I'm Glad He Did

Part Two

Minutes later my door was burst open. People rushed to my side to make sure I was okay. My brain was still mushed. I had no clue what was happening. I couldn’t think straight. Was I just over reacting?   

Oh, how I wish I was.

That’s when I saw it. It hit me like a wall of bricks and suddenly the room plummeted in temperature. The whole world slowed down momentarily, then it all rushed back. The door that enclosed my brother was open for all to see the masterpiece that he had created. The remains of his dead body was splattered across the room, along with parts of what looked like his brain and blood.

My perfect world had just come crashing down. It was all too much for my dizzy state to handle, and without realising, I drifted off.

I awoke seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, moths, years, later to the wailing cry of both my parents cuddled together in a weeping mess.

I felt week, vulnerable, confused.

What was going on? Where was I?

As I looked up into the plastered white ceiling the events of that night came flooding back to me.   

It was no intruder.

My older brother, James Simmons, had committed suicide.

He was dead, here one minute, gone the next. Just like that. Simple as.

I went home that day and stood in front of his room. The mess had been cleaned up, sort of. I just paused there, glued into place, unsure how to fill the void that felt so vibrant.

My brother was the kind to give up so easily. No. As children, we had everything we could have ever imagined. We were brought up as a close knit family and were taught to share our problems. My brother wasn’t weak, quite the opposite. 

He had beaten up my year 4 bully. Completely smashed his face. He was always there for me. Was this a result of me being a failure of a sister? Did I really miss something this bad? How had I not picked up on his problem? What had happened? I desperately wanted to know, and a billion questions raced through my mind and a million miles per hour. But there was no answers. He was gone. My brother was gone.

Why did he do it? Why? He left a hole in the heart of our family. He meant everything to my parents, to me, but he was gone now, leaving an unfillable gap.

Was his life really not worth living?

Confusion, sadness, anger took control of my mind as I pondered deeper and deeper.

My eyes scanned the perimeter of his room. Maybe he had left a note? Maybe that would be a way I could gain closure? Maybe…? Hopefully…?

Please...

I saw nothing.

My foot raised as I was about to take a step into the room, when I stopped. I lost control of myself. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t step into his room, into that room, into the room he took his precious life.

I concluded that he hadn’t left a note. It would have been in plain sight if it had. Besides the people cleaning up the crime scene should have seen it, or my parents even, but no one mentioned a note.

There was no note.

No explanation.

No closure.

Nothing.

I studied myself carefully in the mirror. Dressed in a black dress that just fell above my knees, I felt more depressed than ever. It was the day of his funeral and the gloom had descended into the house even more each day. The realisation that he wasn’t coming back never really settled in, to me nor to my devastated parents, who had just lost their first born. They, my parents, didn’t speak much anymore, nor did they eat. My mother had washed away and the incident had taken the life out of father. I, however hadn’t been able to comprehend the feeling swirling inside me. I wanted to cry but the tears refused to fall.

I was meant to give a speech at his funeral. I stood there in front of the people, people I didn’t recognise through my slurry sight. My voice was cracked; raw with emotion, and I felt as if I was going to burst into a waterfall and break down into a hysteria of tears.

‘My brother… James Simmons… My brother James Simmons was, he was my brother…’ my words fumbled out my corky throat; I wanted to throw-up, ‘He was only 19, he had much of his life to live. He had things to discover. He was a learner, always up for a challenge. He wanted to travel; to see the world. He wanted to live, to learn, to love. Sadly he will never get that chance. He was my supporter; he was always there when I needed advice, or even when I just needed someone to talk to. He was my protector; he was always on hand to pummel my haters and crush those weird boys who would chase me around. He was my friend; we could watch hours of films together and throw popcorn at each other and play a board game and argue about who cheated and who won. But mostly importantly he was my older brother, and I loved him. He was an integral part of both mine, and my parents life, and we will forever miss him. I don’t know why he decided to take his life, and I will never know but wherever he is now, I just want him to know that I miss him and that I love him. Thank-you,’