What I Would Have Told My Brother Before He Died By Suicide
Your story isn't finished—but you have to make the choice to keep writing it.
Topic: suicide loss
Your story isn't finished—but you have to make the choice to keep writing it.
July 27, 2019, began as an unremarkable summer day.
How do we hold onto hope, when everything seems bleak?
I’ve heard of it before, this phenomenon where the ones who survive the unthinkable wrestle with immense guilt for the very act of surviving, to a point where they find it difficult to celebrate being alive.
I made this for you, friend. I hope it reminds you that no moments are worthless.
In the wake of his suicide, I became suicidal, a common side-effect of surviving a suicide.
My brother was extraordinary. When he died, so suddenly and without warning, I felt that nothing would be extraordinary again. Except for my pain.
I knew he was struggling, but he told me was better.
i stumbled upon the news of Jarrid’s death the following afternoon, Tuesday, World Suicide Prevention Day, around 5pm. My brain rejected it instantly. Impossible. The words could not be true.
I never felt anger over her decision. From my own diagnosis of PTSD, I knew that much of what she did wasn’t her fault or entirely in her control.
For every person on this planet, there's a special day where we pause to honor our existence and our stories that are still being written.
By telling our stories, we allow them to find the light, to find other people and other storytellers. Suicide took the power of storytelling from my brother.
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