I have posted this a couple of times on Feb 9th which is the date my brother died. Tomorrow is the anniversary of him setting himself on fire. It will be 35 years. Thank you to each of you who have posted here. Coming here is an act of hope and it contributes to the survival of each of us.
I wrote this 4 years ago and it is still true:
Breathe
Half my life ago today, 31 years ago to be exact, my younger brother died. He had set himself on fire and lived for 43 days.
Tomorrow he will be gone more than half my life. It is odd to ponder this milestone. Like all of you here, I did not think I could survive those early years. I had to will myself to take one breath and then the next. Everyone else’s lives were going forward, and I was lost in this unfamiliar and crushingly sad place.
For those new to this awful experience, I want to let you know what it is like to be half my life in this place. I have a full life. I can be happy. My brother’s suicide is still the worst thing that has ever happened to me. But over time this life is my familiar life.
His suicide has been woven into the fabric of that life. I am not longer raw with emotion. I have learned to see what gifts have come from this. I can be a voice for others. I can share my experience, strength and hope. While his death was a catastrophic event, it colors who am today. I am in a healing profession and I know the good I do is colored by good times and bad.
Here are some of the things that helped me along the way: writing in a journal gave me a 24/7 outlet, therapy (both with other survivors and individually), learning about better physical health, eating better, waiting (when the awful moments happen, just wait; they will stop), leaning into the sadness instead of running from it. Find someone who can listen. Make a list of what is comforting to you. Keep it close by. Use it.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, until you can breathe without thinking about it.
A therapist once asked me what I thought my brother wanted for me. Without thinking the answer came out, “Peace. He wants me to be at peace.”
I still believe that. Keep coming back here. We know. We understand. We care.

I can’t belive you left us Jan 20, 2021. You said in your letter that you couldn’t take it anymore sorry. That was it that is all we got. For my whole life we’ve made it out of the worst situations or tragedies you could imagine. When I was 16 and ran away you have no idea how close I came to never coming home because a horrible person almost took my life. You told me you were proud of me for fighting for my life. You never told me what happened to you when you were a kid and how this might of been the reason you couldn’t handle this life. I thought I was there for you you made me think you were ok but you probably thought you were a burden on everyone I had a flash of panic months before you did this that you were going to do this so I frantically called mom and dad and told them to help you and they did and finally they were able to know you. Losing your wife and daughter to divorce was horrible I was so mad at them for abruptly leaving you like that alone in that house. I always hated that house and that garage.  I knew something was sinister about it. I am so mad at you but will always love you my big brother you were my guide into this world my inspiration but sadly you won’t be here for your kids or their kids. I will always be torn between anger and sadness.

I don’t know who the hell is going to see this, and I don’t really care. You were 23 when you killed yourself on your birthday back in August, and I turned 21 in October. At first I was confused why the world kept on going without you, and now I’m just pissed off. Not at you, but that this is just how things have to be now. You know I wasn’t a person who instigated things, but now I’m just itching for someone to try and start something with me so I have an excuse to punch something.

But at the end of the day it isn’t anger. It’s a sadness and feeling of confusion so deep I can’t even see the other side of it. It’s being frustrated at not knowing how much pain must have been inside for you to shoot yourself and die all alone. I wish I could shake and scream at you or even just give you one last awkward brother hug.

Or punch you really hard in the shoulder for making me go through a 4 hour open casket viewing talking to people who didn’t really know you and will never ever understand the amount of raw pain this is to wake up to every morning. These days I zone out so hard for so long to get away from thinking and feeling that sometimes you have to nudge me to bring me back to what’s going on.

I don’t know. If I had a dime for every time someone told me “time will make it better” I could have worn something MUCH nicer to your funeral. There was so much love and kindness left in your heart, and we all just hope you’re someplace where you aren’t hurting anymore.

Love you dude. See you later.

Nolan. I had always dreamt of the day I would have a baby brother. Then I got lucky. I got three of you guys. I was not lucky enough to spend the beginning of my life with you, but I was there before you hit double digits. Back when you were small and would listen to anything I said because I was your big sister the day I met you. I watched you grow from my baby brother who wore footie pajamas to the dork who could show me how to do anything on a computer. Remember when you got grounded from electronics so you modded your raspberry pi to watch YouTube? We all laughed. How could you be so clever.

I was on my way to work when dad called. I don’t remember my drive home. But asking the sheriff “are my parents inside?” Will play on repeat the rest of my life. As I looked past them I saw more standing where you were found. I don’t remember enough but your dad unable to stand all day. On his knees. And (y)our mom just pacing crying while my dad took the lead to the detectives. Our brothers were there. And we were so lost. When they asked if we wanted to see you before they took you, we shouldn’t have said yes. We shouldn’t have been as curious as you. You had had a great Sunday we thought. But you hid your gun out back. And within hours you were gone, and we didn’t know until Monday morning. Grandpa laid with you. Pulling your shirt so we didn’t have to see your damage. But your body showed enough. How will you always be 16? When they let me dress you at the funeral home I had never felt someone so cold. But it was the last time you let me hold your hand. You had let me kiss your head when I visited home the month before. So I kissed it again. I didn’t think that would upset you now. None of this feels real 3 weeks out. Getting out of bed hurts. I don’t have the strength to brush my teeth or hair somedays and I just hope for the best. Thanksgiving sucked without you and I’m scared of Christmas. I wish you could’ve talked to us about it all. Because I feel so lost not knowing why.

I just found you today, it isn’t real. I should have been there. You should still be here! This can’t be happening. This isn’t real

J, you killed yourself and your pain on October 5, 2021. You have been memorialized, your ashes safe in the house where your widow and 2 of your children still live. We were five strong, with you, the last to come, always the beloved favorite. Our love could not save you, our trying did not save you. How can it be that for months this summer, you were finally happy, you were planning trips, contacting roofers, then getting Covid – you stopped calling, stopped answering our emails and calls. Your last words to me were “I’m so tired, Is. Just so tired.” We are still trying to save you. We can’t yet make sense, let go, stop asking each other what happened. We are caring for our sister, your wife, and your children and grands but we miss you to distraction. We were five, now we are 4. I sense your peace, I sense our lack of. You are out of pain, we couldn’t save you. At the end, you didn’t want to be saved. Free will is hard to bear. You are loved and wanted and someday we will perhaps stopped being shocked but we are still 5 in our hearts, little brother.

It was one year since I lost you this September. One year without all the things you did that made me love you, your smile, laugh, wit, kind heart, and open ears, you were truly one of my best friends. I regret not getting to know you sooner in life, I always thought I had more time.
In the harsh days after you ended your life, I thought a year from now I will be “better” as if this grief was a sickness I could cure. One year came and passed and I have been struggling so much more. The realization that time will never heal this ache. The reality that missing you and loving you will always be complicated and intertwined with all of the parts of my life now. Grief has been the rawest form of love I have ever felt. The tears I have shed screaming for you at night are frightening and violent. Then there is the secondary grief in losing who I was on September 19, 2020, the day before you died. That girl was strong and resilient. She was patient and thoughtful. She was happy. That girl is gone. I cannot unlearn what losing you taught me, I cannot go back to who I was before.
When people say I look like I am doing so well, it makes me sick to my stomach. What you are seeing in me is survival. It takes all of the energy I have to try and just be in this world without my little brother. I recall the day I found out you died like it was today. Dad called and said, “Eric is dead.” I wailed and wailed, disbelief, are we sure he is gone? He said, “I have to go call your older brother.” I sat in my home alone, on the floor, my life shattered around me. It felt like being at ground zero of a bomb going off. I will never understand. I am deeply hurt you felt that this was the only way forward. I will love you forever. I will grieve the loss of you forever.