"I think Steven is in serious trouble." My oldest brother texted me. "Have you been on Facebook?" Steven is my baby brother, not much of a baby, 22 years old, and a father.
"No," I replied. Still figuring out what I would find, I opened my Facebook feed and scrolled for Steven's post.
A lovely picture of Steven appeared. "This is going to be a long post. Please read it all..." I read. My fingertips went white, and my head spun. Steven had posted his suicide letter on social media!
"This isn't real. This isn't real. He is only sending out a cry for help," I told myself.
...I drove to Oregon today so I could see the ocean for the first time, and I'm not going to be coming back. I plan to take the pain away so my body can be in peace...
"This isn't real," I say again, feeling like I might pass out.
I raced to my mom's house to be with her. We needed each other during that heart-wrenching moment. We didn't know if Steven was dead. He was alive when he wrote his note. So much could have happened between writing it and going through with suicide.
"This is just a cry for help," I kept saying as if I could change the projection of an event. I felt helpless to stop. I called Steven and left him heartfelt message after message. "He can change his mind. He will change his mind. Once he steps on the beautiful Cannon Beach, the rhythmic waves and wonderful ocean breeze will bring him peace. How can his mind not change? He isn't going to go through with this."
My mom had contacted the Oregon police and given them the particulars on Steven, and then we waited. When you believe a loved one might be dead, the wait for information has a grim, horrific power. It drags your soul through the pit of shadows and plays with your mind.
Our family gathered in each other's company, quiet with little to talk about, with each person wading through their fears and imagination. Eventually, the police called back. Yes, they had found Steven's car parked at the beach.
No, they had not located Steven.
Our wills collapsed at that statement. Reality hit. Steven's letter was not a cry for help. It was his final goodbye. Steven did drive to Oregon to take his life. But the question was, had he gone through with it? Could we reach him? Did we have time to tell him that we loved him and to change his mind? The police said they would look for him. They even brought the Coast Guard to help with the search.
I clung to hope, trying to push the sullen possibility away.
We returned to the waiting. But now, the Hell we went through intensified. We prayed and pleaded with God. Maybe Steven would change his mind. If only Steven would answer his phone.
Our hearts stopped in the middle of the night when the police called back. It was high tide, and the search would have to wait.
At least we still had hope.
And so, we waited...
Around four in the morning, the final call came in. I watched my mom speak to the officer, and I saw the life leave her as tears exploded. She continued the conversation with the officer, but her voice had surrendered to a pain no mother should ever endure.
And like that, Steven had left our earthly lives.
Losing a family member to suicide puts you on a rollercoaster of Hell. So many thoughts go through your mind. First, of course, the guilt plays ugly games with you. Maybe I could have done something more. Perhaps I could have helped him. His death was my fault.
I had to learn I couldn't entertain such destructive thought patterns. Steven made his choice when he took his life. He brought an unquenchable pain upon all who loved him.
Suicide can act as a disease, moving from one person to the next. I can't deny the darkness that entered my soul—the cry from the fire of damnation that tried to get me to follow Steven's path. Even my grandma had admitted to the sirens call from Hell.
Although powerful the temptation was, I would never go out as Steven did. He inflicted pain on us that will never erase, and the nature of the pain changes daily. Some family members had vast amounts of anger to sort through. My mom's soul tore apart that dreadful night, and it will never heal in this life.
After losing my brother, I hoped to change the world, desiring to help others through their Hell so they wouldn't turn to suicide.
I first tried gathering stories from everyone I knew about their battles with suicidal ideations. Although I came close to collecting a few stories, the project did not come to fruition. The emotions were too painful and personal, and all who said they would share their stories eventually backed out.
Next, I contacted schools and asked if I could do presentations. I was turned down.
A few years after Steven's death, I had the chance to do my university capstone project on suicide. As I worked with my professors, we decided the best place to present my project was in middle school. With the help of the university backing me, I was scheduled to present. I couldn't wait to offer myself to the youth who needed this message of hope.
On the day of my presentation, instead of sharing my message, they turned me away. The principal said that we couldn't talk about suicide that openly. He felt that just talking about suicide would put the idea into kids' heads. I couldn't fathom such a closed-minded response. Statistics show that the concept of suicide is already there.
What stung the most was that I had worked closely with their school counselor as I had put my project together. I crafted it to the needs of her school. She told me that suicide ideation was up ten percent in her school just that year. She admitted she spent most of her time with students contemplating suicide. The youth in her school hurt and needed a message of hope, but the school blocked me and that message. I cried for those students.
Eventually, I found a placement for my presentation. I shared my research and ideas with kids in a different district. I had anticipated future opportunities opening, but they never did.
I had believed I could use Steven's death to make a change. Hopefully, I did when I spoke with the youth. But, at least for myself, I have changed.
I learned that suicide is conniving. It lies to you. When you feel the drive to harm yourself, it is relentless.
Suicide is not only an end product of depression. Sometimes the pull from it appears out of nowhere. It can hit you like no other force in this world. It is lonely, and it has a pain that crushes your soul with darkness. Suicide ideations infect every cell, making them want to implode. Our bodies are designed to maintain homeostasis and fight to stay alive. What is going wrong when a brain glitches put that whole body on self-destruction?
I have learned that dwelling in the shadows does not help me. It only intensifies the feelings. It is gratitude. Love and being active keep me well. I had dealt with moments when I contemplated ending my life as well. I probably would have done it just like Steven had. But, after I experienced firsthand what suicide does to your friends and family, I will never impose that pain on anyone. When someone ends their life, they take their pain, intensify that pain a hundredfold, and then afflict it on everyone they know as they leave this life. It is selfish.
I have fought the beast, and I have won. We must fight! Again, gratitude is a huge key to successfully pulling out of that mentality. When I find the good all around me, the darkness dissipates. Maybe what works for me hasn't worked for you, but you must keep trying.
I know that when someone takes their life, they leave their family empty. We will all die. But when one dies by their own hands, they subject those they know to a mental whirlwind.
Don't let suicide ideations prevail. Do whatever it takes to pull away from it. These ideations are the darkest, most painful pull in people's lives. But, if you want to end it, you must keep fighting. Do not let it win. Trust me. I know the pain. I have been on both ends of the pendulum. I have wanted to end my life, and I have been impacted by my brother, who ended his life. I have been to the bottomless, darkest hole in my soul, a tar monster of lies spreading into every space of me, a feeling of despair crushing my very fortitude. But I have won! I have won!
You can win.
Get outside. Serve someone. Find gratitude. Listen to Tony Robbins. Be grateful for the things around you, for this will arm you with the power to push out the monster named suicide. Talk to a friend or a family member. Meet with a professional that can help you. Do what you must, but do not succumb to the ugly lie that suicide will improve things. Don't do that. You are better than that. You can fight this fight. You can win.
I have won.
Life is worth it. Fight for it.
My family will not get a second chance with Steven. He took that from us.
If you are hurting, find help in any way you can. Give your loved ones the gift of you. If you see someone hurting, reach out. Be the light in their lives to pull them out of the pit of despair. Let us help one another and celebrate living!
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Losing a Brother to Suicide
by Stephanie Daich
