Remembering Tim
This was my final post on O-Dark-Thirty in February, 2015. Though I thought I wouldn't continue the blog, I found I wanted to. Maybe I needed to. And Tim would want me to keep writing. This one is a memorial of sorts.
In the depths of depression and with a broken heart, my youngest brother Tim killed himself on November 16, 2014, two years ago. That was a previous post. Much about his death remains unsaid even after all these years, though my brother David wrote an excellent summary on his blog. The news networks publish headlines when young children are bullied and kill themselves. When it happens to an adult, and happens because of political and government bullies, the case simply fades away on some obscure page of the news.
Still, depression killed my baby brother. I miss him a lot, some days so sharply that my heart breaks anew.
If you are depressed and you feel you have no option except to end your own life, I want you to know something.
Please don't.
Hundreds of people packed Tim's funeral. Any of them would have reached out to help him if they knew he was hurting so badly. Hundreds of people loved him and showed up to say goodbye. Even now, two years later, friends think of him and miss him. I am not the only one.
Tim was not a perfect man. I remember when we were boys living in Washington State he once took a hammer and smashed the headlamps on the car. That was simply one of the sordid tales of his youth. I have others, as do my two other brothers. My brother David posted a funny bit about the chicken coop and another about blowing up a hot wheels car.
Tim was not perfect, but he was a good man. The world is a lesser place with his absence.
I miss you, baby brother. I miss your smile, your laugh, your encouragement and your empathy. And that's all I can say.
And I'll sing "Strawberry Roan" for you, one last time.
In the depths of depression and with a broken heart, my youngest brother Tim killed himself on November 16, 2014, two years ago. That was a previous post. Much about his death remains unsaid even after all these years, though my brother David wrote an excellent summary on his blog. The news networks publish headlines when young children are bullied and kill themselves. When it happens to an adult, and happens because of political and government bullies, the case simply fades away on some obscure page of the news.
Still, depression killed my baby brother. I miss him a lot, some days so sharply that my heart breaks anew.
If you are depressed and you feel you have no option except to end your own life, I want you to know something.
Please don't.
Hundreds of people packed Tim's funeral. Any of them would have reached out to help him if they knew he was hurting so badly. Hundreds of people loved him and showed up to say goodbye. Even now, two years later, friends think of him and miss him. I am not the only one.
Tim was not a perfect man. I remember when we were boys living in Washington State he once took a hammer and smashed the headlamps on the car. That was simply one of the sordid tales of his youth. I have others, as do my two other brothers. My brother David posted a funny bit about the chicken coop and another about blowing up a hot wheels car.
Tim was not perfect, but he was a good man. The world is a lesser place with his absence.
I miss you, baby brother. I miss your smile, your laugh, your encouragement and your empathy. And that's all I can say.
And I'll sing "Strawberry Roan" for you, one last time.
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