Monday 9 January 2017

Disbelief: life after my brother's suicide

My brother is pretty much always on my mind, but I have spent the last 24 hours thinking non-stop, obsessively, about his suicide, in gruesome and graphic detail. Scrutinising the hows, the whys, the what ifs, and the if onlys.

Over the last nine months the different emotions have crashed in and out, but today, right now, they have all crashed in at once; anger, guilt, hurt, sadness, confusion, and it is overwhelming. My stomach is being twisted and pulled vigorously, and I want to sob and scream and throw up. But I can’t. I am in utter disbelief, but also numb.

My mind keeps tricking me. I catch myself thinking that I’m going to see him, talk to him, hear his voice, his laugh, his cry. And tell him everything is going to be alright.

But everything is not alright. He ended his life. It’s hard to accept that this act is irreversible. Did he realise this? Did he realise that by doing this, he would never get to drive his beloved Alfa Romeo again, or play pool, or walk up his favourite mountain, or eat bacon sandwiches, watch films, sit in the sunshine, and see his family and friends?

I’ve saved the Paxo sage and onion stuffing he bought before he died, now well past its sell-by date. We devoured this very stuffing as kids, and as long as this packet remains in the cupboard, part of him is still here.

But my brother is dead. His Paxo packet is still here, but he is not.  How can this be?

No comments:

Post a Comment