It’s hard to capture the role and place my brother played in my life. Due to the chaotic nature of our home, we shared a close and deep bond that only got stronger as we aged. We had our normal brotherly moments - fights, disagreements, seasons of distrust and dislike. But, we were always there for each other. He always looked out for me in one way or another.

He got married almost right out of high school and had my niece shortly thereafter. His marriage dissolved a few years later and he found himself in another relationship quickly afterwards. He was always a hard worker and no matter what life threw at him he always seemed to have the ability to keep moving forward.

At the time, I never really realized what he carried inside. After his death I went to counseling and that’s when I began to realize the potential impact our childhood had on him. He was three years older, so he saw and understood much more than I ever could. I remember times when he would break his hands punching holes in the walls in his bedroom, the high highs and the low lows. The seasons of pure elation and exuberant joy and the seasons of depression and despondence. 

I never really realized the depth to which mental health had impacted my brother’s life. I never realized the implications that it had on his relationships, the weight he carried silently for years if not decades. I never realized how potentially tired he was of always having to be “tough” or always feeling like he had to “have it all together.”

Unfortunately, I inherited the same muscle memory. So that made understanding and navigating my brother’s death extremely complicated. I was wrestling with both a loss and tragedy at the same time without any of the emotional or relational tools to navigate it well. I went through periods of depression, co-dependency, heavy drinking to try to drown the pain, and attaching myself to any form of distraction possible. 

Losing someone that you're close to isn’t something that you get over, it’s something that you get through. The loss of my brother has never gone away, but it has changed over time. The moments of anger and rage slowly turned into moments of . I never got satisfactory answers for the “why” questions that played on repeat in my head, but I did slowly find acceptance for the things I couldn’t change or control. 

My life will never be the same, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Losing my brother to suicide has strengthened my ability to walk beside others who have lost loved ones to suicide or who struggle with mental health challenges or conditions. It fortified my calling and strengthened my voice as an advocate for those who are suffering in silence. It helps me to continue to fight for education, advocacy, stigma reduction and provide resources for individuals, families, and communities.

My story isn’t finished yet, I will continue to fight for myself, for my brother, and those who have lost their battle with mental health and those who fight the battle everyday.