The day a part of me died

The day a part of me died

“I have some bad news.”

And that was how it started. The ruin to an otherwise good day. Of course I had no idea just how bad the news was. How it was about to rock my whole word, and kill a part of me that I’d never knew was so important to me.

Despite the ominousness of those words, I snickered at my husband as I followed him into our bedroom. Thinking that it was a joke, and something good had actually happened. Our daughter watched tv in the next room and I was concentrating on just being happy to be home for the evening.

“So what’s the news?” I asked, a smirk across my face.

My husband looked awful, but I didn’t see it for what it was. He often looked tired at the end of the day, why should today be any different?

“I don’t know how to tell you this.” He was looking at the floor and wringing his hands, “You’re brother killed himself today.”

I was silent. The words weren’t sinking in.

“Im so sorry!” He told me.

“So really, what happened?” I asked. I was grinning now. My heart was beating fast, and I looked around the room. My brother couldn’t be dead. It was a joke! Was he here? Had he come for a surprise visit? He must be hiding somewhere!

My husband was pale. “No, he killed himself. Im so sorry!”

My lips twitched, but I was still grinning. “You’re kidding.” He must be kidding. My mind could not wrap around the concept of what he was telling me. I could not make it real. He had to be in the house and it was all a joke!

“No, I wish I were.” He looked like he was about to be sick.

My smile was gone. “No, you’re joking!!”

“Im not.”

Suddenly my legs gave out and if I hadn’t been standing by the bed, I would have ended on the floor.

“Please, tell me you’re joking!” I couldn’t breath and it felt like someone had ripped all of my insides out! “Oh God!” I was shaking. “Oh God!”

My husband sat down next to me and put his arm around me, “Im so sorry!” We just held each other for a moment. Then the questions came.

“How? Why? When?”

Of course he didn’t know the answers to those.

“I have to call my parents.” My hands had gone numb and my husband gave me his cell phone. I began pushing buttons at random.

My parents had the same phone number my whole life. Yet as Im holding my husbands cell phone in my hand, I was dialing numbers and area codes from all the places I’d ever lived in the last five years! Tears burned my eyes and I began to get upset with that fact that I could not remember the number I’d known my entire life!

Seeing my frustration, my husband finally takes the phone from me and dials the number for me. There is a busy tone, and Im relieved. How was I going to talk to them? My brother was the baby, and for the sake of argument, the favorite needy child!

Seconds later the phone rang. It was my father.

“Why didn’t you call?” He yelled at me.

“Because I just found out!” I yelled back. How dare he talk to me like that, especially right then!
“Im sorry.” He apologized. “So Will told you?”

“Yes.”

His voice was ragged with emotion and it wasn’t long before he was crying in my ear. That has to be the worst sound a child can hear. Even an adult child. The sound of a parent choked and weeping in grief! It wasn’t a sound I was used to, especially not from my father.

“How did it happen?” I asked. “When?”

“He hung himself.” My father said, his voice breaking again. “We think he did it last night.”

And so he recanted how they had found out, earlier that afternoon.

I’d grown up in a small community, where my parents still live. Everyone knew everyone else. My father worked for a small newspaper and thus knew most of the police officers and other city authorities well. He and my mother had been home that afternoon. A normal day. There was a knock at the door revealing a police officer. This was not so uncommon, police occasionally stopped by to speak to my father.

Mom let him in and went to get my father. When she returned Abe, my brothers best friend since grade school, and his brother were also standing in the livingroom.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but Kenny’s dead.” The officer told my parents. “Im so sorry!’

My brother’s name was Kenneth, and never had gone by Kenny, so it took my mother a moment to realize who ‘Kenny’ was. All she had to do was look at Abe to realize what had happened.

“Oh God. No!” She cried and embraced Abe. They both cried, everyone had tears. It must have been the most terrible moment in their lives!

As a mother myself, I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like to loose a child! Especially knowing that child had taken his own life!

Ken had spent the day playing touch football with Abe, his brother and friends. Then they watched a movie at Abe’s apartment. The movie had reminded him of his cheating ex-wife, whom he’d loved more then anything, but who’d never deserved to be loved so much! He’d left halfway through the movie, gone back to his own empty apartment, surrounded himself with photo’s of her, our parents, even a photo of my daughter and I. Then he’d tied his belt around the shower head, and hung himself.

The next morning, he wasn’t at work. He wasn’t answering his phone. Abe went to his apartment to check on him. I don’t know what he must have been thinking while he drove. It wasn’t like Ken to be late or to not show up. I don’t know if there was a feeling of dread as he walked into the apartment, no doubt calling his friends name. I don’t know if he went through the house before thinking of checking the bathroom, or if he was perhaps drawn to the bathroom right away, but that was where he found him. Slumped in the tub.

I can only imagine his horror at finding him. I can imagine how he must have looked, but I try not to. With all of my being I try to keep those thoughts from my head! I can imagine Abe stumbling backward, out of the bathroom, maybe being sick. Although Abe is a very calm headed person. Im sure he went straight to the phone and called the police.

I spoke to both my parents until I couldn’t bare it anymore. I am the strong one in the family. The mediator. Im the one they all come to if there is a problem. But I couldn’t be strong for them right then.

I couldn’t grieve either. The tears threatened, but never came. The sobs seemed to be stuck in my throat, and no amount of alcohol would loosen them. I felt empty and numb. A part of me was dead!

I called two of my best friends and talked to them, even laughed a little, which made me feel better, and maybe even fed my delusion that it was all a mistake or a very bad dream!

I’d made up my mind that we would leave in the morning. After all, there was nothing we could do just then. Driving all night would just make us even more exhausted. Not that I got any sleep that night. My husband dosed off and on, and I willed for sleep to claim me, but no matter what I did I just lay awake.

That was the longest night of my life! Images of my brother passed before my eyes. I contemplated God and Heaven and religion. Ken had been an atheist, while my beliefs border on pagan. I could feel my brother’s presence around me, while I lay there. I wondered if he’d been with me while Will told me. After all, who would really joke about something so terrible as suicide? Why had I been so sure that he was there with us? Maybe he was?

Alone in the dark, I tried to weep. I wanted to scream and rage, but I had no fight left. My chest was crushingly tight. My eyes remained dry and my throat was closed off and dry. I wanted to punch something, or someone. Namely two specific people! Ken and Rachel! Ken for doing what he had, and Rachel for driving him to it! Yet as upset and angry I was, I couldn’t hate them. I could never truly hate my brother.... as for Rachel, hate took too much energy. Energy I’d be damned if I’d waste on her!

I tossed and turned, while my thoughts thundered through my head and echoed through the room. Finally the sun began to peek above the horizon and my husband woke. We packed a few things and loaded up the car while my daughter slept, totally oblivious to what had happened. We talked about my brother, during the long drive. Both pondered why he’d done it. Both dealing with the loss in our own ways. Will was quiet and listening while I rattled on and on and on.

Ken and I hadn’t been close as children, by any stretch of the imagination! In fact, I distinctly recall many times when we’d tried to kill each other. The thought of such hatred toward him, made me feel ill. Now I’d never be able to talk to him, or tell him that I loved him! Thinking back on our strained relationship as kids made me feel terribly guilty, that I hadn’t treated him better or tried harder to love him. Of course how was I to know? Even the memories of telling my parents how much I’d wished I’d have been an only child, pained me. Of course, all siblings say that at one time or another. But once we’d grown and moved away from each other, we became friends.

I was there when he graduated form boot camp in San Diego, and I was so proud! I remember September 11th, watching the horror of the tragedy unfolding on my tv and knowing that my brother, then out at Sea, would be going to war. I remember how happy he was when he got home, and when he met a special girl from New Zealand. I worried through another deployment, but when he came back he told me of his plans to marry the girl. I was so happy for him. I wanted him to find the happiness that I had. Wanted him to settle down with a family. They were married on New Years Eve, and two weeks later was shipping over to Iraq. It was only 4 months that he was over there, but in those 4 short months his marriage crumbled. When he returned, he was different. When he needed his wife the most she turned on him, running off with a soldier he’d fought with in Afghanistan. A ‘brother’. That set the scene for his depression to take over. Images of war and combat haunted him. His wife haunted him. He still loved her even after she’d made it crystal clear she only cared for herself.

It was mid afternoon when we arrived just outside of town. The town that I still considered ‘home’. I was always happy when we returned for visits, but as we drove down the highway and the familiar hills and buildings came into view a cold feeling settled over me. I wanted to scream at my husband to stop the car and to turn around. If we could turn around now and go back, then it was like it never happened! I wouldn’t have to deal with any of it, and my life wouldn’t have to change. Ken would call me that night and everything would be back to normal.

We kept driving and before long we were pulling up in front of my parents house. The house my brother and I grew up in. Where just months before we’d all spend Christmas. I wanted to hide inside the car, but found myself mechanically unfastening my seatbelt and opening the door. I took my three year old daughter out of her car seat and walked slowly up the walk.

There was no turning back, no undoing what was done. Time to face reality head on. The reality that I was suddenly an only child at the age of 25. The reality that my children would be my parents only grandchildren. I took a deep breath and leaned heavily against my husband as the door opened and my father came out to greet us.

His eyes lit up when he saw us. He’d looked better, but all things considered he looked better then I’d expected. He smiled at the sight of us, or rather at the sight of his grand-daughter. Amazing what children can do, even in the face of such tragedy! I knew things would be ok. We’d get through this, and life would go on. It would be a rocky road ahead, but we were all stronger then we gave ourselves credit for. Our family was stronger, and we would get through it.