I Know This Much is True: A Book Review

One of the things that really had me do some deep intellectual, emotional and spiritual digging last month was "reading" (on CD, in my car, on the way to work) a book by Wally Lamb titled "I Know This Much Is True". Probably for reasons close to my heart, I cried at portions of nearly every chapter of the first two-thirds of the book. This is a book about a man's experience growing up with his schizophrenic twin brother. The story crisscrosses through their childhood on into a heartbreaking adulthood. The book grapples with issues of love, identity, family, and devotion. While some may find the story excessively long, with too much exploration of character details - I found it refreshing and realistic. At least until nearly the end I could hardly believe it wasn't a true story. For anyone that has ever loved someone they felt helpless to help, or believes in the importance of self-reflection and the strength of forgiveness (including self-forgiveness), this story is for you. After all the sad parts, the book felt refreshingly cathartic. It reminded me that even the people we see as monsters have likely done their own share of suffering and anyone can change for the better if they try.

You can find this book on Amazon if you wish to purchase a copy: I Know This Much is True
I borrowed a copy on CD from my local library since the paperback I have owned for ten years has mostly been collecting dust...

A final thought I was reminded of after finishing the book, was the best lesson I have ever learned, and the best gift I have ever received from my parents - the power of unconditional love. A few weeks ago my Dad had a cancer scare. To my great, though cautious, relief it turned out he has some non-cancerous cysts that need to be treated. Nonetheless, the quickly bubbling downward spiral of scared and anxious thoughts in my head lead me to review all the wonderful times my Dad and I have spent together and all the sweet and hilarious things he has ever said. One example is the out-of-nowhere diner conversation in my college years in which he mentioned that he was considering shutting off his cable subscription and "would I want the extra $30 a month to purchase birth control?". My parents have never really judged my life decisions and I am lucky that they have provided moral support at every step of the journey. My Dad used to call me in college to see how things were going and I could hear the worry in his voice that I might struggle, I might not make it... He would always say, "Don't procrastinate - the most important thing is to get your work done on time so you never have to make excuses." I may have finished my degrees... I'm still working on learning to stop procrastinating. At least I can always think back to this sage advice.

The Big Question

I’m still in physical therapy for my foot right now while recovering from bunion surgery and this is actually a pretty pleasant experience. The clinic is conveniently located near my office at work and the PT I work with is incredibly nice, professional and helpful. We usually have pleasant small talk while I try not to scrunch my face up and wince in pain as he stretches and flexes my toe. The other day however we got to talking about my upcoming wedding and we both laughed about the pressure to please parents and cater to everyone. I laughed and said it can be tough but that I appreciated my future-in laws slight overbearingness, which makes up for the occasional absence of help from my side of the family (though not their fault). And then came the Big Question that I rarely get anymore since graduating high school 14 years ago, “Oh… where are they?”. Somehow we had stumbled right into the topic that, no matter how old I get, always seems to define and shape my life. “Well…”, I hestiated… “They’re both schizophrenic.” I see my PT’s eyes widen with surprise. “BOTH of them?! How did that happen?! Did they know when they met?”. I smile a little amused… part awkward embarrassment, and to this day, part bewilderment myself. “They met in therapy.” He laughs as though he has just heard the biggest “doesn’t it figure” he had ever heard in his life. We go on to talk about the situation a little more and I say my life is a bit of an anomaly in some ways, and that I always count my blessings for still being sane. And after age 30 I took an extra sigh of relief for being “statistically out of the woods” sane.

So there it is – the thing that both makes me feel special sometimes, but that is also a struggle – a shadow that follows me into adulthood. I feel so very very lucky to be all in all happy and healthy; I love my parents dearly, and somehow appreciate and grow into that love even more as I grow older. At some point in high school maybe, I stopped resenting the things that they couldn’t provide for me as a child and the fact that I didn’t have a “normal” family and started really seeing them as people who had an extremely tough break in life. I realized they are the most sweet and loving people I know and I recognized goodness in their souls that inspired me to strive for empathy and patience beyond anything else.

This year really caught me off guard. I thought finishing grad school, moving back east, and starting a new job and would lead me to some oasis of joy where I would reconnect with family and old friends. Then I realized that the connections I had in grad school to so many close friends living in a close radius were incredibly fulfilling. Now my friends and loved ones are spread apart and I find it hard work just to keep up. In the interim it has been pretty lonely. That was what really surprised me. In the year we plan our wedding and I can finally have so many people I care about in the same room, on the same day, I never expected the path along the way to be so… quiet.

The reason I wanted to start writing about this – here – is because I often think about how “what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger”. I wore that phrase as a badge throughout my youth. Shaken but not stirred isn't quite the right description, but I guess I think of myself as Shaken, but not Broken. I thought if I could bear the ache of some of what I have experienced that I could handle just about anything. Much of the time that has been true, but sometimes it really wears me down. Sometimes I still envy those “normal families” with parents in good health that can pay their kids a visit once or loan them some money when their car breaks down and needs $2400 in repairs. Sometimes it’s still hard to go about my day knowing my mother is home alone, two hours out of reach, and I can’t just swing by to keep her company for a few minutes. I still worry that at some point my dad will fall ill from his myriad of health problems and I won’t be around to save the day.

I know I’m not alone with these sorts of struggles, and I don’t tell my story because I want people to feel sorry for me or my parents. I say all of this because I think resilience is one of the greatest human strengths and I always try to keep that in mind. I’d like to talk about how people bear burdens in life and find light in darkness. I want to focus on how to make progress rather than stagnate in sorrow when it rears its ugly head. I want to believe in happy endings and pursue them.