I was 21 y/o, in college, when my only sibling, my brother Todd, took his life. He was only 15. My parents had always had a tumultuous marriage & he was subjected to more of their craziness than I was. My father had a long history of depression and my mother chose to stay with him. I “fell apart” and flunked-out of school. I didn’t know I was depressed, I did know that I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t eat, my weight dropped dramatically. But I did get the message that grieving wasn’t okay and I “should get over it.” My mother actually said that I had no right to grieve because it was only my brother, but it was HER son. Todd died in 1974 and I have learned that his death is a part of my life.
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