Happy Birthday Big Brother

Christopher Quade
October 12, 1956 - October 10, 1994

Today is my brother Chris' birthday. He would be 51 years old. I used to joke around about how he'd never see his 40th birthday, just because he was such a wild child. I never thought I'd be right.

Chris had always been the smartest of the Quade kids. He sailed through school, he was athletic, he was so handsome. He had jet black hair, the kind that's so black it's almost blue. Beautiful grey eyes. He remains one of the funniest people I've ever known. So smart, and quick. But from college on he was a drinker and drug user, and over the years he became an alcoholic and drug addict.

The thing with Chris is that he was so stubborn, and so incredibly hot-tempered that he'd never ask for help, and God forbid if you offered him any. I don't know if there's anything I could have said or done that would have kept him clean. Of course you wonder that a lot after they're gone. I know my folks had it the worst, since they raised him. They couldn't help but agonize over what went wrong. But as a friend, whose sister died much the same way as Chris, told me, he got to a place where we couldn't help him. It's not his fault. It's the nature of addiction. I know I'm a recovering food addict, my oldest brother is recovering alcoholic and drug addict. But Chris, he just kept going. It's so unbelievably sad for me to think about. This beautiful person's life was simply snuffed out one day. He was just gone. And I'll never see him again.

And he was so loved. Everyone loved him. His wake was overflowing with friends, old teachers, people whom I hadn't seen since I was a little girl in our old neighborhood came to pay their respects. Of course there were also his drug pals (people who bought from him, people who partied with him) who were in the lower level of the funeral home doing lines of coke and God only knows what else. I wonder how many of them are dead by now? I know of 2, Perry and Mike...guys I'd known since Chris was in high school. Perry died from drugs, Mike drank himself to death. Who else?

The day it happened was like any other day. I was living in Shorewood. I didn't have a car, so I'd taken the bus in to work. As I came in my coworker Sue said, "Your dad called, he wants you to call him at home." I wasn't particularly alarmed. My dad worked at Marquette too, and his office was directly behind the building I was in, so we'd see each other and whatnot. And I talked with my parents often enough that hearing from them at work wasn't particularly odd. So I get to the phone and call home, and my dad answers. I say "What's up?" He says "Is there someone there with you?" I said "Sure, most of the folks are here." Then he said "I've got terrible news." My heart sank. Thankfully he didn't wait long to tell me "Your brother Christopher has died." All I could say was "How?" and he said he didn't know. Then I just started sobbing. I worked in a big open room and I'd known everyone for years, they were all friends, and they crowded around me. I don't know what I would have done without them. Then Sue got her coat, went to her car and picked me up to take me to my parents' house. I was in another world. The next few days were some of the worst in my life.

I learned a lot though, over those few days. I'd lost people before, but they had fit in the vast scheme of things; grandparents mostly. But to lose someone so young, so quickly...I learned how grief works. I learned how kind people can be during a loss. I learned that some people can't handle it and will avoid you (and that's OK, I know how hard it is...but it made me less afraid to talk to people in the same situation, and not to pretend it didn't happen). I learned just how much my parents loved him. I learned my dad could cry like a child. I learned the ins and outs of planning a funeral, and all the funeral etiquette that goes with it. I learned just how many people out there knew and loved my brother.

How it happened was, he'd been celebrating his birthday (early, obviously...he loved his birthday) the night he died. He took something, I actually don't remember what...a speedball maybe? As the party went on, he laid down and died. That was that. And what happened then is, all his friends who were there left. That's what druggies do. They knew (or thought) if they stayed they'd be arrested because of all the drugs and paraphernelia. Maybe that's true, I don't know. They did make a call to the police almost immediately, anonymously. But they left him there. That might be the saddest thing of all.

I know this post is a bummer, but I've never really written any of this down, any of what happened then. I remember it like it happened yesterday. Every time his birthday rolls around I relive it, to a greater or lesser extent. I find the whole experience a testament of the kind of things we can endure. Life keeps moving.

I still miss him. He's not there to celebrate holidays anymore, or to call me on my birthday and sing to me over the phone. The last such call was on my 29th birthday, he and his friend Kuzi called me at about 2:30 am and sang a drunken version of Shiloh, with my name inserted where Shiloh should be..."Leslie, when I was young..." I laughed my ass off.

So, I miss you brother, I really do. How I wish things were different. How I wish you had gone a different route. How I wish you could have cured whatever demons plagued you. My favorite time was when Chris moved back home after a car accident. I was in high school, about 15 or 16. He knew he could get me to do anything for him. He'd just give me this sideways glance and say "Leslie? Please?" He'd call me in the room to change the channels for him, get him some soda, whatever. And I loved it. I loved him. I still love him.

:) As they say, "I'll mourn ya till I join ya."