Last week, my youngest brother lay down on his bed, and put a .357 Magnum loaded with hollow point bullets in his mouth pointed upward at his soft palate, and ate what came out.
I cannot stop the mental image of the bullet exiting the muzzle in slow motion, penetrating the soft palate, splintering and pulverizing cartilage and bone, severing the optic nerve, impacting on his brain pan and opening holes to his cranium.
I can only imagine the carnage that it caused as the shards of the bullet tumbled and churned through his grey matter, forever erasing all that he was.
There cannot be an open casket wake.
But if it were possible, I don't know that I could handle the image of him in a casket. Face in sleeping repose, his mustache groomed and trimmed, hands clasped around a rosary, in his only good suit (he was a t-shirt kind of guy), with a crucifix affixed to the lid of the coffin.
I cannot imagine kneeling down in front of the coffin and saying a prayer for him to send him on his way. Or the funeral where the lid is closed for the last time and the casket pushed into the back of the hearse.
Soon the ashes of the shell that housed his spirit will be laid to rest upon the graves of my parents.
He left a wife, two young children, his sisters and brothers, and scores of friends and acquaintances.
Depression and alcoholism run very strong in our family. My father, all of my siblings, and myself have all wrestled with these demons. It is a very dark shroud to be under.
Examining the issues in his life, I can see how he could have lost all hope. A failing marriage, loss of self respect due to extended unemployment, unpaid bills, a home foreclosure, and a severe dependence on alcohol all fed the terribly bleak depression he must have felt.
Though, right now, I have feelings only for myself, not him. I alternate between feeling enraged, embarrassed, and devastated by his act of selfishness. I'm still trying to deal with having to refer to him forever in the past tense.
Each and every person I have spoken to about this have felt that if he had died by illness or accident the blow would have easier to bear. Now each of us carry a scar that may never heal. We will all forever wonder and worry that there was something more we could have done. Some clue that we missed. Some thing we could have done to stay his hand. And as a result we now have, perhaps, an incremental loss of faith. Questioning that great unknown, asking; why him? Why make orphans of his children and a widow of his wife? And receiving no answer, we turn our backs a little bit more on faith, and become a bit more cynical, and a bit less joyful in life because of this needless loss.
There is a lesson here.
Many of us on this list have also had to deal with the depression and loneliness that comes with what brings us together here.
Many of us have verbalized or thought very seriously about this final option. To give the finger one last time to an uncaring, and hateful world that views us as abominations. To take the easy way out. Take the permanent solution to a temporary problem.
Please, I beg you, stop. Reflect on your life. Even if you are an orphan with no relatives you will still decimate those who even only knew you briefly.
Please seek help or guidance from anyone who will listen. There are therapists and hotlines available 24/7. Please reach out to someone, anyone, you will find someone who will help.
You will hurt everyone who ever knew you. If you care about how people remember you, your memory will eventually and forever be reviled. And if there is some sort of corporeal existence following this one, how can you not eternally regret and despise the stupid thing you have done? Forgiveness from God is easy, forgiving yourself is not.
So fare well, my brother. I feel that I never knew you as well as I could have, but now I never will.
Goodbye.
-Sandy
I cannot stop the mental image of the bullet exiting the muzzle in slow motion, penetrating the soft palate, splintering and pulverizing cartilage and bone, severing the optic nerve, impacting on his brain pan and opening holes to his cranium.
I can only imagine the carnage that it caused as the shards of the bullet tumbled and churned through his grey matter, forever erasing all that he was.
There cannot be an open casket wake.
But if it were possible, I don't know that I could handle the image of him in a casket. Face in sleeping repose, his mustache groomed and trimmed, hands clasped around a rosary, in his only good suit (he was a t-shirt kind of guy), with a crucifix affixed to the lid of the coffin.
I cannot imagine kneeling down in front of the coffin and saying a prayer for him to send him on his way. Or the funeral where the lid is closed for the last time and the casket pushed into the back of the hearse.
Soon the ashes of the shell that housed his spirit will be laid to rest upon the graves of my parents.
He left a wife, two young children, his sisters and brothers, and scores of friends and acquaintances.
Depression and alcoholism run very strong in our family. My father, all of my siblings, and myself have all wrestled with these demons. It is a very dark shroud to be under.
Examining the issues in his life, I can see how he could have lost all hope. A failing marriage, loss of self respect due to extended unemployment, unpaid bills, a home foreclosure, and a severe dependence on alcohol all fed the terribly bleak depression he must have felt.
Though, right now, I have feelings only for myself, not him. I alternate between feeling enraged, embarrassed, and devastated by his act of selfishness. I'm still trying to deal with having to refer to him forever in the past tense.
Each and every person I have spoken to about this have felt that if he had died by illness or accident the blow would have easier to bear. Now each of us carry a scar that may never heal. We will all forever wonder and worry that there was something more we could have done. Some clue that we missed. Some thing we could have done to stay his hand. And as a result we now have, perhaps, an incremental loss of faith. Questioning that great unknown, asking; why him? Why make orphans of his children and a widow of his wife? And receiving no answer, we turn our backs a little bit more on faith, and become a bit more cynical, and a bit less joyful in life because of this needless loss.
There is a lesson here.
Many of us on this list have also had to deal with the depression and loneliness that comes with what brings us together here.
Many of us have verbalized or thought very seriously about this final option. To give the finger one last time to an uncaring, and hateful world that views us as abominations. To take the easy way out. Take the permanent solution to a temporary problem.
Please, I beg you, stop. Reflect on your life. Even if you are an orphan with no relatives you will still decimate those who even only knew you briefly.
Please seek help or guidance from anyone who will listen. There are therapists and hotlines available 24/7. Please reach out to someone, anyone, you will find someone who will help.
You will hurt everyone who ever knew you. If you care about how people remember you, your memory will eventually and forever be reviled. And if there is some sort of corporeal existence following this one, how can you not eternally regret and despise the stupid thing you have done? Forgiveness from God is easy, forgiving yourself is not.
So fare well, my brother. I feel that I never knew you as well as I could have, but now I never will.
Goodbye.
-Sandy
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