Sibling Rivalry Ain't no Joke

A Moment of Vulnerability

This week would have been my brother Pablo’s birthday. He would have turned 37-years-old. He died of cancer at 32 after a four-year-battle with cancer.

My brother and I, Spring 2016

Pablo and I were only 2.5 years apart from each other. I remember when we were little, I was just about five-years-old. We would play with one another under a yuyuga tree in our house in Honduras. I remember his curly hair and cute face. He was a beautiful child.

As we grew older, we also grew in rivalry. We were too close to each other. We desired the same things in different ways, and that brought a lot of grief to both of us. He was also my father’s favorite child. As a result, I did everything I could to win my father’s affection and appreciation by trying to make my brother look bad. Little did I know, there was nothing I could do to gain that recognition.

When we were six and eight, we started physically fighting. Everything was a trigger. In one occasion, we fought over the TV’s remote, and I knocked him out unconscious. Another time, when we were about 14 and 12, he threw a kitchen knife at me and stabbed my hand. We were down the path of no return. We loved each other deeply, yet we didn’t like each other. During a season of our lives, we almost hated each other.

Now that I look back, I realize that neither of us had the tools to engage in a healthy relationship with each other. We were co-dependent. We fed of each other’s toxicity. The abusive environment we grew up in just fueled our violence more and more. We lived hell with each other day in and day out. Everything we did was to hurt one another.

When we got to our young adult years, our relationship got better. We shared better times with each other, but the rivalry remained. We became obstacle models for each other. When I started working at a non-for-profit, he switched jobs to a non-for-profit. When I started dating my wife, who is from the US, he also started dating a girl from the US. The conflict remained hidden at times, but always present. Thankfully, at that time I was already aware of certain insights regarding rivalry, desire, and violence. I tried to shift the way I related to him and unplugged from the rivalry as best as I could. However, being aware of rivalry does not mean we can fully unplug form it. I participated in it, and got tangled in it. I was just a bit more aware of what was happening. We were mirroring each other in everything we did, even in our violence against each other. I could not do much to leave the cicle of violence and reciprocity. I didn’t know how. When rivalry and violence gain their own momentum and developmental logic, there is not much we can do to stop them.

When he got sick. I took him to the hospital. I left him in the ER. He had internal bleeding due to his cancer. I thought I would never see him again. I remember the doors closing as I took my car to the parking lot, and in a good Guatemalan hospital fashion, the nurses and security did not let me enter back into the hospital to be with him. That was a bit of a wake up call for both of us, and our relationship started improving in many ways.

I knew we would not be together for long. He knew he would not get better. At some point, I went into debt because I wanted to help him with hospital bills and meds. I stopped until I couldn’t do it anymore. He interpreted my decision to heal financially as if I was abandoning him. He turned bitter, and I realized that our relationship was as broken as it had always been. We had never healed. We were still in rivalry. He cursed me out, yelled, and made sure my wife knew he didn’t like her. At some point, he actually articulated his rivalry by sharing how jealous and envious he was of the life I was living. He said: “it is not fair for you to live my dreams.” That is when I understood how deep our mimetic rivalry and imitation was. Sickness is no cure for a sibling rivalry.

After a few months, things calmed down and we started talking to each other again. He came to stay with my wife and I for a few weeks. He wanted to rest and recover from one of his chemo cycles. I knew, however, that our broken hearts would not come together. That is why I accepted things as they were, and I tried to enjoy his presence and the way he loved our oldest daughter. He was an outstanding uncle. However, the closer he got to his death, the farther apart we drifted from each other.

About a month before he passed, he called me on the phone. He told me that his wife and him wanted to spend the last days of his life away from me—they got married knowing he was sick. That day, they decided that it was best if I was not present when he died. They would set up a third party to call me once he had transitioned. I respected his decision. And, that was the last time I heard his voice.

Remembering this is not easy. I feel the pain of recalling how our beautiful childhood friendship turned into a sibling rivalry that split us apart until my brother’s last breath. We hurt each other in ways I am still processing and healing from. When I speak of rivalry, violence, and heart break, I speak from personal experience. I do so because I believe that there is something we can do to heal from our rivalries and violence before is too late. I just didn’t have the chance to experience it with my brother.

Martha Reineke wrote, “Siblings play a critical role in mimetic rivalries that characterize the family romance. As a consequence, our relations with siblings anticipate, for better or worse, later adult relationships. As we grow and our world expands beyond the immediate family to encompass other relationships, we may remain caught in rivalries that have characterized our initial relationship with siblings. Or, diverging from that scenario, we may experience with our siblings and with others a supportive intimacy that enables us to overcome the effects of trauma and violence in our life.”¹ I have experienced both sides of this quote. In the preceding paragraphs, I shared the affliction of a deep sibling rivalry. Thankfully, I am able to tell this story, as painful as it is, because of the supportive intimacy that I have found in others, including my remaining siblings. As I share this reflection, I can only hope that I become more human, complete, and integrated. For, this afflictive fragment of my history is as important as the beautiful ones.

1. Reineke, Martha J. Intimate Domain: Desire, Trauma, and Mimetic Theory. East Lansing, Michigan: Michigan State University Press, 2014. P, 81