My Brother’s Loss: Marie

Dear Reader,

Mom, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, niece, cousin, friend, coach, engineer, science fiction fan. These are some of the titles that apply to me and that I lovingly embrace.

I never expected to add “loss survivor” to that list.

Depression doesn’t run in our family. Yet, in October 2021 I lost my much loved 45-year-old brother to depression.

All across the country people are having conversations about mental health, suicide awareness, prevention, and loss. Canadian Mental Health Association, York and South Simcoe is proud to be encouraging those conversations.

Please consider making a donation today to support someone right here in our own community who is struggling with their mental health.

About a year before he died, I came to realize my funny, intelligent, successful, admired, trivia loving, avid-fisherman brother was suffering. He wasn’t the kind of guy to complain, or confide his deepest thoughts. He would internalize and try to figure things out himself.

When he started taking medication, I was so relieved. I thought a corner had been turned. That the hard part was over. That he could focus on recovery.

Like a lot of people, he was very adept at hiding his pain. Very few people had any idea he was suffering at all. Many people envied his life and career, and saw him as a mentor. Outwardly, he was very put together.

However along with hiding his pain, he also hid that he was self-medicating with alcohol.

Again, he reached out to someone to talk to about his new alcohol dependency, and began treatment. Again, I was relieved he was seeking help. He wanted to feel better for himself and his family. That was clear!

My support of my brother included regular communications; texts, phone calls, funny memes, anything to touch base and show I was there and ready to talk or listen at any time. I loved our conversations about the “little things,” some of which seemed vaguely reminiscent of a Seinfeld episode.

Over the year, there were some tough, scary, and stressful days. Days where I was terrified and unsure what to do, how to support him or even how I would get through. There were also days that were filled with joy, love and feeling that everything was headed in the right direction. Those were the best days, the days when I felt I could set my worry and fears aside.

But my brother’s struggles became too big for him.

In the first few weeks after his loss, I feel like I was an observer rather than a participant. I tried to be supportive for my parents, sister-in-law, nieces, nephew, and my own children. I distracted myself and my own pain by focusing on others. It felt more meaningful and useful.

I felt empty. Guilty.

My mind would replay over and over again all the events leading up to my brother’s death, and what I could have done differently that may have changed the outcome.

I was devastated.

It was difficult for me to interact with people (other than my family). I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to respond to texts. I stayed away from social media. I wanted to avoid the “I’m so sorry, what happened?” conversations.

I wanted to be alone.

In my solitude, I would often reflect on my brother and how he tried to deal with things by himself. How he tried not to burden others with his pain. Was I starting to do this now? I would also think about the promise I made to him on the day he died, to ensure his loss would not be meaningless.

Seventeen days after I lost my brother, my workplace held a virtual event about grief. With my camera and mic off, I cried through the entire talk.

And it fueled my desire to fulfill the silent promise I made to him.

I joined a six-week resiliency program. I found comfort in spending a couple of hours a week with a supportive group. The program prompted me to reach out to a psychotherapist, someone who could help me navigate my grief, understand it, and didn’t pity me.

Then CMHA York and South Simcoe found me.

At various times and at various places throughout December, my husband saw a person with a small table set up for CMHA, selling hoodies and t-shirts. Each time he saw this set up, he would come home and say, “I saw this guy, you should go talk to him”. By the time I would go back, he would be gone.

As it turns out, a trip to the grocery store one evening would bring me to that small table. I stopped, we chatted about the hoodies and I bought two. I told him I very recently lost someone I loved to depression, and was looking for ways to volunteer or contribute. He gave me the contact information for CMHA York.

The result of the discussion at that small table is me sharing my story with you. My first step in fulfilling my promise to my brother.

Whether any part of my story resonated with you or not, know that you are not alone.

There are many resources, services, counselors, support groups, organizations, family and friends – reach out to them.

Let’s really start talking about mental health.

The grief I feel over my brother’s death is complicated. I have questions that will never be answered, but leaning on others for support and talking about what I am still going through is an important step in the healing process.

Sincerely,

My Brother’s Sister

P.S. You can give help and hope right now to someone struggling with their mental health, and to the people who love and support them, with your gift to CMHA York and South Simcoe.