Two days later, a furious Darren called.
“You reported me to the police? That’s chilly. “No,” I replied. “Stealing from your own brother is cold.” The TV was permanently gone, but I was able to retrieve some of my belongings from the pawn shop, replace the locks, and block his number.
A few weeks later, I got a call from a complete stranger named Marissa, who told me that Darren had also defrauded her cousin by taking money and fabricating his success. Then Mom called to say that Darren had been detained for committing internet fraud. He was at last being held responsible. Mom insisted that I go see him since he needed help. However, I informed her that he needed a mirror, not support, just yet.
Darren was given a probationary period and required rehabilitation in January. I saw him at the grocery store a few weeks later. He appeared calmer and more conscious. He gave me a repayment schedule that calls for paying $100 every two weeks. I took it because, for the first time, he was taking responsibility for his acts, not because of the money.
Darren is repaying me, working in a warehouse, going to treatment, and gradually mending our relationship eight months later.
We actually talked when I asked him over for dinner. “Do you still think I’m a screw-up?” he asked. “No, because you stopped blaming everyone else at last,” I said.
The most difficult thing I’ve ever learned is that poor behavior can occasionally be made possible by grace. The most loving thing I could do was to set limits—to report him, to cut him off. For me, not for him. I came to see that love doesn’t need you to give up your calm, and I’m not accountable for someone else’s lowest point. Love can sometimes require taking a step back and allowing someone to ultimately confront themselves.
