I hate him, I thought. I wish he would go away.

I left the Al-Anon meeting after listening to people talk about the addicts and alcoholics in their families. I was there because of my younger brother, hoping to find strategies to cope with his crazy behavior. A couple had explained their decision to put their drug-using daughter out of the house. “We told her when she was ready to get clean, she would be welcome home, but not until then,” said the mother. The father added, “It was the hardest thing we’ve ever done.” Other parents murmured their agreement: “You did the right thing.”

I walked home that night, wondering why my parents couldn’t do the right thing. I was only 15 years old, but the course that couple took seemed obvious to me. “We have other children,” the mother had said. “It isn’t fair to them that everything revolves around her.”

Trouble
It isn’t fair that everything revolves around him. My brother was a prodigal son, just like the one in the parable Jesus told in the Gospel of Luke (chapter 15). In that story, the son demanded money and then ran off and wasted it. He came home in sorrow for his deeds, and his father rejoiced and threw a big celebration.

But there was an older son in that story who refused to join the party. “I never gave you a moment’s trouble!” he cried to his father. “This brother of mine comes home, and after everything he’s done, you throw a party for him?” I can hear that older son. His voice is my voice. I call him the prodigal brother, because he ran away even though he stayed at home. He became distant in his heart.

You see, I was the “good kid” in our family. I got good grades and respected authority. I thought a party should be thrown for me—after all, I deserved it! But it was my brother who always commanded attention, and so I stayed away, throwing myself into after-school activities or youth meetings at church.

Regrets
Emotional flare-ups were common in my home. My brother started fights, but I rarely turned the other cheek. I was so angry at him for messing up our family that I jumped in with fists flying. My relationship with my parents was strained because I was mad at them for not handling things the way I thought they should. I didn’t see how my own hatred influenced my family relationships. That’s right—hatred. I was a Christian, but I hated my brother. He knew how to push my buttons, and I always let him do it.

Looking back, I think about what I could have done better. First, I so frequently reacted when my brother provoked me or when he fought with my parents that I sabotaged my ability to be a strong influence. To act, though, is to make a decision, and I wish I had planned the best way to respond when confronted. I could have recognized how our fights started and then made a decision to avoid them. I could have decided ahead of time not to yell or to walk away. I might not have always been successful, but it would have been better to try.

Second, I could have dropped my self-righteousness. My brother’s problems involved the entire family, but I didn’t want to identify myself with them. I did everything I could to let people know that while I might be from these people, I was nothing like them. I became arrogant and judgmental, and this critical attitude extended to my friends, my teachers and others. I wish I had seen that this attitude was as poisonous as drugs, just in a different way.

Third, I wish I had considered how lonely and frustrated my brother was. Sure, he was a troublemaker and deliberately did awful things. But I never tried to see the inner struggles that motivated him. I had no compassion, and I wish I had thought about what was going on inside him and tried to be more patient. I refused my brother money when he demanded it, but I could have told him more often how much I loved him and wanted to see him get his life together. I realize now that he could always depend on me to be against him. I could have let him know in some way that I was for him, especially now that he is gone. He died from the effects of his drug and alcohol abuse, and I regret that the last words I shared with him were in an argument.

Love
These are the responses of love. Love is the power to give when others cannot give to us. Our ability to respond in love is an indicator of where we are in our relationship with God. We prodigal brothers—and sisters—have something to bring to the celebration. No matter what our family’s struggles, we can stand with them in compassion and patience. Hatred gets us nowhere but far away from home.