Voices Carry

The photo is somewhat faded and blurred, but not to a point where you cannot make out the features of his face. He holds a child in his arms and, while the rest of the family stares forward and smiles at the photographer, he is captured looking deep into the child's eyes as if he meant to ask a very personal question.

Family reunion, 1919.

Despite his prominent placement within the family portrait, his existence was never discussed nor were his foibles, maladies and flaws listed and dissected like those of other family members at our holiday dinner tables. He was omitted, for he was insane.

Insane is such an ugly, dark, outdated word. It conjures up images of babbling maniacs wandering drafty halls dressed in stained hospital gowns. Today we use technical terms that keep those images at arm's length--terms like schizophrenia, bi-polar and fugue state. Medication makes these conditions palatable to some degree and allows those who suffer from them to blend into society's woodwork where they are free to practice and enjoy anonymity.

What must it have been like for him, I wonder. What was it like for the rest of the family? The picture of him with the child is disturbing in that one cannot imagine giving him the small responsibility of holding her. What were they thinking? Was he mad then? Or was it much later in life that the voices drew him aside from the family to become his closet confidantes?

The questions are intriguing but the answers are not forthcoming. The disease stalks others within the family and therefore remains an impolite topic of conversation. I can imagine, though, that I know the question he asked the child: "Do you feel as I do?"