My only brother, Mike Bailey, died this summer, alone and in despair, and by his own hand. In our pain and dismay, all of us who loved him search for meaning and lesson in the devastating loss of a magnificent man. I don’t want to be unnecessarily maudlin here, but I think a lot about Mike and when I think about my connection to our landscape and my desire to help protect the natural places we have left, I often think of my brother.
For a number of years Mike and I would take some time out and don our backpacks and head off, just us two, for a few days into some place remote. Most often we went to the Wind Rivers or into the Uintas, once to summit Mt. Shasta on the 4th of July, watching the fireworks in all the surrounding small towns from the shoulder of Shasta, camped in solitude 10,000 feet above the surroundings. The time out was often a healing retreat for my brother. Mike was was married and divorced three times and more than once he sought me after a divorce and off we would go. I can see now, so clearly in hindsight, that Mike had been dealt a demon, that he was going to be plagued all his life with debilitating insecurity, doubt and subsequent depression. It is ironic, because when he was on he was brilliant, a top of his class engineer, a successful career at Intel from which he was able to retire in his 40′s to build his own vineyard from raw ground. In his late 40′s and early 50′s he kept getting stronger and stronger on his bikes and skis, competing against men half his age on 200 mile bike races and beating most of them. How could a guy like that slip so low? What did he need?
Mike and I were at odds at the end of his life. I didn’t know or think he could sink so deep, but all the same, we lost him. The segue here is that I can’t help thinking, knowing really, that some more time in the wild with my brother, might easily have saved him — the wild is healing that way, and it’s such a powerful way to re-connect with someone one is close to. I think it is part of the reason I feel protecting the sacred, healing, spiritually wild places we have left is so important. It might be part of what I owe to my brother, to do what I can to explore the power of connections, to each other and to the wild of life. -Mark Bailey
Mark,
your thoughts and grief and memories take me back to the death of my brother John, a year and a half younger than me, 20 years ago. I’ve been writing about it, thinking through it, remembering junctions and disjunctions between us and our family, for 20 years now. It doesn’t get easier, nor do I want it to.
Parts 1 and 2 of the writing in the spring and fall issues of Dialogue. Part 3 coming next year.
Brothers, sisters, parents and lovers and children. That’s the bedrock. And sometimes there are earthquakes.
Scott
Scott-
Thank you for getting in touch, it’s good to hear from you. I am so sorry that you have been through the loss of a brother too. I relate completely to the idea that the loss won’t get easier and that I don’t want it to. I will always care and the loss of Mike will never be acceptable — and that is okay. It’s how it is. Life is an intense wonder. Bedrock and earthquakes is exactly right.
I’ll take a look at what you wrote, thank you.
-Mark
Mark, this was heartbreaking. I’m so sorry this happened. A terrible, terrible thing. I wish you healing and hope. Thank you for sharing this. There are wise words here about the power of wilderness and why we need it. My deepest blessings and good wishes go out to you.
Thank you very much, Steve.
I am so glad you wrote, Mark, and included these pictures. I’m crying. Healing can also come after the grave. “We all have the same mind.” The national parks from outer space . . . Yours is good work.
Thank you Barb, you are very kind. Everyone’s support gets us through.
So sorry to hear about your brother, Mike. Sometimes I think we are born and raised, due to no fault of our own, with these demons,whether environmental, genes, experiences, or whatever other monstrous dark shadows that overcomes us. The depression is so dark, it is often difficult to see the light above the darkness, even when we try so hard. We can laugh when we need to, be professional in our daily work, buy groceries, talk on phone, do dishes, and carry on when we have to….but at home, alone, when the sadness sets in, it is bigger than all the public facades put together. I am glad you had the time you had with your brother before he was gone. I also lost a brother young, in his twenties, due to alcoholism, alcoholism caused by depression. Many of us are so involved in our own little lives that we tend to overlook or just plain not see, whether by choice or by need, when a loved one is in trouble. I always think the ocean, coast line, especially eastern coast line, would be/should be/hope to one day be, my panacea of healing and hopefully finding hope again. So, it is the earth, the ground, the dirt, water, sand, magnificent sound of the ocean waves, wind, smell of the wild, and salt water, that I think of when I know I need to find hope again. And hopefully, I will be able to find it. Life plays some unexpected tricks on us and ones that are difficult to overcome. Good luck with your mourning of your brother and I do not think you are maudlin…I think you sound like a kind, feeling man with some regrets, and I also think that writing about it is healing.
Thank you Nancy. My brother died with a bottle near by as well. His problems came from elsewhere but alcohol fed the flames. On this one I got it right with him, I had my own serious run in with alcohol and did what it takes to give it up. Mike always thought that was good for me but that he could quit any time. Actually quitting would have given him a chance to keep searching for real help. I would have liked to have been there to lean on. You are right, now our relationship is unfix-able. I miss my bro and very much appreciate your support. I wish you some sweet time soon on a wild coast line.
A lovely piece and reminder that, while it is possible to lose someone in life, there is no greater loss than loss by death.
I am not sure I agree with Mr. Werner on “greatest loss is through death.”
I think the pain is greater to lose one in life. Death is pretty well defined and, even though painful, is pretty well what we all know is to come. Losing a loved one while that loved one is still alive is the most excruciating pain and sorrow there is. The sadness of being at odds with a family member, as Mark mentioned he was with his brother towards the end, is not only painful, but full of guilt and regret, and, after Mike died, was completely unfixable. How sad for Mark. I am not sure what the answer is, but there are worse things than losing a loved one? through death. That is my opinion anyway.
I don’t know you, but I do know a thing or two about suicide. And no, there is nothing you could have done to stop a person who was determined to die. Not even more time in the great outdoors with you could have saved him. He didn’t want to be saved.
I wish you comfort in your grief.
Thank you Mark.
A heartfelt piece my friend. You are absolutely right about the restorative powers of being in the wild. When I went through a divorce, after 29 years of marriage, it was days in a row on top of the Fish Lake, Thousand Lakes, and Boulder high top that made it possible to sort through the trauma and grief, and come out the other side with a willingness to move on, leave bitterness behind and build a new life. I’m not sure that any other remedy could have been quite so healing.
Thank you Jay, I appreciate your support. I know a little bit about where you are coming from re divorce too. Your marriage lasted 3 more years than mine and the difficulty of ending it shocked me and damn near killed me. Maybe a little more time on the high Plateau is exactly what the doctor ordered.
Beautiful, poignant, powerful. Your brother was fortunate to have you, Mark, and your time together in these wild places. Nature is our solace, and now, as you heal from this devastating loss, you can again take to the woods, and find your comfort there.
Thank you Renee for your kind words. Mike’s death makes THP all the more meaningful to me. We are so delighted to have met you and Steve and to have Plume Hunter in the works.