John Scharmen (1966 - 2009)

I lost my brother yesterday.

Though, in a manner of speaking, while John died from a heart attack only 24 hours ago, truth be told, I had lost him decades before that.

John and I had always had a contentious sibling relationship. I was Jacob, he was Esau. He was everything that I wasn't and we fought about much. We shared a room for the first few years of our lives - separated only by bunk beds and body odor. When Dad built John a separate room in the garage, I had my freedom - and the end of our relationship had begun.

John was bigger than me and had always had a weight problem. This coupled with his learning disabilities made him a perfect candidate to be teased at school.

I'll never forget one Valentine's Day. John was in about 4th grade. The teacher passed out a list to the children of everybody's name in the class. "If you're making valentine's cards, be sure and make one for everybody in the class."

When the day arrived, the teacher had all the kids pass out their cards to each others desk. John faithfully passed out all 30 of his cards that he had prepared the night before. When he returned to his seat and looked down to see the cards he received - he found none. Apparently those kids didn't like John much either. Such was his life. He always found a way to make you upset with him.

Because John was larger than me he had the upper-hand whenever we fought. I knew that in a battle I could never get within arms reach of him or else I would be crushed. So I had to hit and run. John soon figured out my strategy and developed his own technique. He could throw a wrench or a baseball bat at a distant target quite easily.

One time he did grab me in his arms and pin my arms to the ground with his knees while he hit me in the face. I learned my lesson that day. I had to find a new fighting method.

And I did.

Words. I became so good at calling my brother names, that I could even do it from the safety of my locked bedroom. Until he broke the door open. Always remember to keep the back window of your room open for quick escape.

I made fun of everything I could think of about John. It was easy. Too easy. Thus was the start of our new relationship. Anger and name-calling. And occasional wrenches.

In reality, none of John's punches or wrenches have left a permanent mark on me. However, I am sure he carried the scars of my words up until his last day.

During summer, when our parents were away at work, was when the most damage could be done. Two brothers who didn't get along and a younger sister in the mix is a recipe for something of consequence to happen in a house.

I'll never forget the summer when I was around 12 or so. John and I had gotten into one of our screaming fights. After arguing and shouting at one another we each raced off to our rooms to get "weapons" for a fight. I angrily put on my "protective" bathrobe, slipped on a football helmet, grabbed a tennis racket and a belt. I was ready for battle.

I walked out of my room and down the hallway. As I looked across the kitchen and into the family room I could see John's bedroom door. I shouted to him at the top of my lungs, "PREPARE FOR BATTLE!!!!"

At that moment, I heard a noise behind me in the living room. There on the couch was my brother and a counselor that had come over to meet with John. They stared at me for what seemed like hours. Standing in my robe, a helmet on my head, and armed with a racket and belt - I sheepishly said "hello" and slunked back to my bedroom.

It's true. My brother needed counseling. He needed something. John, as long as I can remember, was a troubled person. And, honestly, I don't know that he ever liked himself. Maybe that's why he made up so many stories.

No one was better at lying then John Scharmen. He could become any age he wished. If he needed to be seventeen to get into a movie - he could do it. Twelve to get a discount? Done. Twenty-one to enter a bar? No problem. He told so many lies and half-truths growing up that it became difficult to know who he really was anymore. But he didn't just lie to do things he wasn't supposed to be doing. I think he told them so people would like him. Anything to be accepted.

And while no one could lie like John - nobody had a heart like John either.

All of his life John was driven by his heart. While he made foolish decisions all the time based on how he felt, those same feelings showed great compassion to the pain of others. Over the course of growing up, John brought home stray pets. At least we think they were stray. If your family lost a calico cat, please accept our apologies.

His heart allowed John to talk with anyone - regardless of their background. Deep down he loved his family - even as he made choices that seemed to defy that love.

His heart was his strength. And it was his weakness. And in the end, it gave up.

As I look back now, I feel for John. Yes, his life was filled with bad habits, terrible addictions, and poor choices. But, it started when he was just a kid. When we were brothers.

I lost John somewhere along the way. I lost my brother. So I am mourning him. Not so much what happened yesterday. I am mourning the loss of what John and I could have had together. I love you John.