Trigger warning: This post discusses suicide, grief, and mental health struggles. If you or someone you know is in crisis, call, text, or chat 988 (chat available at www.988Lifeline.org). 988 offers 24/7 judgment-free support for mental health, substance use, and more.
By Kathrine Baumann
July 16, 2023, started like any other Sunday. My husband, daughter, and I spent the day at the pool, celebrating her first steps. That night, we got ready for bed, preparing for the week ahead. Just after midnight, my mom called with the most unimaginable news—my older brother had taken his own life.
Grief wasn’t unfamiliar territory for me. By the age of 22, I had lost all but one grandparent, along with several extended family members. Still, nothing can truly prepare you for this kind of loss. My brother was my first friend, my role model, and a constant in my life. Suddenly, the future I had imagined was gone. My children would never fully experience his love. He wouldn’t see our younger brother get married. He wouldn’t be there to help me shoulder life’s burdens and make hard decisions as our parents got older.
Growing up, my parents stressed the importance of getting along with each other, as not many people would understand your life like your siblings. This was something I’ve always taken to heart; losing my brother shattered me.
Who he was. My older brother was more than his death. He was funny, smart, responsible, sarcastic, and an amazing storyteller. He marched to the beat of his own drum and loved to make people laugh. At times, he was a third parent to me and our younger brother. He would get us ready for school, do pick up and drop off, and chaperone field trips. He taught me how to be a good sibling and friend.
Sometimes in the most unexpected moments, I catch glimpses of him. When my daughter rode her first roller coaster three times in a row and threw her little hands up in the air, fearless and full of joy, or when she proudly shows off her temporary tattoos and asks for “just one more.” I hear him in the teasing voice of our younger brother, and when he’s getting real tattoos, saying, “I’m just going to get a few more.”
It all reminds me: he’s still here, in little moments, in the people who loved him.
My grief, what helped (and what didn’t). Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance are the stages of grief we typically hear about people going through. Grief, however, is never linear. Everyone will experience it in their own way at their own time. For me, it’s like a roller coaster. There are highs, lows, twists, turns, and some days I don’t know which way is up.
I was never mad at my brother. I was heartbroken that he felt this was the only way out. I wasn’t angry at his decision; I was devastated that he reached a place so dark that it felt like the only option. Still, I felt anger. At myself for not seeing or doing more. At the world, for not making it easier to talk about mental health struggles. There’s this instinct to look for someone or something to blame, but the truth is, there’s no neat answer. Over time, I’ve learned ways to carry my grief: talking honestly, letting myself cry, leaning on my loved ones, and reminding myself that my grief is valid.
I have found that sibling grief can feel overlooked. After my brother died, people continuously told me I needed to take care of my parents, my sister-in-law, and my younger brother. This left me feeling like I needed to be the rock for everyone, that my own grief wasn’t as important, and even selfish at times. I was fortunate to have a strong support system of family, friends, and co-workers reminding me it was okay to feel everything, without needing to explain away the pain.
As time passes, I’ve come to accept that I’ll never fully understand my brother’s decision. That understanding isn’t mine to have. What I can do is continue to love him, miss him fiercely, and try to make sure others know they aren’t alone.
What I Wish We All Knew. I wish we were taught to talk more openly about mental health and suicide without shame. That we knew how to listen without rushing to fix. To never assume someone is okay just because they say they are. Most of all, I wish my brother knew how much he was loved. How much he mattered. How much he still does.
To anyone experiencing a similar loss, please know you’re not alone. Your feelings are real and valid. If you’ve lost someone to suicide, I see you. Take everything one step at a time and know that it may not seem like it now, but you will be okay.
To those who are struggling, I see you too. Although things may feel dark, please know you’re not alone. There is help. There is hope.
