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On Saturday, November 9, 2013 I will be joining with thousands of people nationwide this fall to walk in AFSP’s Austin Out of the Darkness Community Walk to benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I would appreciate any support that you give me for this worthwhile cause.  This is my 3rd time participating and I hope to raise even more money than previous years!  I figure that if each of my 656 blog followers donated just $10 I’d have raised $6,560 for the AFSP!

Aside from my own life-long battle with depression and self-injury, I lost my only sibling, my brother Brian, to suicide in October of 2010.  It has changed me in a way I never could have imagined. As I approach the 3 year anniversary of Brian’s death I’m finding my strength and desire to speak out about suicide is growing.  Losing Brian was devastating and I want to do my part to increase awareness about depression, mental illness and suicide; if these efforts save even one single family from the horror of losing a loved one to suicide I’ll consider it a great success!

The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention is at the forefront of research, education and prevention initiatives designed to reduce loss of life from suicide. With more than 38,000 lives lost each year in the U.S. and over one million worldwide, the importance of AFSP’s mission has never been greater, nor our work more urgent.

I hope you will consider supporting my participation in this event. Any contribution will help the work of AFSP, and all donations are 100% tax deductible.

Donating online is safe and easy! To make an online donation please visit my fundraising page here:

http://afsp.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donordrive.participant&participantID=437472

Thank you for your consideration!!

Laura

Dear Brian,

In the checkout line of the grocery store the other day a cover of a magazine jumped out at me… a picture of a beautiful, young woman, a former contestant on “The Bachelor,” who recently took her own life.  I did actually watch that season of the show and remember her well– she was stunningly beautiful and had one of the most engaging smiles I’d ever seen.  The people close to her seemed to be so shocked that this happened.  It’s not that uncommon, really.  Though I knew how badly you were suffering and expected your death to come, I heard so many people say to me, “I had no idea he was depressed… was it a total shock to you?  I never would have seen this coming.”  I felt ashamed to say, “Yes, I did see this coming.”

It’s so strange how suicides attract so much attention in the media.  People want to know all the “gory details.”  How did they do it?  Who found them?  What did they look like?  Was there a note?  What did it say?  Did they blame anyone?  Did anyone see it coming?  But for a death that creates so much interest and curiosity, it sure is lonely and alienating as a family member; people are afraid of us, it would seem.  They are uncomfortable with our presence because they don’t know what to say to us or because our pain is hard for them to be around or possibly because we remind them of the pain that exists in their own life.  I had a long-lost friend recently resurface to tell me, “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you– I didn’t know how to help you so I just stayed away.”  While I can understand her feelings, it does still hurt because the alienation adds another layer of pain to your death.

There were details about your death that I needed to talk about and process but absolutely could not share with those around me– they were too intense and too difficult for others to hear.  That’s where the support group at The Christi Center was so helpful– there I could talk about those “gory details” that no one wanted (or was equipped) to hear and not be judged or ashamed for needing to talk about and work through.  I remember discussing one event that was really hard for me after your death.  It was August of 2011– 10 months after you died.  I was in my office at work and noticed an awful, awful smell.  The smell was coming from an animal that had died in the rafters above my office and was decomposing in the Texas heat.  I had a full-blown panic attack and had to leave for a bit because that smell was not unfamiliar to me– it was not unlike the faint smell which still remained at your home when we went to collect your belongings.  You had been dead for a week when you were found and I was told had decomposed at an unusually rapid rate for having been indoors in a moderate temperature– being October in Minnesota and all.  Once you smell that scent, you never forget it.  It’s strange to me how those kinds of details would make for a juicy story in a tabloid but when it comes down to relating to a real person, no one wants to hear that stuff!  I wish they wouldn’t print those kinds of details because it feels like an exploitation of the grief the family is experiencing– and it must feel like such a violation.  While it was so helpful to me to be able to talk about it with other suicide survivors who understood the need to share those kinds of details, I can’t imagine the pain of having had your picture plastered on the front cover of a magazine along with a headline speculating how/why you did it.  And to have millions of strangers reading about your life and your pain and your ultimate death… would just be so painful because so many people are afraid to talk directly TO me about it.

My heart goes out to this young woman’s family as they begin the process of restructuring their life without her in it.  It is a process I continue to work on every single day and wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.

Love,
Laura

Dear Brian,

Just this morning I was thinking I was overdue in writing you another letter… but I was having trouble deciding what to write about.  My answer came tonight.

There I was at home in my apartment, working out and watching a mini-marathon of “Sex & the City” and along came the episode where Miranda’s Mom passed away and I just lost it completely. Immediately all sorts of feelings and emotions and memories came flooding back as I watched the events of the funeral unfold.  Miranda was trying to be so tough and push her friends away… some of her friends were supporting her but were concerned they weren’t doing a good enough job of it… and some friends didn’t know what to say to her at all… so they just didn’t.  And then there were the long-lost friends who she never expected to see that showed up to support her in her time of need.

I was reminded of so many similarities in the days, months and now, even years, after your death.  Like Miranda, I’m not always good about asking for help and have been known to push people away and I know I certainly did a great deal of that after you died.  There were those friends who were there to support me but were so worried that they weren’t doing enough for me… there were those friends who avoided me altogether because they didn’t know what to do or say… and there was the beautiful surprise of seeing faces I’d not seen in many, many years that came to the funeral to show support to our family.  And truthfully there were a few instances where I never exchanged more than a glance with someone at the funeral, and yet I could feel all the love and support I needed from them from all the way across the room.  People can be so concerned with what the right things to do and say are at a time like that… when simply their presence is gift enough.

You remember our wonderful childhood friend, Sherilyn?  Well, she was one of the beautiful surprises I spoke of earlier.  I don’t think I had seen or talked to her in at least 12 years and she called me from New Mexico as soon as she heard the news of your suicide.  I told her everything and she listened and cried right along with me for an hour.  That alone was a wonderful gift.  However, in the months that followed she would call me every single week and leave me a message (because I rarely answered the phone for a long time after you died) that said, “Laura, this is Sherilyn.  I just want you to know that I love you and I think of you every single day.  I know you’re having a really hard time right now so I don’t expect you to call me back, please just know that I’m here for you if you want to talk.  Call me anytime you need it.”  Those calls meant the world to me.  I know there were others who were upset with me when I wouldn’t answer the phone… or respond to voicemails or emails or texts… but I honestly didn’t have the strength in me to reach back out at all and I am forever grateful that Sherilyn understood that.  She is a true gift!

It was also such a blessing to have so many people share their stories and memories about you with me.  It was so important to me to know that your memory would be alive not just in me, but in the hearts and minds of all the other people who were lucky enough to know you.  To anyone who reads my letters to you, I would hope they would take away one thing from this particular letter– that if someone they love should lose someone close to them that the best thing they can do for that person is to just be there and listen and share their own memories.

It’s sad that you don’t really appreciate how many wonderful, amazing people are in your life until a time like that.  But I experienced one of the most beautiful moments of my life at your funeral.  We all sat there in silence as the song “If I Die Young” played overhead.  I turned to look around at the sea of faces surrounding our family and I just felt this incredible, all-encompassing warmth come over me.  It literally felt as if each and every person was energetically sending me a big hug with their eyes as they locked with mine.  I just imagined them all in a circle around us sending us love and healing energy and honor for your memory.  I really can think of no other way to describe it and I’m so grateful for each and every person that was there that day.

I hope from wherever you are now that you were able to see the incredible showing of love at your wake and your funeral.  I don’t think you could have ever possibly imagined how very much you were loved, respected and admired, Brian.  If you had even an ounce of the love that existed in that room that day for yourself, perhaps you’d still be with us today.

You are so loved and so very missed.

Love Always,

Laura

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