Who Gets a Rainbow? Celebrating the Life of My Brother, Tim

17 years ago this morning, I held my 37-year-old brother close and whispered to him that it was time to go to his partner, John – and my fur babies…and to take really good care of all of them. Tim let out one last breath and soared with the angels.

I really wanted to write something about my brother on June 29^th, but the day got away from me. As it turns out, this is a much better day to record my thoughts, anyway.  This is long, but I want you to get to know my brother, Tim…to see him as a whole person…to understand his struggles (which are those of a lot of people)…and to recognize the angst that we often place on decent, ordinary people with our judgments and prejudices – and just how devastating this can be.

June 29^th would have been the 54^th birthday of my brother, Tim. He was born on that date in 1961. I will be honest…as a 4-year-old-would-be-big-sister, I prayed for a brother. The first prayer I actually remember went like this…”Lord, please let us have a baby brother.” And God heard my plea! I loved my little brother dearly. Mother says that I hovered over him (see, I got that “helicopter mom” gene early!) and would come and tell her worriedly if he fretted in the least.

By the time Tim was a sixth or seventh-grader, I was in high school, and he was the most obnoxious kid ever. He loved to pester me and my then-boyfriend-now-husband-of-41+-years…and he nearly drove us nuts. This was Tim’s “job” as the younger brother, and he performed it well.

What I suspected then…but didn’t confirm for several more years…was that Tim was gay. And growing up in a town of less than 3000 mostly middle-class, church-going people, this was just about the worst thing that could happen to someone…or to his/her family. So we all “played dumb” and discounted this – for a long, long time.

Tim was never interested in sports. He loved to fish – with my grandparents, mostly…and to ride his bicycle (which he did for hours on end)…and he was very interested in all things medical. Early on, he declared that he did not want to spend the long years in medical school to become a doctor, so he decided to become a nurse. And when Tim graduated from high school in 1979, male nurses were few and far between…which became another “sign” to some that he might be gay. This seems almost laughable now, doesn’t it?!

The upside was that Tim was always surrounded by gorgeous young girls. The ones in our hometown found him to be the best friend ever…and “safe” as a “date.” I suspect it was much the same thing when he went to nursing school. But as I look back on things, Tim really never fit in at school…particularly in high school. So he acted out and tried to overcompensate and pretend it didn’t matter…and he was terribly misunderstood – by virtually everyone. He was loud and boisterous – but I now realize that on the inside, he was screaming, “Someone accept me for who I am!”

Where Tim did fit in was at the hospital. He got a part-time job as an orderly. And because it was a small-town, understaffed hospital, Tim was called upon to perform far more tasks than he should have at his age – and in this capacity. By the time he graduated from high school, Tim had a position watching heart monitors in the “cardiac unit”…and he actually was responsible for more than one revival and resuscitation of a patient when a doctor was not readily available. The nurses on staff adored him.

In crisis situations where many would panic and wring their hands, Tim was remarkably calm and collected – particularly for a teenager. He simply stepped up and did what was needed. I remember one day in particular when Tim was driving down Main Street in our little town, and he saw a man collapse on the grounds of our county courthouse square. Tim stopped and administered CPR until a doctor at a nearby clinic could arrive on scene. This doctor later credited my brother with saving the man’s life. That was our Tim!

Tim spent one of his high school summers in California with my sister, who is my younger sibling by eleven months. We had driven out with my mom and dad to attend some classes for Daddy’s business, and Tim ended up staying behind when we came home. I am sure that things were easier for him in Los Angeles. He could get lost in the crowd…and pretty much nobody noticed – or cared – about his sexual orientation. Tim started smoking at a very young age…and drinking…and by the time he was in high school, he was experimenting with pot and recreational drugs. He returned to Los Angeles the summer after he graduated from high school…but in the fall, he came home to begin college classes. Tim struggled with college – and chemistry class nearly did in his nursing career. But all the while, he had a kinship with nursing…particularly anything to do with cardiac care. And Tim was very good at nursing…so he persevered.

Finally, Tim got into a nursing program at a hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas, and received his R.N. – and he high-tailed it right back to Los Angeles, where he resided for about 12 years. He worked in various hospitals…and as a private duty nurse. One of his private care patients was the late Edgar Rosenburg…husband of the late comedienne Joan Rivers.   He didn’t talk much about caring for Mr. Rosenburg, but this fact made him something of a celebrity among the bridge club and beauty shop sets in our hometown! Even the most careful person in the medical field can succumb to hazardous situations that come with the territory. At some point, Tim contracted Hepatitis when he was stuck by a needle as he treated a patient.

Tim had a string of “boyfriends”…he would talk about this one for awhile, and then another. It seemed like a lot of our phone conversations involved me trying to keep up with his rapid-fire “speed”-induced speech and who was the latest “love of his life!” Ultimately, he became involved with a man named John. Unlike Tim, John developed full-blown AIDS, and Tim cared for John until he passed. I truly do think that this man was “the one.” Somewhere in his adult life, Tim became HIV positive…but he never developed AIDS. His doctor told me in the last months of his life that Tim’s numbers were so far off the spectrum in the other direction that it was hard to believe that he was even HIV positive. The beast that ultimately “did him in” was liver failure.

Tim was always generous to a fault. More times than I can count, he allowed people to come into his home and “stay for a while” until they “got on their feet” or whatever…and they cleaned him out – lock, stock and barrel. He started over so many times it was ridiculous. As an R.N. on the cardiac floor of a major Los Angeles hospital, Tim could afford to do this…because as he put it more than once, “I make great money, and I just work enough to feed my dog, Carmen, and go to the beach!”

Once when I was in Los Angeles on business, Tim came to visit me. He took me to “see the sights” and to get a feel – and taste – for his neighborhood. We went to Tommy’s Famous Hamburgers and ate “chili cheeses.” We went to See’s Candies® and bought “Nuts & Chews” for me to bring home to our sister (who had moved back to Arkansas a few years earlier). And we drove around a little in Tim’s old car…a 1960-something Chevy Impala that (I kid you not!) had a hole so large in the floorboard that I had to be careful where I rested my feet. I literally watched the California highway race beneath me through that hole! That should tell you about the rest of the car’s condition, as well!

Tim showed me the street on which he lived…but he did not take me to his apartment. It was a good visit – but a weird one, too…as if we were from parallel universes – and they dared not collide. I was in town for several days, but I only saw him that one time.

A mutual childhood friend of ours – who also happened to be an R.N. – once told me that she firmly believed that someday Tim would return to our home town…but he would probably be completely broken and feel that he had no other choice. She could not have been more on point with her prediction.

In 1996, my parents announced that “your brother is coming home.” Life had caught up with Tim. He was sick…hepatitis, HIV – and drug abuse – had totally decimated his body. At about 5’9”, Tim might have weighed a little better than 100 pounds when he arrived…and his skin had that sickly, “yellow” look to it. My mother told Tim that he could come home on one condition – that he get clean and stay that way. I will not lie…it was a struggle – especially for my dad. Somehow I think my mother gathered that “motherly resolve” and determined that she could “will” my brother clean…while Daddy was less certain.

But that’s what happened. Within a few months, Tim gained weight and began to look relatively better. He got clean…and he got a job as an R.N. for our county’s Home Health unit. He would call on elderly patients in their homes, check their physical condition…and visit with them. Tim was always larger than life – and the life of the party…and he had such a way with people. These patients would feed him and encourage him…and this job became his lifeline for the next year or so. Ultimately, the liver failure became so severe that Tim could no longer keep up with the workload of driving around the county for several hours and then spending countless more completing the mountain of paper work. So reluctantly, Tim stopped working…and more than a few patients called my mother in tears to express their heartbreak. It was a hard time for Tim, as well…he had to give up something he truly loved to do.

By 1997, Tim was very sick…but so was my dad.   In October 1997, my dad had an arteriogram that resulted in immediate “cholesterol showering.” The way the doctors explained it was this…imagine scraping your fingernail down a piece of chalk. Think of the slivers and sprinkles of chalk that result. This is what happened during the arteriogram. And it’s more a more common side-effect of this procedure than we realize. The wire that was inserted to check for blockage scraped cholesterol plaque from Daddy’s arteries…and they “showered” his veins and arteries – and blocked his kidneys. By Thanksgiving, Daddy was in total renal failure and on dialysis. He spent most of the next two years in bed – sick and severely depressed.

Tim did all he could to help Mother – and to stay well. But by February 1998, he had developed an infection of some sort…and Daddy was being told that he would be on dialysis forever. He was given the option to quit this daily procedure – with the caveat that his life would end within a couple of weeks. My dad never made that choice. But there was a point where my mother was sitting with my dad in a Little Rock hospital…and I was sitting in our hometown hospital with Tim, whose doctor had told me, “By the end of the week, he will either be better – or dead.”

Tim got better….enough that when my dad was transferred home and required a blood transfusion, Tim was the only nurse able to find a suitable vein and start the procedure – and the hospital’s Director of Nursing generously gave him the “green light” to do so. A few days later, Daddy had an anxiety attack, and respectful nurses in the ER recognized that Tim was the only one who could calm him…so they generously let Tim treat our dad as they looked on.

During all of this time, Tim and I had lot of long talks. I knew how hard it had been for him to “come out” to my parents and my grandmother who was still living – and I really thought he did this. Only recently, my mother told me that Tim never actually told her and my dad that he was gay. I knew that Tim stayed in Los Angeles for years at a time, working up his courage to come home and tell my parents his “secret”…and more than once, he was unable to do so when he arrived. I remember the tears of fear and apprehension as he tried to muster up his courage to have the conversation. I thought I knew a lot about Tim’s personal struggle. I honestly did not realize that this never happened. But for all that I was aware of, there was a lot that I did not know about the personal attacks…the hurtful words and actions…the exclusions and the snide “jokes” about “queers” and “fags”…the stares and whispers that stung as much as a physical slap.

There were friends in our home town that graciously included Tim in their social events…and I am forever grateful for their kindness and thoughtfulness. Tim told me often that “there’s nothing here for me in this town, socially…it’s a lonely place for a single gay man.” He also told me often that “If you knew who all in this town is gay, you would be blown away.” In our childhood and early adulthood, homosexuality was not something to be discussed or acknowledged. It was considered by most to be ugly, sinful…and weird. To “go public” would be to instantly ostracize yourself and become something of a pariah. So you pretended that you were just happy to be single…and you acted like you were having a good time at a party or in a group setting with a bunch of heterosexual couples who “played nice” on the surface, for the most part. And maybe you even threw in a little talk of the time you dated someone of the opposite sex – or had actually had a few “heterosexual dates” – just to try and throw people off the trail. You totally hid your feelings – and most certainly any relationship you developed with a member of the same sex.

As Tim grew sicker, he told me, “If I were able at all to return to California…I would. There is nothing here for me.” And in September 1998, Tim grew increasingly worse. Certain parts of his body would swell to several times their normal size…and then he would be violently ill with vomiting and diarrhea – and resemble a skeleton draped in skin within a couple of days. He would have days where he felt great one hour…and be sick as a dog the next. I once held his emesis bowl as he all but threw up his toenails. Then an hour or so later, I drove him to the hospital so that he could show a nurse friend how to hook up some heart monitoring machine for a seminar that she was conducting the next day.

At some point, Tim told my mother that he was signing himself up for Hospice. And he did. The very nurses he had worked alongside at the county health unit were now caring for him in his last days/weeks. And did they ever care for him! The “sisters” who had worked beside Tim – some since his high school orderly days – became our “sisters” and have remained lifelong friends. I will never forget their kindnesses…and I have seen them demonstrate this same level of care to others. They did Tim proud…and I know he would have done the same for any of them.

I will be honest…there were many years that I did not fully understand Tim…nor his sexual orientation. I learned a LOT when he moved home those last 2+ years…and as we grew closer than ever, I came to see the pain that had been his life…the heartache that he had known…the attacks that he had endured…and the confusion that he had experienced. I sat with Tim, my mother and our dear pastor friend, John, as we shared Holy Communion only two weeks before Tim died. Because you see…through all of this, Tim trusted God. He believed in Jesus Christ and had faith that someway…somehow…this would all be made right. One of his most hurtful moments as a Christian was the Sunday that he sat with my parents in a worship service, and the pastor (who is no longer associated with my parents’ church) declared that “AIDS was God’s punishment for homosexuality.” Tim never returned to that church. This pastor tried to visit him and my parents – just a day or so before Tim died, no less. And to her credit, my mother refused to let him in the door.

My sister Suzanne, me, our Mam-ma Polly, and Tim. Labor Day 1998

One night shortly after Labor Day, our phone rang, and my mother said, “Tim is crying, and he is asking for you…can you come?” We dropped everything and hurried to my parents’ house, where I found Tim in bed, sobbing. He said, “I’m scared. I only have about 2 weeks left.” I tried to blow it off…to convince him otherwise…but he said, “I’ve seen this over and over…I know what happens…and I’m telling you, I only have about 2 weeks left.” And he was right – almost to the day! We sat and held each other until Tim’s anxiety seemed to subside. He was mostly brave…but even the strongest soldier has his moments.

On a Saturday morning in the third week of September, Tim called me. “I’m going to take Carmen to the lake to swim,” he said…”and I’ve cleaned up all of my tomato plants and stored the cages for winter.” And then he added…”When I get back from the lake, I want to buy something really nice for Mom for all she has done for me…what do you suggest?” I told him that I would think about it, and we could talk later. But when Tim returned from the lake, he was not feeling well enough to go shopping. And the next day, he was horrifically swollen and in excruciating pain.

A few hours later, Tim’s nurse friends started a morphine drip. I talked with these seasoned Hospice nurses and asked them, “What do you think?” Ginger, one of Tim’s oldest nurse friends, said, “If he were my brother, I would not be leaving tonight.” So I stayed up with him all night. He drifted off into a morphine-induced sleep, but he would rouse occasionally… and with brute strength, order me to “Go home.” I refused.

Monday morning, I whispered to Tim that I was going home to sleep for awhile…that I loved him and I would be back. He said, “Okay…I love you, too.” When I returned around 3:30 p.m., Tim was in a coma. His dog, Carmen, lay atop his legs in the hospital bed that Hospice had provided. Shortly after I arrived, Carmen jumped to the floor and left Tim’s room…and she never returned. It was as if she knew that she had done all she could for him. I sat that evening with him while my parents slept. My dad had to do overnight dialysis…and Mother was exhausted. I sang to Tim, held him in my arms and rubbed his head…kissed his cheeks and told him I loved him.

The next morning, Tim’s breathing became labored, and I called for Ginger to come to my parents’ home. We determined that the time was near, and shortly before 7:00, I awoke my parents and summoned my sister. And as we stood around Tim’s bed, he opened his eyes and tried to speak…then laid back on his pillow. I whispered to him to go to John…and since he was an animal lover extraordinaire – to take care of our two cats who had passed in recent years. And he let out one last breath and flew home to Jesus.

My brother was no saint. I know that. But he was a good man with a big personality and a huge heart…and he loved people – and animals. He was great with kids and an amazing nurse. I will forever remember how tender Tim was with my niece, Jasmine, who was only 8 when he died. They read books and played games…and when she got chronic nosebleeds, he gingerly cared for her and allayed her fears. Tim was equally loving to my then-87-year-old grandmother, who graciously accepted his sexual orientation and referred to him as “one of them that doesn’t marry.” She gave it her best shot to understand.

Over and over, Tim told me that all he wanted was to have a partner to love and a family of his own…to be seen – and treated – as “normal.” My husband and I built a new home on my grandparents’ farm, and Tim told me, “I could have built this house two or three times if I hadn’t squandered all of my earnings.” He knew that he had chased his demons with money and drugs…but oh, what demons they were. Now that I look back on his life, I see how tortured and misunderstood he often was…how people snickered and ridiculed – and just generally treated him as “less than” because he was wired to be attracted to men rather than women.

I honestly did not see how this could ever change. Until it did. And on Friday, June 26th, when the Supreme Court ruled that same-sex marriages were legal nationwide, my sister called me and asked excitedly, “Did you hear the news?” I told her that yes, indeed, I had heard…and that I could not wipe the silly grin off my face. We both talked about how thrilled Tim would be…how different it is now for our young gay friends in comparison to the life that Tim left some 17 years ago. And I really did think it was different…until a few days later.

On June 30^th, I attended a summer Bible study at my church. We were about three or four weeks into our study, and I had really enjoyed the fellowship, wisdom and insights that I had gained. But almost instantly this day, the talk turned to the SCOTUS decision. It seems that the day before, our local county clerk had resigned her position in protest, so that she would not have to issue any marriage licenses to gay couples. Now mind you, she didn’t have to do this…she did not have to physically touch a license…much less hand it to a gay couple or stamp her seal of approval or signature on said form. If she feels that same-sex marriage is something she cannot abide…that she could not carry out her duties under this law – then by all means, she should resign.

But this “news” of the resignation played on all three state TV stations the night before. It was the hot topic of the week around here. And people rallied to applaud this woman for her decision…as was the case in my group that morning. She was not only applauded, but people commended her for “giving up a $43,000 annual salary.” Others worried about her well-being and were terribly concerned for her and the terrible “attacks” that they said she was undergoing because of this decision. I sat in silence…willing myself not to say anything.

And then someone mentioned the “rainbow” avatars some were using on Facebook…and how disgusting that was. Another mentioned the White House and the “rainbow” floodlights that illuminated the structure the night of the SCOTUS decision. The din of conversation escalated, and one person said, “It’s GOD’s rainbow. Do they have to take that, too? They need to give it back!”

A woman politely spoke up and said that she was confused…that her 77-year-old cousin is gay, and he suffered tremendously because of this…and she didn’t understand what was wrong with him being allowed to marry if he wanted. Another said, “My cousin is gay.” And I said, “My brother was gay – and he was also a Christian.” The chatter continued…and I honestly cannot say what all was brought out…but I felt that it was hurtful and mean spirited. And I said again, “My brother was gay – and a devout Christian. And what you are saying here is terribly hurtful and painful to many…including me.” Through tears, I explained that all Tim ever wanted was to be “normal”…to have a partner and a family like each of these ladies.

I really don’t know what else was said next…except that most discussed how this “sin” was no different than any other. I looked across the table and saw a young woman I did not recognize who was squirming in her chair. She mumbled, “It’s not sin.” I looked at her and asked, “You don’t think being gay is a sin?” She shook her head…”No.” I smiled and said, “I don’t either.” We shared an across-the-table bonding moment.

The study continued. I collected myself as best I could and sat in my chair, shaking a bit and asking God to calm me. And He did. Out of respect for the study facilitator and the group at large, I did not walk out. But when the session ended, I quickly gathered my purse and Bible, and I made my way to the hallway. One of the women caught up to me and tried to express that …“We can disagree and still love each other.” I told her that there was no love in what was said in that room…that if you “love the sinner, but hate the sin,” you have judged that person. I also told her that I could not talk about this…I was just entirely too upset.

She tried to protest the point by saying, “But I love the gays.” This sends me into orbit…the use of phrases like “the gays” or “the blacks”…as if they are a different species than we other homo sapiens. I pointed out that the ugly dialog that had been offered by her and others in the church chapel was not loving – not in the least. “But we can disagree and still love each other,” she reiterated. And I said, “I really cannot talk about this now. But you all want to talk about how it’s God’s rainbow. Well, it’s Tim’s rainbow, too.” And I turned and left the building.

Several weeks later, I am still shaken by this incident. But I have not changed my mind. If anything I am more convinced than ever that this kind of attitude is not one of love…certainly not God’s love in action. And I am reminded just how critical it is to our Christian faith that we operate in love in ALL THINGS…that we forego judgments of anyone…anytime…and that we search our hearts and ask God to help us root out any un-inclusive thoughts and attitudes. And I am trying very hard not to judge those who judged me and my Tim.

Furthermore…we must guard our thoughts, words and actions. If we are going to wear our crosses and religious t-shirts – or put a fish symbol on our car’s hatch…or the church bumper sticker on our vehicles…we had better be prepared to fully represent Jesus and His teachings.

Someone who is truly a Christian and desires to live in God’s will and follow the teachings of Jesus would never deliberately repeat a sin day in and day out. You or I may occasionally lie, cheat, or gossip (hopefully inadvertently)…but we would not deliberately set out to do these things each and every day. To say that homosexuality is a sin is to say that gay couples make a conscious choice every day to say, “God, I love you…but I’m going to do this my way anyhow.” And they expect God to say, “Well, okay then!”

In turn, we have to tell others…”Okay, ‘Sid and Jonathan’ are disobeying God every single day by living together and loving each other…but it’s alright…they get a pass. And by the way, you can lie, cheat, steal, and disobey God, too…because sin is sin. If God will look the other way for ‘Sid and Jonathan’ or ‘Jane and Sara’, He will do the same for you.”

I have two issues with this logic:

1) I do not believe that these men (or two women who are in love) are sinning – and God is merely looking the other way; and

2) I don’t believe that this is the idea we want to present to others of how God operates.

Do you really want to tell people that God condemns a gay couple for their love and commitment to one another…and for expressing this love in the same manner as a heterosexual couple? What does this say about how God feels about us and our relationships? Would He honestly create two people of the same sex who form a physical and emotional attraction and attachment to each other… and then say, “If you act on this, you’re a sinner and I will be brokenhearted.”? These are not the actions of my God.

I tried to tell myself that “You’re just emotional right now.” After all, it was just after Tim’s birthday – and that is always a hard reminder that he is not here. And I know that he would so have loved to celebrate the SCOTUS victory on that Friday. He would be incredibly proud of how far we have come.

I also celebrate some small “victories” of this incident. Just as the talk settled down and the facilitator began our DVD lesson, my best friend sent me a text…”Thinking of you.” It was like God was saying, “You can sit here…you can do this. Calm yourself…I’m with you.” Then as I entered Walmart to grocery shop, I met the lady who had spoken about her gay cousin who married – and then “came out.” We exchanged a wonderful conversation – and phone numbers – and I have made a new friend. And I encountered another friend who has also lost a gay brother. We had not seen each other in months. What were the odds that she would be shopping in Walmart at the same time as I was that day?!

So I was renewed…and encouraged…and I felt the presence of God. And in some small way, I felt Tim’s presence, too. After he died, a fellow nurse friend told me that “Tim always said you could fix anything.” I cannot fix this…but I’m doing all I can champion my brother and those in the LGBTQ community. It’s the least I can do for “brothers and sisters” who have suffered so much already. I did not do the Facebook “rainbow face,” because quite frankly, I’m too lazy to change my avatar. But this doesn’t in any way mean that I do not fully support the rights of others to marry whoever they wish…same sex…different race…different nationality…or even those of a different faith. You cannot pigeonhole love into neat little categories that make everything nice and “pretty.”

Were Tim still alive today, I would hope that he could find a “love of his life” and settle down into old age with joy and peace. I know that he would probably have a great big ole rainbow flag…and wave it proudly right about now. And that would be his right. Because God’s rainbow is Tim’s rainbow, too…and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

So on this day when I remember my little brother, Tim, I celebrate who he was…and the countless lives he impacted. I thank God that he belongs to His Kingdom…and that I will see him again someday. I applaud all who are bravely standing up and stepping out and being who God made them to be…regardless of their sexual orientation, color, ethnicity – or any other perceived “difference.” I pray that we will begin to love all others as Jesus loves us…that we will drop these ridiculous divisions and hurtful judgments – and live together as God ordained. I celebrate my brother for all he taught me about compassion and inclusiveness…and I remember him with a mixture of joy and sadness on this anniversary of his passing.

Ironically, Tim’s favorite song was “Over the Rainbow.” We played it at his funeral Maybe today is the day I’ll finally color my avatar!

©2015 Debbie Robus