my brother Matt, my only sibling, committed suicide. He had moved back in with my Mom and Dad, at age 33, after things finally got to be too much for him. He was a Psychiatric Social Worker who did and felt the job but who couldn't live it. His shoes were threadbare, to the point his feet got wet when it rained. One of the last things I did for Matt, not knowing what was to come, was to buy him new shoes. He raved that his feet wouldn't be wet any longer.
Matt was a tilter at windmills, a good and kind soul who felt too much. The proverbial guy who would adopt a bird with a broken wing and try to heal it. When he was a little boy Matt was a straight arrow who wanted to go to West Point when he was a "big boy". Then came high school and marijuana and being kicked out right before graduation. He had the same principal I had and I intervened, begging Matt be allowed to graduate, so he was granted that. I hoped and prayed for better things for Matt.
He went to college and became the Psych Social Worker I mentioned above. The trouble was, Matt identified with the patients more than the care givers. It all ate at him 24/7. He couldn't rectify it in his mind and was tortured. This led to more drug use and abuse until finally he was fired. That's when he went to live with Mom and Dad.
Mom enabled him out of love, misguided of course but love nonetheless, and Dad kicked him out. Dad had, and still has, his own issues and likely saw his mirror image in Matt. It all finally came to a head Christmas, twenty years ago, at our house. He, Mom and Dad were all there. That's when I bought him the shoes. He had been to our home before, not to visit but to heal, but this time we thought there was hope. That he was going to be ok. I didn't even pay too much attention to the phone call he received from Grady Hospital (Atlanta) Poison Control Center. When I asked him about it he blew it off saying he called them to ask if an antibiotic he was taking would interfere with ?? I can't remember now. I noticed that all of our mouthwash was gone. ?? I guess I had my head up my ass, wanting to believe he would be alright. I later found out, from a kind soul at Poison Control, that Matt was asking about drug interactions, and had taken left over pain pills from old surgeries from our medicine cabinet. I never even thought about that.
They went home, Matt, Mom and Dad on December 29. I went back to work in the OR on the 30th. I was circulating a case when the OR Director came and took me out of the room. I remember protesting because I was the circulating nurse, I couldn't leave. She kept telling me not to worry, and then I saw a man's legs in suit pants. Turns out it was my husband, Persiflage, who my Dad called. He broke the news to me and then all kinds of medical people were trying to "get me down, need anything, here's a prescription". A blur. All of it. Having said that, I want to thank again the Wrightsville Beach Police Department who talked honestly with me and told me I always had friends there and to come see them any time I had a question or issue. Thanks to those folks, they helped.
Persiflage and I, he drove, made our way to Wilmington from Atlanta, visited the pier under which Matt blew his brains out, had a memorial service and later buried his ashes in New Jersey. Mom, now 90 and Dad, 88, are still with us. We don't talk about anniversary dates anymore, it hurts too much. We just have our own remembrances.
My brother would be 53 now had he lived. I'm 60. Sometimes I get really pissed at him for leaving me alone to deal with the folks, although my wonderful husband is always with me and my biggest cheerleader. Mostly, when I allow myself, I miss him and remember being kids together. Godspeed Matt, I still miss you.