. We often have breakfast at a local restaurant with a small group of Christian brothers. The camaraderie—and endless refills of coffee—energize him.
I’m glad I stretched myself and telephoned the Brownings on that summer day in 2009. My apprehension was unfounded, and I made an incredible friend. Larry and I talk about nearly everything—whether deep, surface, or over the edge. We’ve had our share of discussions about theology and Christian life. I suspect he’s more candid now than when he wore the pastoral hat. Larry’s many past adventures, whether wholesome or unsavory, always involved people and relationships. I’m thankful to play a part in his latest journey.
He’s the big brother I never had.