If You Can't Hear, Then Listen Instead

Charley...

When you escaped from this life and the pain it was thrashing you with, you also took an exceptional amount of my soul and being with you. People say we functioned as twins, walked hand in hand, stemmed from the same life and cloth, and bound together by our inner light. I  happily state to those who ask that, "Yes, I feel him still". I pray this never changes and I pray that you never stray too far from me. 

The morning your breathed your last breath, I woke up and immediately felt different. I firmly remember rising from bed and wondering, I feel so relieved! Since having Mia and becoming a parent, my nights and mornings are often tired. I go to sleep tired and wake up tired. However, this morning was different. I walked to the bathroom, stared at myself in the mirror and just knew. My phone reflected two missed calls from you but no text. My insides shook and went limp. I knew. I stalled and refused to go to your house. I waited because I knew that nothing was going to change and what I was going to see was going to alter my existence and your presence. You were waiting for me. I was scared. I was frightful for you and for me. I was nervous about how to handle the most devastating seconds of my life. But most of all, I broke because I knew you broken to an extent that could never be repaired. 

When you play hide and seek and you're tiptoeing around knowing that someone is going to find you but you're still startled from expectation- that feeling? I do that still, gently pacing the floors in your home waiting for your spirit to visit me. 

This morning I assured Mom that she did well raising you into a wonderful man and kind soul. I encouraged her to know this as not a fact but as a certainty; you lived your life with your own notions but always lived with respect for our family. Sure, you had your jerk tendencies and bluntly honest moments, and who doesn't have flaws and quirks and idiosyncracies? I'm stubborn and hard-headed and bratty and somewhat selfish, but those are my inferior characteristics and not the reasons why I'm loved and love myself. 

For Mom though, not saving you has made her feel inadequate and less-than-motherly. I'm his Mother! How didn't I see this? Why didn't I do anything?  

Just as Robin Williams took his own vastly larger-than-life, he was also severely depressed. He clearly couldn't stand to live anymore and clearly didn't have clarity. I read an article where the writer states, "I'm mostly angry because he wasn't under 24/7 suicide watch. Why didn't anyone help him and why didn't anyone listen?" Truth is, his family may have known and they listened, but I'm almost sure they didn't want to believe he'd take his own life. Not Robin Williams. Not this amazingly gifted and hilariously talented, funny man who provides the world with laughter and happiness. I believe Robin Williams wasn't a performer or an entertainer- I believe that he played himself as himself. He was happy, he was jovial, he was manically present. He wasn't crazy. And he was exhausted. In the darkest moment of his soul, he gave into liberation~ a liberation that freed  him from all pain and desperation.

Charley, I know that you know how deeply loved you are. You know that I love you more than I love myself. Love wasn't the problem I don't think. You and I used to say that love isn't enough. And it isn't. It never has been and it ultimately wasn't for you. This doesn't mean that because I understand you, that your blind-sided decision doesn't hurt me. This fact antagonizes me daily. Love alone couldn't save you. My love for you didn't save you. Life requires so much more from one another and the world we live in. 

One thing that helps to get us all by? Listening. Listening with your heart and not your ears. Hearing with your heart and not the surface. Delving deeper than ice skating on a thin sheet of sheer. Undivided attention. Engaging with someone and eye contact. Genuinely caring for friends and family. 

I listened with you your whole life and I felt every moment we spent together. I listen to you, still. Waiting patiently for the moment your voice speaks me to so clearly that I believe you're home again.

I stand with you for always, 

Yolie 

Faith Involves A Leap Of Imagination

We want to believe without questioning and love without expectation.
Some of us have faith simply by surrendering to what will be and some of  us still, want to have faith but also want to know if there's truth behind it. I'm the latter; I am struggling to have faith that "everything will be okay" and that our higher power in the realms of love, "knows what he's doing". Candidly put- since we don't know what happens when we die, since we don't know FOR CERTAIN, I instead allow myself to have hope that life is going to be just that: life. A daily existence with technically no end in sight and a short 24-hours of what we make of it. Though this perception sounds cynical, it comforts me because it means I have zero expectation and investment in tomorrow. For I now know that tomorrow-that overnight, heck, a moment, a curveball of words-changes entire lives. Whether the catapult begins when the sun falls and the moon shines, life also morphs into another rise and people fall...forever.

Many years ago my brother Charley and I once discussed the idea of faith and dissected it as though it were a psychology project. Is it religion that drives and encourages a people to drop their arms, cease the fight and worry, and extend their souls onto a master of all? Do we, as a culture, find life more manageable if we believe, "Let Go, Let God"? What I mean here is, do we unburden ourselves, liberate ourselves even, by handing over our deepest, saddest, uncertain thoughts and giving the holy universe permission to do as it pleases, as it wishes and as it knows best.~ "Here. I trust You". Maybe it's because I'm a control freak (lovingly, of course) that I want to know how and why and when.

When does faith become hope and hope become denial? At what point in the spectrum is it no longer faith? What if we're so blinded by hope that we can't see reality?
These are the philosophical sentiments my brother and I exchanged almost word for word. He and I sat together and pondered faith because we didn't grow up in a religious household and were guided and encouraged to believe in God and ourselves and each other. And I suppose I grew up with pessimistic notions because our childhood was rough, our adolescent years were challenging and our adults years have been nothing short of "ahh, so that's why I'm who I am". Life, right?
I've had writers block for almost a month; afraid of my thoughts and the darkness it feels, pain is much too heavy to formulate into words you may understand. What I did to get here was look back on the major events of my life to see the broader picture. Almost like taking a break from a performance to sit with the camera man and asking him to rewind and play in slow motion.
This is what I saw: Charley was always there. My Father's death, my Mother's grief, the lonely childhood, questions and vague answers or none at all, the silence in the house, the drawn blinds, skinny kids, brother acting as Dad, brother acting as man of the house, Mom remarrying...and so on and so forth. When I look at every moment that has shaped me to now, Charley was front and center, or front and on my side. And now he's not and never will again.
If you've ever lost someone, and I emphasize LOST because you will only see them in your mind's eye, then you know pain and you know loss. What I have faith in is that life ends. What I have faith in is that I am my best in the moments when I am living. After that moment, anything goes.
And what I believe is that we do not betray our faith by questioning it and seeking meaning, rather we strengthen it.

Reality is TEN-fold. So I Make-Believe.

Charley, my Messiah of All,

I'm angry with you. Just a bit. Anger makes me feel bad for being upset with you but it's my current state-of-mind. I get angry when you receive mail and I stare at your name knowing that the typed name I'm staring at is no longer a physical recipient. Rather than write "DECEASED" with an angry sharpee and toss it back onto the mail slot, I use the moment as an opportunity to tear up your mail and ball it into my fist. I'm pissed that mail still comes for you but am afraid it will stop coming.
I'm angry that I'm counting months and keeping track of your death. I'm angry that this life is real and you're not returning. Would you believe that I tried with all my over-extended efforts to bring you back from death? Rummaging through the thoughts you shared with me and all your undeserved sadness encouraged me to make life better for you. Even though I haven't sorted through your belongings (I imagine this won't occur for at least another year), I tried to organize your stuff in the only way I know you approve of. I looked into science to find out if anyone has been brought back to life; excavated from 10 feet under, new organs, new skin, new eyes and with its rightful soul intact. I scoured my memory for any indication that you may have been alive still when you were gently sleeping in your casket the day before we buried you into a deep darkness I can't reach. I even contemplated sneaking into the cemetery in the middle of night with shovel and rope in hand to get you out and prevent you from suffocating in dryness and solace. You died alone and now your body is alone. I'm told I will never understand but Charley, I DO! I understand why you're gone and how you got there. What I don't understand is why you. Why, WHY, wHy, w-h-y.
I fantasize about you expectedly arriving home one day as Mia and I play in the backyard, running through the sprinklers, watering the garden, drawing with sidewalk chalk, sitting in the shade eating popsicles, riding her scooter and tricycle....all while patiently waiting for you to walk through the back door and saying, "Hey, I'm home". I raise my head and beam at you, for words won't express how emotionally overwhelmed I am to see you and your face again.

I pretend you're here and my soul hugs you tightly. All I want is to be in your arms and press my face against your chest so that I can hear your heart beat. And Charley, even if you come back with no beating heart, let alone a stone-cold heart, I want you here. I'll show you what I've done with your home and my plans to expand the kitchen. I'll walk you through all the decor I added which are inspired by the colors and vibrancy in your soul. I'll tell you of my plans to make a career out of writing and how I finally applied for grad school. I'll open my arms and offer to hold you as you cry the cry no one heard. I'll devour your presence and beg you to never leave me again and promise to ask you all the questions I should've asked you the moment I knew you were thinking of taking your life.
I cannot believe you're dead. Not you, Charley. Not my idol, my hero, my messiah, my every man. Why not someone else? Why not someone who I don't love so deeply (yes, I know. Because someone else does). I have selfish thoughts, so what? I'm real and raw and that what makes me, me. I spend a lot of time staring out the window wondering where you are and how the world I'm looking at isn't a world I care for without you in it. My mind can't comprehend the magnitude of loss and sadness my heart feels. HOW has it been ten months? You were here ten months ago, Charley?! So much has happened and I want to talk to YOU about it. My reflex still reaches for the phone to call you and talk about your death with you. Only you would understand because no one else does.
I'm trying, bro. I really am. Even if I'm tiptoeing over shattered pieces of glass and emotional mines.

I love you for all that you are and all that you signify,
Yolie

Bowing Down to Birthday Day

Why do we acknowledge our birthday? Is it due to customary reasons of celebration and happiness? Do we seek a unique attention on the day we turn yet another year older only to look back on the last year to see that not too much has changed?
Birthdays, as is change, is unwarranted and part of the messily packaged decor we call life. Some call it vida for a little extra flavor, yet it's still here. Whether it's an anniversary of an event, an eventful celebration or a celebration of life, it's rallied in such a way that makes you cry with sorrow or simply cry because you are feeling EMOTION.

When my birthday creeps up on me, I usually want nothing to do with it. I'd rather skim through my day as if it were just another day of insignificance and annoyance. This entire year thus far (and for many years), I want nothing more than to acknowledge each significant day with my brother in sight. But since this is nearly impossible (and I say that because I like to think almost anything is possible, lol) I keep him alive instead. I live my life as though he were here. As I walk into the house I announce, "I'm home, Charley" so that I don't startle him or myself. And I walk straight to his room in hopes of seeing his face. It never fails; he's never home.
This year, as we've snailed through holidays and get together's, Charley's birthday reached for us like an angelic hand from the sky. It asked us to bind to one another in an effort to morph him into a love we may see with our minds and our strengths. Knowing that Sunday, July 13th would be a day my Mom would scour the day for him, she suggested we take a few days for ourselves to honor him...as though a getaway together would soften the birthday blow.
To a rented beach cottage we went- tears sealed tightly into jars for later use and beach towels to wipe our bodies of sand and wrap ourselves as the sun sets and evening life swifts in. We trudged into the four-day home of our family minus the one boastful voice and presence our unit is missing. Effort was our goal and serenity was our target. Try as we might, it was as though we were talking and living about one another without talking and living about WHY we were there. But it seemed normal, relieving almost- to breathe without crying and to privately birthday-bash without blurred vision and cake.

As a family, we decided to invite friends and family over to the house for a birthday party for my brother. After all, he is a life to celebrate, glorify and magnify with his spiritual presence intact and love overflowing from everyone in attendance. And man, did people show up! We were touched and floored that the turnout was as abundant as it was seamless. Fire reserves who'd become his close friends, extended family whom we rarely see, our own personal friends and neighbors---ALL of which moved about his home with respect and adoration.
"You're such a cool sister," someone told me. "Don't hate me for saying this, but he's dead, and you live as though he's here and honor him as you do. You keep him alive. I love it". I blushed with pride and found comfort in those words because my brother Charley thinks I'm cool, too.
So cool, that I ordered 37 cupcakes to signify the 37 years he would've turned that day. I placed a sparkler candle in each one and passed them out so that they could be individually held. When I gathered everyone in the backyard to sing "Happy Birthday", my hands shook with anxiety and I prayed I could get through a yearly verse of the song. Eyes cast downward and surrounded by smiles of mixed emotion, we sang loudly and purely. Happy Birthday Dear Charley, Happy Birthday to you! Candles were blown out and I made a beeline for the house. Into the bedroom I scurried with a cupcake in my hand, the smell of a well-it candle and the taste of salt trickling into my mouth. I stood facing the mirror in complete solace with the blinds drawn and the sound of laughter and party just 10 feet away. My eyes were Charley's eyes. I paced and watched him. Deep breath. Happy Birthday, bro. Happy Birthday.
Shaking still, I wiped my face and returned to a party that will last an entire year.

Deviate From the Norm, Folks

It's been a very busy couple weeks with yoga classes, writing short stories and finding my way to a destination I have no clue exists. I also strayed from expressing myself here on the blog so that I may gather my thoughts in full.
Fourth of July was celebrated last Friday with Americans gloriously exhibiting their liberties and pride by display of colorful night fireworks, barbeques, beach time, flags and a day off from work. And while I sat in a new yoga class on the very same morning, I experienced a twist in the day and decided instead to take "a day on" from everything rather than "a day off". As though I haven't been focusing on myself as best I can, right? Still, the idea of meditating my thoughts and sense-of-self was more appealing to me than shoving out the standard everyday routine.

Do you believe we all have a destination or inevitable fate? If we stray from the blueprint of our lives will we ultimately end up at the same meeting point or may you argue that we instead map our lives and make our own choices based on emotion, thought, logic and desire? I'm torn between the two- and even then I don't quite agree that we, as a human race and beings, should be restricted to raising our hands for one or the other- black or white, stop or go, die or live.

My brother lived his life with only the restrictions that we live by. Of course he also made his own life with the ideals and style that only he could develop. He is a particular soul with particularities my family both accepts and adores. His home was spotlessly clean with every furniture piece in its place and every rug wall decor in its rightful spot. Dishes were washed immediately after cooking, counter tops were scrubbed clean, weeds were pulled as often as they obnoxiously snagged garden space, love was unconditionally dispensed and my brother's soul is stoic and present still in the choices he made for himself and for those he loves. With no map in hand, Charley navigated life with vigor I've never witnessed and tenacity that develops in the digital colors of motion pictures and made-up characters. I am envious of the life he lived not because I wanted his hard-earned fortunes but because I aspired to be a different version of him; moving through my 24 hours with delight, influence and intent. Admittedly, I wasn't. I was stuck in a rut that had been stagnant for quite some time with some intent of my own to change the life I was living but was too afraid to leave the comforts of predictability. I turned to my brother as I always do and asked him for guidance to a place of deserved happiness and fruits. A place I know exists if I derail from the norm of my then-choices and persevere without fear in my forethought and self-love in my gut.
As I began to work on this plan, my brother was simultaneously dying. I put on my big-little-sister pants and performed beyond my abilities to show him I am chasing happiness while promising that happiness exists for him as well. And I failed to hold us both up, I failed to drop all of me for him and I failed to keep him alive longer than I did. In disappointing myself I realized also that I never wanted to disappoint him in any form while we lived as brother and sister...and to his misfortune, I disappointed our souls for not shaking him of suicidal thoughts and putting my foot down. Ha, who am I to think I could rid him of such despair and sadness? I provided a love that doesn't exist beyond he and I. Charley once lovingly said to me, "We are a hopeful group" when stating how bonded of a family we are. This is true and more truer than ever.

My brother lived his life taking days on to maintain his external love for his worlds but didn't take nearly half as much time to work on love for himself. Love for life he performed naturally well as an overachiever and a smile on his face at nearly all times, but he never took days off. And if he did, it was subtle and coy and mastered with such selflessness that very few noticed. I noticed and still do.
He is my inspiration to live vicariously through myself as I desire.

Reach Out And Connect

We all live lives that we either expected to have or imagined it would be a bit different. What we don't expect are the number of connections we make with other forces of nature such as ourselves.
The childhood friend we hold close to our hearts like the first infatuation of our teen years. Or the colleague we met in our early career that not only changed your day, but also changed your life. How about the passerby who smiled at you and exchanged a few words that have moved with you as you move through your day. Life is lived as a series of time, where it begins the moment you wake up with the one thought that follows you from teeth to pajamas, and is marked as another 24 hours of whatever "yesterday" may have been.
But how do we get to today? How much have we gone through to get to this exact moment? Losing my brother still dumbfounds me, as I expect it will for quite a significant number of years. I drive around in my car and gaze out the massive front-view mirror wondering, How the fuck am I living without Charley? How the fuck did we get here? I shake my head as if to shake off the fact that still stands true. I look up at the sky wondering if he looked up at the same sky that reflected a sadder shade of blue. I wish upon city stars that I never see and talk to a moon that doesn't smile nor tell a story of a cow jumping over it. And I realize that unfortunately, to my pain and denial, my brother is gone and never returning. No matter what I do, my love cannot bring him back to life.

Here's the thing though, he touched lives- this is true and factual. He impacted hundreds of lives, and it's proven by the numerous number of loving messages and sincere gratitude my family has received. These gestures have personally impacted me with such concrete force that I am actively striving to change for myself first and for others secondly. I admit, that like all people, I have character flaws and make mistakes but I won't apologize for who I am and what I stand for. I don't compromise my values to accommodate others unless it's for a greater cause. Call me stubborn (because I can be), but I will fight for my family and my brother's legacy. Think about it...when you weigh your "I wish i weren't so..." against all the qualities you are, don't you truly believe that the pros outweigh the cons? I do. I believe they do. I'm not a complete mess, despite my setbacks and devastations. And I believe this as a fact for everyone else. Again, I believe that beneath tough exteriors and laughter or ignorance and cruel intentions, there is a soul that deserves all the love and acceptance in existence. I stress the importance of this theory because I'm hopeful and have faith. I hope to someday live a life that is peaceful most of the time and positively challenging at others. That while others intentionally take another down to justify their feelings, I speak truths. And faith will drive me to the point I seek and the truth my brother is. I'm inspired daily to live lovingly and unconditionally. And if you don't live this way, I hope to pass you by on the street so that you may experience my smile and feel a fragment of my hope. Believe that I believe in you. I DO.

Some Kind of Peace of Mind

"You need to be at peace," she said. Those words were meant to be communicated as encouragement but came off as hard-handed instead.
A handful of people have spoken to me as though they know exactly what happened to my brother- as though knowing him for ten years gives them the authority to know "the story". There is no story. Try as people might to reference his character flaws or mistakes, they have no right to justify his death. So what- you hung out with him every couple years or exchanged text messages with him here and there, or he showered you with unconditional love for six months, and he made you smile everytime you saw him? Umm, no, you don't know him as I do. You don't know why he took his life. Speculate all you want and side with the undisclosed enemy, but I'd rather you keep your judgments and opinions to yourself. This goes for anyone who is on the other side of devastation and loss.
Loss changes us with time. Whether it's a relationship, a fallen friendship or a death, it's mind-blowing to experience going from darkness to some sense of life.
Truth is, I have one foot in pitch dark and one foot out of a sun-lit window pane. Some days I'm completely in the dark with all lights shut off and cowering in my closet.

Where can peace be found and what does it look like? Again, there is no booming voice overhead that announces, "You have arrived, my dear". I haven't been searching for this place people speak of and live to bask in it. In fact, I hear that it exists and admit that I don't care for it. Not externally, at least. "Peace from within", my brother Charley would encourage. And so I'm working on a peace I know I can feel; a peace that is tangible and reflects off the shattered pieces of my heart into my own mirror reflection. Peace for me is a moment of complete bliss' which is often a consequence of living love with my toddler daughter. She's grown rather quickly and is a gentle soul who caresses my face as I cry and holds it in her tiny hands sometimes. She tells me that she dreams of her Nino and describes the things he does or the words he speaks to her. Just today she sat up in the car seat in search of him as though he were standing across the street waving at her glowing face and excitedly happy to see her. The innocence of her soul brings me peace. If only I could live my life looking for my brother and being blissfully ignorant to his passing.

Peace, like memories, come and go. It's here for a couple of minutes and then it dissipates as I remind myself that my brother has passed. Do you want to know what my FIRST thought was this morning when I woke up? Charley is dead. Peaceful sleep but rude awakening. And so no matter what I do or how I spend my day, there is no choice with thoughts of tranquility and serenity. Reality taps me on the shoulder every few minutes to tell me what is and what isn't. I can hysterically laugh at a comedy for two hours but as the end credits roll, I'm crying and having an anxiety attack because I've crashed from my fake high. No matter the encouraging thoughts for me and my family, my wonderfully jovial brother is gone. And this tragic fact alone robs us of all peace.

Nine-Month Reality: Death Is Resolute

My Lovingly-Active Brother,

I'm running streets and strands with you in mind while running away from the pain of losing you. When I run, I am temporarily relieved of all the chronic heartache and pressure you felt- my mind clears and opens up to you in hopes that you're soaring with me and wrapped in my the peaks of my energy. Do you feel me? I focus all my thought into you and fantasize about the life we treasure together and the life you left behind. People say you had an amazing life; while this is true, your internal emotions were a daily struggle the last weeks of your life and should be respected. I too, smile and move about but it doesn't mean that I'm okay or in a better place. There's no sigh of relief exhaled from my bosom even though that's what everyone wants for me. I'm with you, bro. I absolutely understand your pain and accept why you're gone but utterly despise the anguish and trigger that cornered you into your darkest hours.

I suppose I'm coping now and I do so by running. This has become my life: Mia, You and running. Not very much socializing nor "having fun"...I'm just living with myself in mind and actively trying to reach you. Your passing has put my entire life and thoughts into perspective- everything is temporary and nothing but love and legacy truly last. THIS moment is all that matters. Not the material objects we purchase, not the jobs we maintain, not the funds in our pockets---none of that is of any significance. Because when we die, these things are picked up by others and pushed forward with the motions of life. Love, memories and honor move swiftly like the current of a strong tide; the low tide paws at our toes and soothingly caresses our flesh while high-tide and rough waves wobble our knees as we grasp the ocean air for balance.

Memories of you and I together are now flooding my mind and my heart. Most every other day I experience a trigger that sets me back for hours and places me back into day one. Day one was the most hopeless, helpless, devastating hours of my life. I can hear my screams still, as they antagonize my senses and remind me of reality. When I screamed, it wasn't a sound of fright, in fact, it was a fury of defeat and anger at the universe for allowing yourself to have felt defeated as well. I get so angry now knowing that in those last minutes, your entire life was gone. In your last weeks, you were quickly dying. I screamed because I couldn't change how death looks and feels and I still can't change that death took hold of you, Charley. I want to scream, still, in the same way I did nine months ago...exactly nine months ago on this hour and at this minute.

"Suicide is not the answer"- so posters, hot lines, resources shout. I say that for some, for some as you who felt(feel) desperate, lost, confused and besides themselves, death is the answer. There is no magic pill that dissolves anguish. There is no therapist messiah who may reach in, grab hold of, and pull pain from its roots. There is no voice on the other end of a hot line who may permanently talk you through your darkest hour and pull you back to life.

There is progress. There is struggle. There is patience. There is hope and there is faith. But to wait for all that only to experience that suicidal thoughts exist on the ocean bottom of your thoughts? I'm fortunate. I took anti-depressants immediately because I too, became suicidal at the idea of living without you and wanting nothing more than to be with you in heaven. And I have been in therapy for nine months. BUT I didn't have a chemical imbalance. I masked the deepest sorrows of losing you until I felt I could deal with it. And I am, finally. By running into your angelic arms and hoping to have the type of faith that you and I will embrace one another again and FEEL it.

I run for you. I run for hope. I run to escape. I run for our family. I run to live.
Your little big sister,
Yolie

The Hardest Words to Speak Are Also the Most Courageous

I truly believe there's good in all of us. Whether you were born to be "bad" or have had a series of "life sucks" episodes, it doesn't mean you're unworthy, undeserving or a bad person. Even if unfortunate people in your life have tried drilling negative words to rattle your core or throw rocks and hide their hands (I used to know plenty of these people), there just has to be some untouched gold in their souls that's waiting to be discovered or encouraged to be revealed. At least that's what I like to believe. It helps me to understand what I don't know.

Don't we all deserve to be heard, to be selflessly spoken to, to be loved? Love is expressed in different forms, you know. I think the challenge many of us face is 1. how to express and 2. how to receive.

Despite how much my brother was struggling with his thoughts and managing how his time was spent, he reached. People didn't know it then, but he did. Missed phone calls, canceled plans, rescheduled outings, text messages, questions, smiles…he reached in his own way even though it wasn't loud and he wasn't waving a red flag. Those who genuinely listened and loved, latched onto him, reached and pulled him in. I did~ I never released his hand. Not only did I put a life vest on him, not only did I lovingly chain myself to him in his last weeks, but I listened, I kept quiet as he spoke, and Lord- I love him. I love him hard. And I love him immensely even if he hadn't been struggling because my love is sincere.

There are terms I don't use loosely anymore. Such as "I'm going crazy" or "I'd kill myself" or "I'm devastated". Why? Because those few words speak volumes for me and my family. They're dramatically overused to express the magnitude of a sentiment. But since we know that all three phrases exist and come true, I don't use them and I don't condone them. They hurt. I'm cautious and hyper-sensitive.
And to add to this point: I NEVER say that my brother killed himself. That sounds violent and murderous. He took his life- albeit it he's dead. He committed suicide. And even then, the word suicide is ugly and stings to hear it, read it, speak it. So instead I say that he took his life. I pad the cause of his death because I can. I don't require anyone's permission to verbalize as I do. And if I could create a word that exudes compassion, empathy and love, I would. If only our culture and society would catch on…

Another thing I don't do? I don't lie. Why would I lie about my brother's cause of death. In the beginning I was in a position to say nothing. His passing spread like a plague gone wild which provided my family the courtesy of not having to place phone calls or share the devastating news. As time progressed and poked at me, I was faced with having to open my mouth not knowing what was going to be said. So when the first stranger asked me how my brother passed, I hesitated. My mind raced in circles, What do I say? How do I say it? Will she judge him? How will she react? Will she ask me how? Truth.
He took his life, my voice quivered and my shoulders shook. Silence ensued. She embraced me and held my heart to hers as I fell into her arms and cried the truth I had spoken. Her eyes locked into mine and silently allowed me to feel.

And I feel. And I cry and I deal with all of me head on. And while I do this and learn how to do this, I maintain who I am. Give yourself permission to be you.

The Stigma is Ugly. Embrace the Truth Instead.

My brother, a Firefighter Paramedic, took his life almost nine months ago on September 17, 2013.
He was a loving, vibrant 36 years-young soul who invested in everything he touched and all the lives he impacted. Loving life was his style and it showed whenever he walked into a room, chuckled through a social environment and jokingly moved about our existence with such intent and naturalness. He is loved by hundreds and respected by all.
He was not "secretly depressed" as those who speculate what happened and was not "deceiving his family" as others have discussed. He is not a coward, a pussy, weak or a disgrace to his station, his city, his profession and his brotherhood. I KNOW of the ignorant comments many firefighters have stated when they hear that he took his life...yes, he saved lives and he couldn't save himself. Try as he might, and man did he try, he was emotionally lost, had a lapse in judgment and removed himself from his life- it was the only escape for him.
I think of him all day. What a feat it was for him to wake up every morning in his last weeks and think, "(Sigh). I have to do this all over again". And though we, as "healthy" individuals may wonder why he couldn't just keep going, we don't fully understand because we're not him. We aren't in his mind. We aren't in his thoughts. The only person who can tell us what happened in those last minutes is him. And he's no longer with us, so we'll never know. What we may do is understand. Sure, we have books, websites, workshops, YouTube, grieving groups, clinical studies, but we'll still never know. I have a suggestion: be empathetic. Try compassion. Don't judge. Don't diminish, disregard or dismiss the facts. Suicidal depression and all mental conditions are to be taken very seriously.

I imagine my brother heavily tugged with the idea that as a hero himself,  how can he feel this way? I'm sure he wanted to deplete his sorrow and mental anguish...and just throw it to flames. Burn it. Char it. Disintegrate it to pieces so that he could move forward in his life. Don't you know that he tried? Therapy (his therapist assures me she noted zero signs of suicidal thoughts), self-help books, bible study, church mass, exercising, small doses of melatonin to aide with lack of sleep, and complete confidence in me to see him through. But as I've read time and time again- nothing truly works. Nothing truly takes away the pain or the depression. Victims learn to live life with depression like a bout of baggage and manage. Manage? No one should live their life in pain. I often think of the immeasurable pain my brother was in the night he surrendered to his emotional anguish and feel If he had to live another day in that level of despair-no. No he doesn't deserve it. No it's unfair. No. No. No. 

Depression is not an emotion that our first responders are encouraged to share and communicate with one another. Chances are they will be ridiculed, made fun of, mocked and be told to "snap out of it", "deal with it", "this is your job", blah blah bullshit. The stigma is ugly. The truth is beautiful. We are human. Everyone has feelings and inner thoughts. NO ONE should be blamed for having suicidal thoughts or mental struggles. The thoughts are so powerful they take over your heart, soul and body. Nothing else matters but their own pain. Just theirs. Forgive these thoughts and reach for someone with a nurturing heart and a strong hand. Seek others who may speak to their pain or yours. Know that you are not alone and others love you more than you love yourself- and they mean it. Believe yourself. Believe you are worthy. Believe that there's a chance you will make it through. Believe someone will genuinely listen. Believe that someone is willing to take over and hold you hand. Believe.