Sunday 24 April 2016

My brother’s suicide: Haunted

On Wednesday 30th March 2016, my little brother, aged 40, walked into my mum’s bedroom where she was resting, gave her an apple and a kiss, and then drove up to his special place in the mountains, and hanged himself.

Three weeks later, dealing with the hurt, the anger, the guilt, the shock, the unbearable sadness, and the what-ifs, I am haunted by so many things. 

Haunted by the walk we had in the woods three days before his passing, where he was paranoid, and told me that he was scared, and that he felt something really awful was going to happen.  I assured him that nothing bad was going to happen and tried to persuade him to see a doctor, and seek therapy and that there was nothing to be ashamed about.  He seemed open and receptive to the idea. 

Haunted by the last conversation I had with him next to my car in the driveway, where he told me that he had just started a new job, that he was happy, and that I must not call the doctor and make an appointment for him - just 24 hours before he took his own life.

Haunted by the 2.30am visit from the police, telling me... 'I'm very sorry but...'  I knew before they'd finished their sentence.

Haunted by the middle-of-the-night phone call to my dad, and the visit to my mum, telling them that their son, my brother, was dead.

Haunted by the police bashing down his bedroom door, and then searching the house for a note, while my mum lay in her bed in the next room, and I was hysterical.

Haunted by my brilliant and drunken night out in London, while my brother was alone, and scared, and in pain, in the middle of nowhere, ending his life.

Haunted by what I saw the following morning, when I visited the place where he ended it.  His car parked up, his shoes and socks and glasses on the floor next to the bed, the peel of an orange he had eaten, and a lot of carnage.

Haunted by the awful arguments we had in recent years, and my frustration at him being so utterly unreasonable and selfish and difficult, and not knowing that all that time he was covering up an unbearable mental illness.

Haunted by the rope he hanged himself with - it was the rope we swung from as kids, over the stream - such happy, great times. 

Haunted by his much loved childhood teddies I found in the bottom of his chest of drawers, and remembering the happy, gorgeous, sweet boy that he was.

Haunted by the way he left his bedroom - his washing drying neatly on a clothes horse, his unmade bed, his phone and his wallet both on his desk, together with the job application form that my husband and I had helped him fill out a couple of days before he took his own life. 

Haunted by the food he left in the kitchen: spaghetti, tea, herbs, garlic, marmite, salad creme, which I am now eating.

Haunted by my last actions, or lack of them.  I told him that he could speak to me any time about his worries, but I didn’t hug him.

Haunted by not seeing how tortured he was, so much so that he felt he had to end it all.

Haunted by guilt.

Haunted by how he must have felt the night that he hanged himself: scared, confused, 
desolate, desperate.

Haunted by my mind constantly playing tricks on me, and thinking that I catch a glimpse of him, or that I hear him, or catching myself worrying that when he comes back he will tell me off for eating all his salad creme.  

Haunted by the regular nightmares I have of chasing him around the mountains trying to stop him from doing it.

Haunted by not entirely believing that what is happening is real.

Haunted by the bouts of anger I have about why he would do such a stupid, selfish thing... about leaving me an only child, brotherless.

Haunted by never ever finding out what was going through his mind, when he left his new job at lunchtime that day, to go and kill himself.

Haunted by me not being able to make things ok for him.

Haunted by me thinking that him opening up to me recently, and joining us for meals and walks meant that a new happy and exciting chapter was starting for us - I thought I was getting my brother back, who I had missed so much. But what was actually happening was, he was saying goodbye. Forever.

Haunted by the realisation that him hanging himself is irreversible, and what’s done is done and there is no going back, no getting him back, no chatting with him again, no telling him that I love him with every tiny piece of my heart.

The pain is unbearable. 

1 comment:

  1. I am laid in my bed, desperately searching for literature, support, anything that I can find to assimilate the loss of my brother to suicide to reality. Because it still isn't real.
    He was found 12th February this year in his flat by my brother in law, half brother and cousin. He had been ill for several years, addicted to substances and that night something snapped and he hung himself by his beloved dogs chain lead, over the door to his living room.

    I am beyond devastated. Having suffered mental ill health for most of my life, diagnosed with CPTSD in 2010, I have lost the strength to carry this grief.

    Thank you. Thank you. For simply being. For so eloquently writing the movements of your heart and soul after such a huge tragedy. Thank you for reminding me that I am not alone, in the middle of the night, when it feels very very lonely. ❤️ I am so very sorry for your loss and wanted to say I HEAR YOU! X

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