Gone & Here Annual Scholarship

Losing someone to suicide is an experience that changes you forever. When my oldest brother, Louis Nolan, passed away last July—a month after his birthday—my family was devastated. He was the first of my mother’s nine children to leave us, and his absence left a void we are still struggling to fill. That night remains a blur of confusion and pain. At 4 AM, my niece called with the news. By 5 AM, I was at my mother’s house, surrounded by my grieving family, trying to process something that didn’t feel real. Months later, we came together again to say our final goodbyes, but the questions still lingered. Louis had battled alcoholism for years. A month before his passing, he went to rehab and managed to stay sober. We were hopeful. But the day he returned, he told my mother he needed a drink. She tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. That night, he never came home. His death was never officially ruled a suicide—there was no proof. But crossing a freeway at 10 PM doesn’t seem like something anyone would do in a clear state of mind. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he was overwhelmed. Maybe he felt like he had lost the fight. We’ll never know for sure, and that uncertainty is one of the hardest parts. I wasn’t as close to Louis as some of my other siblings because of our age difference, but I grew up with him. I knew him. I saw his struggles. His wife left him. His kids were upset with him. He was trying to fight his demons but kept losing the battle. And then there’s the part I can’t let go of—the phone call I never got. I was his emergency contact. The hospital said they tried to call me, but my phone shows no missed calls. If I had answered, would things have been different? Would my mother have had the chance to see her son one last time? That thought still weighs on me. The hardest part has been watching my mother grieve. I wished I could take her pain away. But through all this, I’ve come to understand how short and fragile life is. I’ve learned to cherish the time I have with my loved ones and push myself to be better. Losing Louis changed me. It made me realize I can’t take my time here for granted. That’s why I’m pushing forward in my education—to go as far as I can, not just for myself, but for him. His life was cut short, but mine continues, and I want to make the most of it. I carry his memory with me every step of the way. Rest in peace, Louis Nolan. You are missed, always.