Author Kim Novak’s brother Eric, who suffered from schizophrenia, is pictured in this undated photo. He died in 2023.
By Kim Novak
Guest Column
Who are the people that silently, invisibly, animate the threads of our lives? Those who are Christ-incarnate and real to us?
The month of January, with both its short gray days and occasional blustery beauty, marks the life and death of one such person.
Eric was my brother; my first friend, and Saturday morning cartoon-watching partner. We ran through backyard sprinklers and shared the thrill of sulfurous smelling Fourth of July sparklers. He predictably became the annoying older sibling, beating me in backyard kickball and soccer. As high school came, we spent less and less time together and off to college I went.
And then Eric became someone different for me — for all of us.
In his early 20’s, Eric’s behavior became confusing. Conversations ran in circles, turning into arguments with no logic or end. He became withdrawn, stuck in his mind, frequently obsessed with a certain topic. When visiting one weekend, a statement of “You know he’s really sick” brought my mom to tears. She knew this truth, but the naming of mental illness is always painful to hear, to say, to live.
Eric’s life struggles can only be described as heroic, as is the case for many living with schizophrenia. There were times he lived in his car, shelters or group homes. There were hospitalizations and periods of calm. Work was out of reach due to paranoia. Medications left him feeling groggy and unclear. He saw the rest of the world moving on, holding grief as he felt a loss of purpose.
Mental illness seeps into the whole of a family’s being, isolating and distressing. No one delivers casseroles for the family of a recently diagnosed schizophrenic son. The stigma of serious mental illness has lessened over time, but is still present. Unpredictable behaviors, combined with the lack of readily available support, leave many families unable to cope. So many mentally ill sons and daughters are relinquished to the street as families grieve.
This is a tough, tough road.
Eric was one of the lucky ones. Our parents, with the love and support of extended family and many wonderful (and underpaid) community mental health providers, hung in there. They took his 2 a.m. phone calls each night, had him over for dinner and to mow the yard, took him to volunteer at the local food pantry on Tuesdays. He was included in every family gathering.
It seems this is the place where I should say that my parent’s faith held them, and it certainly did in many ways. But I believe it is more important to note that surrender became the most important intention and prayer. Surrender to what is. Surrender to not knowing. Surrender to trusting that Eric is held by a loving God — well before and after he was known by any of us. Through surrender and a good dose of boundary setting, my parents provided a powerful example of steadfast love.
But we, too, were the lucky ones.
Despite, or maybe because of his illness, Eric was easily the most generous and kind person I knew. He would (literally) give the coat off his back. We laugh now at how frustrating it was to be forever buying new coats and housewares, but recognize his Christ-like example of abundant love and generosity. He had nothing and gave it all away.
As he aged, Eric became convinced that computer use was dangerous. He would often call, always saying “Kim, this is your brother Eric Ostergaard” (as if I might have forgotten his name), then ask if I still used computers. When I affirmed that yes, I did still use computers, he would reassure me that he was praying for me. If Eric said he was praying for you, you could rest easy knowing that he was heard.
My children, nieces and nephews, grew up knowing Eric as simply Eric. My sister, 20 years my junior, grew up with an up-close view of his struggles. All of them have a compassion that runs deep. We saw Christ clearly in Eric. None of us encounters an unhoused person without seeing that same image of Christ; someone’s son, brother or uncle. My own draw to be present to those on the margins comes from Eric. All gift.
When my dad was diagnosed with cancer in 2021, Eric was distressed. As we talked, he said that he had “never really suffered” and it was difficult to watch our dad suffer. I had viewed Eric’s entire life as suffering.
Following an earlier stroke and recovery, Eric collapsed with a major brain bleed in January of 2023, found within minutes by a staff member. There is nothing he would have wanted more than to give his heart away one more time — this time as an organ donor. As we walked him down the hallway to do so, I witnessed my parents giving part of theirs away as well.
I have no question that Eric lives on. I feel his gaze and hear his voice. He changed the way I live in this world, calling me to see Christ in all. I pray that he does the same for you.
(Kim Novak is a member of St. Thomas More Parish in Coralville.)
