I am the middle child. Three words to sum up my life as a sibling would be responsibility, patience and loneliness.
My younger brother, Richard, has Downs’ Syndrome and now early onset dementia and my older brother, David, was diagnosed with schizophrenia in his late teens. I was the reliable one; the responsible one; the one who could just get on with things; the one who seemed to cope with the many changes thrown at our childhood. Our parents worked hard to try to support all our varying needs and gave me many opportunities, but they both admitted that because I didn’t make a fuss, they thought I was “okay.”
Now, at fifty-seven, it’s interesting reflecting on growing up with two needy siblings. Early childhood didn’t feel difficult. After being born in Aberdeen, we moved to a rural part of Southern Ireland when I was four and I had a fairly idyllic seven years. Richard was born there and the community acceptance and support for him meant that I was either shielded from the impact of his needs or had enough attention from other families to fill any gaps at home. Richard was just one of the kids and had lots of older ‘brothers and sisters’ looking out for him.
It was moving to Lancashire when I was eleven that made me aware of his difference and the difference in our family because of him. Cruel comments from other children who didn’t know us made me both protective and embarrassed. I was dealing with my own difficulties moving from a rural community to an urban one; struggling to fit in; being what would now be termed as unacceptably bullied about my accent and the connotations of being Irish. My way of dealing with it was to laugh and try to be liked. There was nowhere to express the anger and loneliness bubbling under the surface and I learned to squash my own needs and emotions. I was continually trying to fit in which led me to make poor relationship choices as a young adult. I don’t think I ever knew what was right for me.
As a young adult, I was always part of Richard’s support network, to help with lifts or in his flat when he moved out to live independently. He would join my friends and I for occasions; nights at the pub, theatre visits etc. But I would be in Big Sister Mode, so it would never be as relaxing for me as it was without him there (but I would always feel guilty for thinking this).
At about fourteen David, my older brother, started to behave in strange ways which confused and frightened me. He was seventeen, but not like my friends’ older brothers. He was unpredictable; fun one minute, intimidating and sometimes violent the next. When I was sixteen, we moved to Southern England which meant another reinvention of myself. For my parents’ sake, and because I wanted an older brother to help me navigate life, I persevered with my relationship with him. It was incredibly damaging, but I was in my early thirties with two daughters of my own before I was able to explain that I couldn’t continue to have a relationship with him. I still don’t. Saying ‘no’ was and still is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
In the last ten years, as our parents aged, I have been fully involved with Richard’s day to day care and decisions. I hold Lasting Power of Attorney for his health, welfare and finances which he was able to agree to before dementia took hold, so I am responsible for a lot of decisions concerning him. In 2019, just as my own children had both left home and were largely independent, I gave up my job as a primary teacher because dealing with Richard’s and my parents’ needs and the demands of teaching and maintaining my own life became too much to cope with. Our dad passed away in 2023. Mum, at eighty-six, is still very independent and active in my brothers’ lives but also needs my support.
On a positive note, being in this ‘brother sandwich’ has made me incredibly resilient, independent and capable, with an enormous amount of patience and empathy. Sadly, I have two siblings with whom I cannot share childhood memories – which hits home when listening to my daughters express theirs. It is a beautiful thing that they share.
And I do find it heart-breaking, at times, that I don’t.
Below: Fiona with her brother Richard
