I’m not sure if I’m ready for this. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. I’ve cried oceans thinking about it. I can’t move until I write it down.
On 3rd November my brother was found dead at his flat in London. My wonderful, funny, talented, kind, shy, sensitive, 45 year old brother had taken his own life. My world had changed forever.
The suddenness left me reeling. How could this be possible? There must be some mistake. I couldn’t process the fact. Shock I suppose. I immediately flew to my family in the UK. The distress of our collective, gut-wrenching grief was overwhelming. For me and my sisters something was seriously missing – four had become three. The world didn’t feel right.
The surreal business of arranging his funeral: Each time we spoke to the coroner or funeral director or florist, the words jarred us into a reality that couldn’t be true. We gritted our teeth and got on with it, crying hysterically, laughing at inappropriate times, fuelled by adrenaline.
The funeral: Friday 13th, riding in the limo behind the hearse. How could my brother possibly be in there? A properly miserable, overcast day with drizzle. The sort of November day London is famous for. The drab streets gave way to the stately gardens of the crematorium and suddenly the skies brightened, sunshine broke through and revealed a huge crowd of friends waiting for him. We had no idea how many people were coming. We put it on Facebook. A standing room only farewell gig. He would have been really chuffed.
Standing with my sisters, giving our tribute, I felt a palpable, powerful wave of emotion and support coming off the crowd, as if saying “Come on. You can do it.” Sitting back in the pew afterwards my whole body seemed to go into spasm. My brain was detached, and I remember watching my calf muscles twitching. My dad told me later that I seemed to be vibrating. I have never felt that amount of emotion or adrenaline. I can see how someone could have a stroke.
Listening to his best friend’s tribute nearly tore my heart out (and everyone else’s, given the amount of sobbing). They had been best friends since high school. My brother was best man at his wedding and godfather to his two sons.
His recently-ex girlfriend couldn’t bear to be there, instead sending her tribute to be read by a friend on the day, and fleeing to her sister in the US. I can’t begin to imagine what she must be going through, and I don’t have the strength to take on her grief.
Two close friends I hadn’t seen for years turned up at the chapel to give me a hug in the absence of Mr. B, and then left straight away so as not to impose on my grief. That’s friendship.
Afterwards, at the wake, I felt almost euphoric. So many of his friends spoke to us about him, all of us piecing together the jigsaw puzzle of his life, all wanting to know more of him. All wanting to hang onto him. How could he have been so lonely with all these wonderful friends? How can anyone ever truly know another person?
How will I remember this, the most emotional and terrible day of my life? I think I will always remember it as amazing, uplifting, brilliant.
And now that I’m back in Australia, what now? I was longing to be home, in the arms of Mr.B and my girls. I have never missed them so much. But, I was dreading leaving and losing the connection to my grief.
Now the heightened emotion and drama of the situation are over, I feel I have closed that chapter and opened a new one. This one is a calmer, but more terrible. It’s the nausea I feel when I wake-up in the morning and remember he’s gone. It’s the strange emptiness I feel when I sleepwalk around the supermarket. It’s the missing his supportive comments on this blog. It’s the confusion I feel when I try to reconcile my gentle, sensitive brother with the violence of his self-inflicted death.
It seems all the clichés are true. It’s an emotional rollercoaster. Every day is different. It runs in cycles. Anger – I can’t believe he’s done this to us. Frustration – if only he’d got help or talked to us. Guilt – how could I not have realised? Helplessness – could I have done something to make it better? Regret – what a waste of a wonderful, talented person. Emptiness – he’s gone and I’ll never see him again. I want to tell him things, show him things. Then I remember. I miss him so much. Then back to anger and so the cycle begins again.
This is a very particular flavour of grief. It’s awkward for friends trying to offer comfort. Nothing to be said. Pointless platitudes. Suicide is a dirty word; a selfish act; the result and cause of unimaginable pain; something that doesn’t happen to people we know. It can only be understood by those others who are left behind. I can’t believe how many others have come forward since I came home. It’s an invisible epidemic.
I’m going to counselling sessions to unravel my grief, and I will not let it ruin my life or harm my family. I suppose I’ll get used to it in time, but I know I am a different person now, and this is a new kind of normal.
If you or someone you know is at risk of suicide, or you have been bereaved by suicide like me, please get help. Suicide Prevention Australia, Lifeline, Suicide Line for bereavement.
You have done an amazingly articulate piece of writing about such a terribly difficult time. The emotions can be so overwhelming. Making sense (or not being able to make sense) of the person’s absence is so draining. Your determination to work through your grief and not let it impact too harshly on your family is inspiring. This is such a beautiful post and you are wonderful to have shared it.
Thanks for taking time to read this piece, Anna. My brother couldn’t get what he wanted from his life, and I feel it would be a terrible thing to take my great life for granted. When I think about him it still comes as a terrible shock when I realise again that he’s gone. It’s like my mind is playing a horrible trick on me and it comes as a surprise every time. I suppose the grief will mellow into something else eventually.
Therese, there are no words of consolation for such a loss, only love to get you through. I lost my darling brother 23 years ago, he was 25 and I still think of him and miss him most days. I say that as a comfort to you, not to to say that you won’t make it through your grief, that’s a long, hard road but you will get there step by step, I only mean to say that he will remain a part of the fabric of your days, in a different way.
Your writing about your grief is so very eloquent. It’s hard to call such a thing of pain beautiful, but your expression of it here is beautiful. Thank you for sharing it x
Thank you for reading, Dani. It’s tough to read and it means s lot to me. Thanks also for sharing about your brother. It’s tough, isn’t it, that one needs to move forward but not want to forget. I feel like I need every bit of pain.
Therese – a heartbreaking, brave and beautiful read. Such a tragic and complex loss. My thoughts are with you all.
Vivienne xx
Therese – a heartbreaking, brave and beautiful read. Such an immense and complex loss, my thoughts are with you all.
Vivienne xx
Thanks Viv.
T,
No words. So sorry my lovely friend. Sending you love.
I read this a while ago and thought it may help you one tiny ioata.
http://www.thatericalper.com/2015/08/16/person-is-asking-for-advice-hn-how-to-deal-with-grief-this-reply-is-incredible/
Xx
Thanks Melly. That is a very accurate description of how I’ve felt so far. Thanks for sending it through. Tx
Thinking of you and feeling your sadness and heartbreak
Thanks Wen.
Thank you for sharing. Truly beautiful words. Your post was so moving about how you describe your grief and feeling of loss. It was very brave of you to write and share, but so important I believe to talk about. Thinking of you xx
Thanks Jana. It is important to talk about it. Keeping it hidden will do no good for anyone. x
Dear Therese this is such a brave & moving account of sibling love – I can never even begin to understand the depth of your grief but I’m crying just the same. Take care x
Martin, I hope you never have to know this kind of grief. No one should. Thanks for your support over those first few days. x
Highly difficult piece to read but beautifully measured words.
As a parent none of us know what’s ahead yet as humans we still struggle to understand each other and life.
Much love x
Thank you Paula. x
Well written Therese so sad – it is amazing that we as humans like our independence but then also need help with emotions, but don’t necessarily seek it. Friends of mine have been organizing a blokes mental health dinner every few years in MELB in response to a few friends taking their lives or attempting to. It is an eye opener – and blokes are not good at verbalizing it. Hope you are doing OK. see you soon I hope. CHEB.
It’s good to hear that this is out in the open and people are talking about it. There seems to be almost an epidemic of men in their forties committing suicide. Blokes need to learn how to talk. Life is often too hard to face alone. T x
Beautifully written T. Sending you a hug from the UK x
Thanks Sarah. I know those hugs are good.
I’m so sad for you T, I wish I could ease the heart ache that your feeling. You are such a beautiful writer and I’m sure writing will help you through the enormous pain. Keep talking, writing and sharing as the more you can tell others about your pain the more likely it is you will inadvertently save another lost soul.
Thank you Jen, I think sharing has helped me. I hope anyone reading this can draw some support if they are going through anything similar.
T – what an amazing, wonderful, heartfelt writer you are. May precious memories help you through. lots of love and hugs x
Ally, thanks for your kind words and the hugs.
I can’t even imagine what you are going through Therese, how utterly heartbreaking. Help is out there but it’s not always easy for people to say “I’m not ok”. Beautiful words for your beautiful brother xxx
I feel robbed that he didn’t turn to his family for help; helpless that we didn’t have that chance. I guess I’ll always feel that frustration and regret. It will become a part of me and I’ll have to learn to live with it. You are doing great work with Movember, Cass.
Therese- what beautiful words for your lovely brother. I am in tears as you described the agony of grief so well. Im thinking of you and sending a virtual hug x
Thanks for the hug. x