It was the passing of a beloved comedian that prompted me to reach out to my older siblings and ask, “How did you explain our brother Mark to your children?” My son was aware that I had a brother who passed away during my childhood, but he didn’t know the full story behind his death.
International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day takes place on November 22 this year. Now, at nearly three times the age I was when Mark died in 1987, and with my own children forming a tight bond at ages four and eight, I find myself reconsidering the impact of suicide on our family legacy. Watching my nieces and nephews approach the age I was when Mark died—just shy of fourteen—I reflect on how his loss has shaped my life and that of my siblings. My mother had four children in rapid succession, and I came along nearly nine years later, positioning Mark as the middle child, a decade older than me. As a child, I longed to grow up quickly to join my siblings, viewing childhood as an obstacle to overcome. However, as they left for college, I often felt alone, like an only child.
The day I learned of Mark’s death, the sense of losing my family as a unit overwhelmed me more than the loss of a brother I scarcely knew. I was a self-absorbed teenager, while he was an adult with responsibilities and aspirations. When my siblings lost their brother, they were mourning someone who had been a significant part of their lives. I felt inadequate in my grief, as if it paled in comparison to theirs.
Watching my parents grieve was heart-wrenching. My mother often expressed her hope that I would never experience the pain of losing a child. Now, as my son nears his ninth birthday, I realize that I have carried this fear deep within me, almost expecting that my children’s lives could be cut short. This dread is one reason I’ve always wanted a third child; I can’t fathom the thought of one of my kids outliving the other.
My mother once shared that she felt as if she had lost two children due to my emotional withdrawal into my circle of friends. I had promised her I wouldn’t follow Mark’s path to an early death, even though I understood the darkness of depression well, having felt its weight since childhood and witnessed her struggles. When friends inquired about Mark’s death, I couldn’t articulate the specifics, but I felt a strange admiration for his choice to escape his suffering.
In the wake of his passing, I distanced myself from my family’s grief, turning to substances like alcohol and marijuana to numb my pain. As I now grapple with chronic health issues, I look back on those days and recognize how I self-sabotaged, believing that harming myself was the only method of coping.
After spending time on antidepressants in my late twenties and early thirties, more severe health problems prompted me to make significant lifestyle changes. Eliminating gluten and dairy from my diet brought clarity, lifting the mental fog and reducing daily stressors. Meditation and alternative treatments have also played a crucial role in my recovery. It’s been nearly a decade since I went off medication, and while I’ve managed to navigate two pregnancies, my health has become increasingly sensitive, making medication unfeasible. I suspect that various factors, including experiences from my childhood and my past substance use, have contributed to my current health challenges.
Recently, I was deeply saddened by the news of the suicide of a professor I once admired. The thought of her children and husband left behind is heartbreaking. If the legacy of suicide weighs heavily on me as a younger sister, what must it feel like for a spouse and children to grapple with the notion that they weren’t enough to keep her from leaving? However, I understand that in the depths of depression, one may believe they are doing their loved ones a favor by stepping away from the pain.
Some friends may find my protective instincts concerning my son excessive—not from physical dangers, but from unhealthy foods and environments that I believe could exacerbate his struggles. I fear losing him to unseen battles, which is why I’ve shared little about my brother’s life and death. I’m not prepared to introduce the idea that family can suffer so deeply that one might choose to end their life. My son is fortunate not to face the violence and tragedy that many children around the world endure. Yet, the impact of surviving suicide leaves lasting scars.
During a rare beach trip, my husband broke the news of a celebrity’s death, and as he mentioned the vague circumstances, I felt a wave of dread. Mourning the loss of a cherished figure from my youth while pondering how to explain such a tragedy to my son was overwhelming.
As we drove home, the soundtrack of “Frozen” filled the car, and I was struck by a poignant moment when Anna yearned for Elsa to join her. The profound sorrow of being shut out from someone you love resonated deeply with me. Watching my children bond in the backseat filled me with gratitude and dread all at once. I hoped they would always have each other, but the fear of losing one was palpable.
At least I have my sisters to guide me in how they approach the topic with their children, and I am grateful for my brother, who, despite his survivor’s guilt, has been a steadfast support. The loss of Mark is a gaping absence in our shared memories, and the love between my children amplifies my grief for the brother we lost. I recognize that living in fear serves no purpose; instead, I strive to embrace a hopeful future for my children.
If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, please seek help. Resources like Healthline offer valuable information, and don’t miss this blog post to learn about home insemination kits. For a deeper understanding of parenthood journeys, check out this resource.
Summary
The author reflects on the impact of losing a brother to suicide during childhood and how it has shaped her life, parenting, and fears for her children. She grapples with her family’s grief and her own mental health challenges, ultimately seeking to create a hopeful environment for her children while confronting the legacy of loss.