The following year, over Fourth of July weekend, my youngest brother, Brian, committed suicide at my parent’s home when they were away.  They came home on July 6th to find his lifeless body in the bathroom. He was just 30, and left behind a daughter five years old, Brandy.

 My brother Brian the last time I saw him alive.

Apparently he was on cocaine and had dropped Brandy off at the babysitter’s around seven in the morning before supposedly going to work.  His last words to his daughter Brandy were; “Good luck kid.”  Then he went home, got high and put a gun to his chest and pulled the trigger.  (I will never be able to understand how he could have done this.  Those words haunt me.)  Both of them were living in Orlando, Florida with my parents.  Brandy’s mother had three other children (by different fathers) and lived in Oregon.  She let my brother take his daughter with him when he left to make a new life.  

Unfortunately Brian was a troubled young man.  He was seven years younger than I, and just slight less than our brother Barry.  When Barry and I both left home, it was Brian who remained behind, left alone and he suffered greatly from it.  He got into trouble and eventually was put into a juvenile correctional facility.  I corresponded with him and though he tried to remain upbeat, I could see his troubles were only beginning.  After he was released he got married, and moved to Georgia.  There he was arrested for having half a joint and served time in their prison system.  

Upon his release in 1977 he came to visit me, I was single and living in Pasadena at the time.  I discovered he was diabetic, very much so, and the prison had not provided him with any medication upon release.  It was so heartbreakingly sad.  On New Year’s Eve he was curled up in a fetal position on my living room floor.  My baby brother resembled nobody I remembered growing up with. 

I was able to get him medical attention.  As soon as he had a handle on the diabetes he continued on his journey to Oregon; my brother Barry had a job waiting for him, as well as a place to live, with him.  I was able to go to Oregon once to visit them, and his then, two-year old daughter.

Now, just three years later I found myself on a plane, sobbing, going to Orlando for my brother’s funeral.  Things were so chaotic, but the moment I opened the door at my parents’ home Brandy, now five, grabbed ahold of my waist and never let go of me.  She put her tiny feet into my high heels and spent the days clomping around in them.  She was our shining light in otherwise bleak days.

The next day was the viewing.  Though he had shot himself, he did it to his chest, so a viewing was possible.  I held Brandy’s tiny hand as she said, “Goodbye daddy, I’m sorry you were sick.”  As much pain as I felt, I knew it was important to stay strong for her, for my parents.  My heart had melted with this adorable, and obviously now needy child.  My parents had virtually raised her for the past couple of years while Brian, a chef, went to work.

After hushed discussions with my parents it was decided I would take her home with me where Lance and I would raise her, since her mother had abandoned her by deciding not to follow Brian and Brandy to Orlando. 

My parents went to court and got formal custody, and transferred guardianship to us.  The plan was for my parents to adopt Brandy while we raised her.  When two years had passed, the plan was to adopt her from my parents.  By then we could show a two year relationship as guardians, and it would be easier.  I had Brian's ashes with me, as we felt they should be put somewhere Brandy would be able to visit one day.  (Later, I had his ashes scattered in Hawaii, where I remembered much happier days on the beach growing up with him.)

Lance met us at the airport, excited at the anticipation of our new family.  He brought two dozen red roses, one for each of “his girls”.  Right away Brandy seemed to attach to him.  Things looked very promising for us all now, the “balloon room” would have a purpose. 

The "new" family.

It wasn’t long before we could see Brandy had problems; she was acting out her anger at being abandoned by her daddy.  Her anger resulted in wildly swinging behavior, from wearing my wedding veil while enacting a mock marriage with my husband, to pummeling him with her fists.  It became clear she needed help.  

She was also exhibiting an eating disorder; it would take her hours to eat a meal, and even then she “stored” food in the sides of her mouth.  Apparently reverting to those earliest days of her life in Oregon, when food was scarce and she was naturally trying to keep some for times she would be hungry, later.  We were horrified and broken hearted when we realized this.

We took her to a child psychiatrist once a week, where she was able to work on her abandonment issues, as well as her eating problems.  Slowly things were improving.  I enrolled her in first grade, also a ballet class.  She made friends, yet had me remove the large stuffed animals in her room, the “eyes” frightened her at night.

When she would be angry with us, I would point out it was really her daddy she was angry with, and I suggested she step outside, look towards heaven and scream at him.  This proved to be effective at releasing the frustrations.

We took her trick or treating, celebrated Christmas with her, vacationed in Mexico and Hawaii, took her fishing and to Disneyland; all the normal things a family would do.  Lance’s parents were so loving with her, she was their only grandchild and it was such a pleasure to watch the love they showed her. 

Lance and Brandy

Brandy and I at Disneyland.  

Our lives were getting to be more “normal” as the first year passed.  We had gotten Brandy a puppy we named Fergie, since the Princess had just visited Los Angeles.

Then we received word that my son, Mike was going to come live with us too.  Talk about an instant family.  Two days before Mike arrived Brandy was in school when I got a call midday from Lance’s father informing me he was at the hospital, Lance had been in a nasty car accident and had broken a bone in his back and shoulder, but was going to be treated and released, but would be immobile for six weeks.

Somehow, I got a hospital bed delivered, and Lance settled in for healing time.  Mike arrived and the four of us, now a family, bonded as Lance’s bones also mended.

By the end of the second year Brandy was with us, we felt it was safe to broach the adoption issue.  We planned a celebration, and I made a WELCOME TO THE FAMILY sign, a cake, party hats and we explained to Brandy that we would now be her very own mom and dad.  We had technically gone from being her aunt and uncle, to sister and brother-in-law to soon being her true mom and dad.

Before we could get the paperwork filled out Brandy’s psychiatrist called us to come into her office.

“I want to explain what Brandy has expressed to me; she wants to go back and live with her grandparents.  She feels closer to them, more like they are her mother and father.  I am so sorry.”

Lance and I discussed it between us, then called my parents to talk about it with them.  After much gut wrangling back and forth, we decided to do what the psychiatrist had deemed to be in Brand’s best interest, send her back to the  people she thought of as her mom and dad.

It was a horribly sad day when school let out and we knew she would be leaving us, but she was happy to be going and it was her well-being that was most important.  

The house seemed empty now, devoid of the little girl giggles, the baths with Barbies, the goodnight stories and hugs.  But, Brandy thrived living back with my parents, and who could really argue with her happiness?

We had the opportunity to give my parents a break in the summers by having Brandy come to visit for six weeks.  It was very helpful to us all to keep close as a family.  It helped Lance's and my healing too. 

To update you on where things are now: 

We moved to Ojai in 1989.  We had the opportunity to see Angel playing outside of the cottage, filthy but seemingly happy.  We lost track of her once she was in high school.

In 1995, when Brandy was 15, we bought a home near us and moved my parents and Brandy to California.  Brandy finished her high school here, got married in my parents back yard, and is currently divorced and living in Oregon with four children of her own.  We know three of her four children, twin girls age 8, and a son age 5.  Her year old son was born after she left the area.  Hopefully we will get to meet him one day.