**I wouldn't be fair to you, if I didn't warn you that this post could be a trigger for some. (Abuse, and Suicide)**
July 27th, 1991 my brother was born. Just hours later I was asking my parents, "when does he go back?" Little did I know that he was here to stay. We struggled as kids. Arguing, bickering, fighting like siblings do. When our parents started to go through their divorce, I became very protective of my brother. He was young. I didn't want him in the middle of everything. Our mother tried very hard to make my father the villain in everything. Then when she got drinking, which was a nightly occurrence, she became physically abusive. She would come after us with a metal spoon, or her hand, and would hit us. I remember writing it in my journal at the time. It prompted visits from DYFS at school, and at both homes. Once we were settled again with our dad, I took on more of a guardian role. I was helping with some of the traditional womanly tasks around the house, and was afraid that my brother was going to goof off; I became more of a "mom". This strained our relationship further.
Fast forward to fall of 2007. I left home and went to college 2 hours away. I was finding my place, and had an opportunity to let go of the things that I had to be responsible for at home. For the first time in 8 years, I was only responsible for myself. I flourished. I called home every week, and my dad and brother made the trip out for every home football game that they could to watch me cheer. This time apart helped rebuild the relationship that my brother and I had. In 2010, my brother was honored in the local paper for his athletics. In the article, he credited "his sister for pushing him to go to college, and be a better person". It brought me to tears. In 2011 I graduated college, the first of my family to do so. My whole family was there. We took a ton of pictures, and it was by far one of the best days of my life.
Over the next year, I found myself in the corporate world, in love, and getting an apartment 30 minutes from my hometown. I would go with my dad to watch my brother play lacrosse on the weekends, and we all became closer yet.
On July 23, 2013 my grandmother passed away in the early morning hours. We were a tight knit family, so it hit us hard, but It hit my brother extremely hard. Him and my grandmother had spent so much time together when he was young, a privileged I did not have as we had lived further away when I was young. For the two of us, it was like saying goodbye to a "mom". We both sobbed like small toddlers. Three days later, we were having my grandmothers services followed by singing happy birthday to my brother. Happy 22nd birthday, brother.
Life went on. We adjusted. We spent more time with our grandfather and taking him places. We all became even closer. We were trying to hold to our traditions, like Sunday dinners together. It was harder though. I had a place of my own, and my brother was away at school.
July 21st, 2016 started out like any normal day. I got up, went to work. It was a beautiful day. I made plans with a friend to have lunch at the office, and went about my day. I took a quick walk with another friend, before lunch. I walked to the cafeteria and got a big salad with chipolte ranch dressing, yum! I went and found my friend. It was just about the last open table in the cafe. We sat and started catching up. Talking about all of the things that we had missed in each other's lives. Then my cell phone started to ring. That's odd. It only rings if it's my dad, brother, or grandfather at work. I looked down and the display read "Dad Cell". Even more odd. Dad had the day off and was supposed to be away golfing with friends. I bet he forgot something and wants me to look at his desk for something. Yes, we worked at the same company, so it was easy for me to grab things for him if he decided to leave a pair of readers on his desk, or a hat, etc.
"Hey Pappa Jon!"
"Hey, where are you?", he replies.
"I'm in the cafeteria. I just sat down for lunch. What's up?"
Now here is where you're thinking, "oh no, something happened to her brother!" You wouldn't be wrong, but yet not 100% correct either. The next words out of my dad's mouth shook me to my core.
"Poppy is gone. Poppy committed suicide. Your brother went up to mow and found him."
The next few hours dragged on, yet few by in a matter of seconds. It's like watching everyone around you move at mach speed. I told my friend, held back tears, and ran the hallways back to my desk. I remember someone yelling at my not to run. I didn't care. I packed my computer and other belongings as quickly as I could and ran out the door. I called my boss as I ran across the parking lot, and left a message saying I had to leave in a hurry, and to please call me when he had a chance. Once I got in the car, I called my brother. He answered the phone trying to hold back tears. "Is it true?", I asked. His only response was "He's gone." We bother sobbed. We hung up because the police were just starting to pull up. I called my fiance and informed him. He stayed on the phone listening to me cry the whole way home. Once I got to my grandfather's house, my brother and I embraced and cried. He gave me just the bare minimum details. The officers came outside to talk to us. I asked if I could use the bathroom, and they told me that it wasn't cleared yet. I didn't know it then, but they said that because the bathroom was next to the bedroom where my grandfather laid. Minutes later my dad showed up. My brother and I ran to him, and again sobbed like toddlers. The three of us embraced for a long while. My dad stepped back and said "I have to go talk to them.", talking about the officers. His girlfriend stopped him, and told him he shouldn't go inside because he didn't need to see anything.
The officer came back outside to talk to us about an hour later. He informed us how things were, what they had done, and the next steps. "When you bring him out of the house, can we get a moment with the body bag to say some type of goodbye?", I asked between sobs. "No ma'am. It's actually best if you don't see this. You need to keep the good memories, not the memory of a body bag.", he responded. Two days later, we grieved again for my grandmother, and 3 days after that "happy birthday little brother."
Tomorrow marks 4 years since that day.
Tomorrow marks 4 years of sadness, anger, and hurt.
I can't help but be mad.
Mad for the happy memories that we were shorted.
Mad at the fact that we weren't enough of a reason to stay.
Mad at the fact that my brother had to find my grandfather.
Mad that we didn't get that closure.
Mad that I didn't spend more time with my grandfather.
Mad that I don't get to hear him say "Oh, I missed your big hugs!" anymore.
People say that suicide is selfish, and from my point of view, it definitely feels that way, but I don't know what he was going through. I don't know why he felt this was the only option.
What I can say, is that suicide definitely transfers the pain and hurt to others. My whole family took on unexplainable pain and hurt that day. We will carry this pain until our last days.
That day made the bond I have with my brother as strong as Thor's hammer. We are closer than ever, and share more with each other than I ever imagined we would. It sucks, but having our family torn at the core made us so much closer and stronger.
These next few days are going to be terrible.I will cry. I will spend a lot of time alone questioning why, being mad at the circumstances and unknowns, and will ultimately end the week celebrating my brother. Happy birthday brother. May you find joy, and reason to celebrate over this next week.
