Earnest "Earnie" Lowell Brown
(Like the Sesame Street Character, and yes there's an 'a' after the 'E')
Feb 8, 1942 - April 15, 2001
Corny jokes & sayings
Constantly reciting historical facts & sports stats
Love of coaching (baseball & track)
Being his "Batgirl" for Little League
Love of teaching (Math & about life in general)
College football player
College runner
UK Basketball fan
Pride in my running (He told everyone I'd be a State Champ someday
during my 1st Cross Country season in 6th grade...he was right)
Generosity with his time & money for anyone in need...especially kids
Paying me to wash the dishes before mom got home
Challenging me to become a woman like my mom
These are the first memories that flood my heart and mind when I think about my Daddy. The ones that really matter. The ones that bring a smile to my lips...a giggle to my face, as I shake my head and remember the embarrassment of a middle school daughter suffering through an hour of her dad being the substitute math teacher. The memories that force a twinge of regret that I didn't pay enough attention to all those historical facts that he repeated so often or encourage him with enough hugs and "I love yous."
Major mood swings
Severe depression that left him on the couch for days on end
Embarrassment over mania that kept him up for days
Hallucinations
Delusions of Grandeur
Gambling addiction that wreaked havoc for our family finances
Multiple hospitalizations
Spending Christmas Eve Day when I was 16 cleaning up the mess from a
demolished Christmas tree while my mom was with him in the hospital
demolished Christmas tree while my mom was with him in the hospital
The former list warms my heart & floods my memories first. The latter list made me stronger and more empathetic, but does not define my daddy, nor my memories of him. They were merely the symptoms and results of a cruel disease: Bipolar Disorder. They are proof...my family and many others are proof...that God can use EVERYTHING for His glory and for good...that ALL circumstances can be redeemed through He who is sovereign and greater than man.
I have long felt a prompting to share my memories of my dad, but would often find myself just mentally typing a story, and never touching fingers to keyboard. This Christmas, as I decorated our family tree, I was shocked as a flood of overwhelming emotions shook me to the core. I am NOT one who usually cares about aesthetic details, but I have always been meticulous with our Christmas Tree...an object of great joking within our family. It finally hit me why...that Christmas so many years ago when I had proudly decorated our tree as a teenager, only to have my dad dive on top of it and destroy it in the middle of the night, because he was sure he had seen movement inside it. As I spent Christmas Eve day cleaning up the mess while my parents waited at the hospital for his admittance, I don't really remember being angry. This was our reality. I hadn't really known anything different. I was just sad about our tree. Fast forward to this year, and I realized why I was so emotional...I feared that even for a moment, I may somehow forget my Daddy. His big, prideful smile. His laugh. His off-key singing that he loved to proclaim as "a joyful noise, even if it wasn't a pretty one." I longed for him to know his 5 grandkids...to be able to brag about their accomplishments and laugh at their chaos. I vowed again to write about him, but I wasn't sure what or how.
God kept whispering, "Write," and I was prompted again after an encounter with a sweet new friend who shared some common experiences with me. She has several children, and she has a husband with that same nasty, cruel diagnosis that haunted my dad. She was thankful to see that I had grown up ok...that I was still seeking God's guidance and studying His word. She's worried about the impact on her children. I get that. I vividly remember sitting in a conference room at a hospital, stone faced, refusing to show emotion to the counselor talking to me, but vowing to someday help children who have parents with Mental Illnesses. To help them realize it's not the end of the world. It doesn't define their loved one...or them. I've often forgotten about that promise, but God never did.
God tells us His ways are not our ways. Our emotions and plans change with the wind. His are always steadfast. Eight years after that encounter with the family counselor (that I completely blew off...I'd learned the coping skill of "pretend it never happened, and it won't be embarrassing and it's easier to move on"), I found myself working as a Certified Therapeutic Recreation Specialist at Eastern State Hospital with people who had Mental Illness diagnoses, and most also had substance abuse issues (due to self medicating to mask and to cope with their emotional confusion and pain...fortunately a struggle that my dad never experienced). I loved that job more than any I've ever had since then. My personal experiences helped me feel comfortable in an unpredictable setting. I was so upset when my husband's job moved us across the state a little over a year later. And then another short year later and just months before my dad's death, he had his first major manic episode in 10 years. He was ultimately admitted to the very unit where I had felt at home. I knew the doctors, nurses, and social workers. I knew it was a totally different hospital than the one he'd experienced as a college student in the 60's when treatments for people with Mental Illnesses were far more harsh. The staff knew they were receiving the full background story and honest answers from my mom and me to help with his treatment. I was so thankful for God's provisions along a path that I could have never constructed on my own.
My blue eyes
My outgoing personality
My all or nothing persistence
My strong legs and lungs
My love of sports
For years I struggled to understand who my dad really was. Was he the depressed man on the couch? The argumentative and frustrated man? The gregarious and loud man who liked to be the center of attention? I worried that I, or my children, would inherit "his" illness...but it wasn't really "his," and it definitely wasn't him. The characteristics listed above are some of the things I DID inherit from him. Without those strong legs and lungs and love of sports, I may have never met my husband (we were teammates on our college Cross Country and Track team). Without that outgoing personality, I would not have had the courage to share my story with that sweet friend and assure her that her children will be ok.
I remember that in his last years, my daddy had a Bible verse that he often quoted. Considering the demons that he had fought for way too long, I can only imagine the strength it must have taken to cling to the words of the scripture reference on his headstone: "Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me." Psalm 51:12.
Today I read a devotional with my 3 older children about choosing to see our world through the reflection of Christ's love and blessings, instead of the negativity and complaints that abound in our world. The dark days of my Daddy's illness made me stronger, but they do not define him in my mind or heart. As a parent, I find this encouraging. I may not personally battle a vicious mental illness, but I do battle my flesh and that results in daily mistakes. I pray that as my children grow and mature...and long after I'm gone...that they will be more influenced by the maturity of Christ's love and cling to my love for them instead of those human mistakes I've made along the way.
I believe in the gift of encouragement. Whether you're personally living a battle with a mental illness, have a loved one facing this heartache, or you're just struggling with the daily challenges and mistakes of parenting, I pray that you can find encouragement in my dad's story. And I especially pray that you can find the ultimate encouragement that comes through a relationship with the only Father who certainly does know best. Just let me know if you'd ever like to hear more about that Father's story :).
God tells us His ways are not our ways. Our emotions and plans change with the wind. His are always steadfast. Eight years after that encounter with the family counselor (that I completely blew off...I'd learned the coping skill of "pretend it never happened, and it won't be embarrassing and it's easier to move on"), I found myself working as a Certified Therapeutic Recreation Specialist at Eastern State Hospital with people who had Mental Illness diagnoses, and most also had substance abuse issues (due to self medicating to mask and to cope with their emotional confusion and pain...fortunately a struggle that my dad never experienced). I loved that job more than any I've ever had since then. My personal experiences helped me feel comfortable in an unpredictable setting. I was so upset when my husband's job moved us across the state a little over a year later. And then another short year later and just months before my dad's death, he had his first major manic episode in 10 years. He was ultimately admitted to the very unit where I had felt at home. I knew the doctors, nurses, and social workers. I knew it was a totally different hospital than the one he'd experienced as a college student in the 60's when treatments for people with Mental Illnesses were far more harsh. The staff knew they were receiving the full background story and honest answers from my mom and me to help with his treatment. I was so thankful for God's provisions along a path that I could have never constructed on my own.
My blue eyes
My outgoing personality
My all or nothing persistence
My strong legs and lungs
My love of sports
For years I struggled to understand who my dad really was. Was he the depressed man on the couch? The argumentative and frustrated man? The gregarious and loud man who liked to be the center of attention? I worried that I, or my children, would inherit "his" illness...but it wasn't really "his," and it definitely wasn't him. The characteristics listed above are some of the things I DID inherit from him. Without those strong legs and lungs and love of sports, I may have never met my husband (we were teammates on our college Cross Country and Track team). Without that outgoing personality, I would not have had the courage to share my story with that sweet friend and assure her that her children will be ok.
I remember that in his last years, my daddy had a Bible verse that he often quoted. Considering the demons that he had fought for way too long, I can only imagine the strength it must have taken to cling to the words of the scripture reference on his headstone: "Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me." Psalm 51:12.
 |
| My Daddy with me (the baby) and my 2 foster sisters. Easter 1975 |
 |
| This story could never be complete without mention of my AMAZING Christian mom. Her story is one for another blog post, but she took her marriage vows seriously, and her example of selfless family preservation is 2nd to none. I realize that many families do not have this rock solid blessing to protect and provide the stability I received. |
I believe in the gift of encouragement. Whether you're personally living a battle with a mental illness, have a loved one facing this heartache, or you're just struggling with the daily challenges and mistakes of parenting, I pray that you can find encouragement in my dad's story. And I especially pray that you can find the ultimate encouragement that comes through a relationship with the only Father who certainly does know best. Just let me know if you'd ever like to hear more about that Father's story :).
