*Disclaimer* You might want to grab a Kleenex before reading any further; I know I did. This week is suicide prevention week. Being what is referred to as a ‘suicide survivor,’ I don’t need a special day or week of the year to remind me of my loss. Every day without my brother reminds me that he is gone.
A little over a month ago marked the seventh anniversary of my brother Nate’s death. That makes it sound like it was a long time ago—so much has happened in seven years—and yet sometimes it still feels like just yesterday. Time doesn’t heal all wounds and no amount of time will take away the pain.
This anniversary was particularly difficult for me. I am now my brother’s age when he took his life, and my daughter was almost identical in age to his son was when Nate died. The anniversary is always hard, but this one was harder. In addition to this, I was struggling with massive life changes and my own battle with depression.
But the anniversary came and went, and life marched on. For most, it was like any other day, although this year may have been different for those experiencing at least a little sting of suicide with the death of the lead singer from Linkin Park.
But even that is not the same. Reading peoples’ comments about the loss of a music icon, or any ‘famous’ person for that matter, has a tendency to make me angry. Being intimately related to someone who dies by suicide cannot even be compared to ‘knowing’ someone that dies by suicide simply because you listened to his music or watched his movies. #rantover
I don’t talk about my brother much. I don’t display many photos of him. It is still so hard for me, but I do hope to be able to do both more in the future. Having recently moved, my stepdaughter saw a picture of my brother and I as we were unpacking and she said something to the effect of, if only I had a beard, my brother and I would be twins.
We did look a lot alike. We also were a lot alike. We shared so many things in common—a love of books, a love of theater, a love for the outdoors, a love for adventure and exploring new places—and the list could go on. I have so many good memories of him. But sometimes that’s just too overwhelming to remember because I miss him so much more when I remember.
My brother loved life and loved others. He has inspired me in so many ways. His death has left an indelible mark on me. As such, I am trying to live a life that honors his legacy—to love life and love others. My brother was busy but he always made so much time for those he loved. And he was so generous—he definitely showed love through gift-giving. I will be the first to admit that I was a spoiled baby sister.
On one of my visits to New York, he treated me to see Wicked on Broadway. I was amazing. He actually took me to a number of Broadway shows, but since his death I saw Wicked again in Seattle and was struck by the duet sung by the two witches—Glenda the good, and Elphaba, the “wicked” witch.
Some of its lyrics are as follows:
“It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You’ll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend…
Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good…” (‘For Good’ Kristin Chenowith and Idina Menzel)
Funny how songs and lyrics can have a different impact on us at different times in our lives. I couldn’t even begin to list all that I learned from him and the ways that he has left his handprint on my heart. Without a doubt, I have been changed for the better because of knowing my brother. I bet anyone that knew him would say the same.
And anyone that knew him was utterly shocked at the way his story ended. We talk about suicide prevention, but for so many, the pain is so great, they are unable to reach out for the help they so desperately need. Many tritely say to reach out to them if you ever need anything—especially if you are considering ending your life—but the truth is, most don’t. Most can’t. I know I probably couldn’t. Asking for help is hard to begin with; mental illness adds a whole other dimension that most people just don’t know how to handle.
If you’ve ever, even for one second, thought that your loved ones would be better without you because of the ‘burden of mental illness’ (or however you define your struggle), that is a lie from the PIT OF HELL. I don’t know what your religious beliefs are, but I don’t believe for a second that the devil doesn’t utilize mental illness to convince people to do things that aren’t even natural to our basic human instincts. It’s difficult to articulate, but I just can’t accept that death was truly what my brother desired had he been in better emotional and mental state.
For survivors of suicide, there are always so many questions and so many ‘what-ifs.’ I wish to God that something could have changed to make the outcome different, but wishes are wasteful and accomplish nothing.
As such, many put their efforts into raising awareness and promoting suicide prevention. Project semicolon is one such organization dedicated to the prevention of suicide. The idea is that when a writer uses a semicolon instead of a period, the thought could have ended, but the author chose to keep writing. For those that struggle with thoughts of suicide, the semicolon is a reminder that their story isn’t over yet.
My daughter carries a version of my brother’s name in hers (middle name), and the theme of her room is butterflies. I bought a picture of the semicolon butterfly for her room as a reminder of my brother’s legacy and my desire for her to love life and love others as he did.
Blake Shelton lost his brother in a tragic car accident and wrote the song ‘Over You’ to express his thoughts and emotions. His former wife, Miranda Lambert, emotively sings the chorus:
“But you went away
How dare you, I miss you
They say I’ll be OK
But I’m not going to ever get over you”
How dare Nate for going away. I miss him. ‘They say I’ll be OK, but I’m not going to ever get over you.’
Although I, like my brother, have struggled with depression, I know deep in my core that my story isn’t over yet. I haven’t been tempted to walk the path he trod, but his death does serve as a constant reminder to me to live well. In other words, to love well.
