The Sacrifice of One Seahorse

Seahorses are unique creatures. Not only do they swim upright, unlike most other fish, they are also monogamous and mate for life. Even more unique, they are among the only animal species on Earth in which the male bears the unborn young.

They are mainly found in shallow tropical and temperate waters throughout the world. These fish form territories, with males staying in about 1 square meter of their habitat while females range about one hundred times that area. They bob around in sea grass meadows, mangrove stands, and coral reefs where they adopt murky brown and gray patterns to camouflage themselves among the sea grass. During social moments or in unusual surroundings, seahorses turn bright colors (according to my friend, Wikipedia).

My brother, Brock, is a seahorse.

Each male seahorse has a brood pouch in which the female seahorse deposits her eggs into his pouch. From then, he carries the eggs until they emerge, expelling baby seahorses from his pouch into the water. Once the seahorse babies are released into the water, the male's role is done and he offers no further care.

Likewise, Brock is a unique creature. Like the seahorse, he turns bright colors in social moments. In addition, not only has he entered into a monogamous relationship with his wife, he also rears his children. Brock calls himself Mr. Mom. In fact, he has his own theme song which goes a little something like this:

"Mr. Mom,
"He's got it going on.
"Mr. Mom,
"He's pouring bottles all night long."

(It's cooler when he sings it.)

Brock's interpretation of the male seahorse is that the father explodes as soon as the babies are released into the water and dies. Unlike the seahorse, Brock did not deteriorate when his baby seahorses were born. Rather, he flourished.

I remember one afternoon as I walked home from the school bus stop, I passed through our garage to see the window smashed in on a gray spray-painted, Subaru Brat. As I entered the house there was a bright, blinking, red light on the phone. It was a message from someone that my brother was in the hospital. I still remember as I sat next to Maxi and Kelly on the restaurant booth-like seats, my dad describing how bipolar disorder was like a roller coaster. He used his hands to demonstrate moods rapidly going up and back down like the stomach turning Space Mountain at Disney World. Eyes glazed and head pounding, I still remember staring into the colorful fish tank of the waiting room as I tried to grasp the intensity and reality of what was going on from my dad's description.

I remember actually going into the psychiatric ward where they put my brother in a cold, concrete room. Wearing gray sweats and doped up on lithium or some other mood stabilizer, I remember staring at my brother not knowing what to think. Would he recover in a few weeks like he did when he broke his arm?

I was in the sixth grade when this happened. I remember because I was reading The Hobbit and when we went to visit him again I brought in my book. Brock took it from me and started to read the first page of the introduction. He started to underline irregular words and sparked up a conversation that was way too deep for an adult, let alone a sixth grader. He was in another world that day. A world doped up on meds. A world that I hope he or no one else will ever have to endure again.

I can't remember how long he stayed in that facility. Years following his rock bottom moment, Brock ventured on the long road to finding the right medications and lifestyle.

Brock is a seahorse. He is a warrior. I don't know that anyone will ever understand what it is like to battle this mental impairment. Even though I have studied bipolar disorders and other mood disorders, I still can't comprehend what it would be like to battle daily highs and lows. Brock is not like that lithium-doped up person that I saw years ago. He is much better and now has a beautiful wife and two beautiful children. I remember when Maxwell was born I asked Brock, "What is the best part of being a father?" He responded, "I feel like I have a purpose now."

As illustrated in his drawing above, Brock compares his life to a seahorse. But unlike a male seahorse whose role is done when the babies are born, Brock continues to offer care to his baby seahorses. Brock is Mr. Mom. He is Mister Seahorse as Eric Carle so beautifully illustrated. I love what an amazing father, husband, and brother he has become. Bright or dull colors, I am grateful he is in my life.