I can still remember the day it happened, as if it were yesterday. My whole family was enjoying a beautiful night at our cousin’s graduation party. Everyone was having fun; kids were running around, and adults were dancing and drinking. As I was getting ready to leave the party to make my one-hour drive home, he approached me and asked if I could drop his three kids off at our parents' house so he could enjoy the night with his wife. Who knew that later that night, I would receive a phone call that would devastate our family?
Losing Shoua, my older brother, to suicide changed my family and me. We cried and questioned why. For two weeks, my family became dysfunctional and forced ourselves out of bed to prepare for his funeral according to the Hmong tradition. Days whizzed by like a blur, and I became numb to what was happening around me. Before I knew it, his funeral was over, and I had to return home to a different city, leaving me feeling all alone. I continued with life as if nothing had happened, but when I had moments to myself, tears would start streaming down. It was a continuous roller coaster of being numb and then being hit by a brick of emotions, which would open the floodgates of tears, only to go back to being numb.
For a long time, I was angry. Angry at him for being so selfish that he chose death over us. He broke our family, and I didn’t think we could ever be repaired. Why didn’t he talk to anyone of us? Why didn’t he ask for help? The question “why” would run through my head repeatedly for years until I realized he had an unseen sickness, depression.
After years of talking with my family and my wife and getting to know myself better, I’ve realized that his sickness couldn’t have been easily resolved by others. Perhaps all he needed was a friend to hold his hand as he fought his sickness. I’ve come to accept that, in his mind, the easiest option to rid himself of all his hurt was to choose death. I’ve yet to fully overcome my loss of Shoua, as the pain of losing him comes and goes in waves. To reach my current level of acceptance, I had to dig deep within myself and rediscover who I am. I listened to self-help podcasts and found what I enjoyed doing all over again. Most days are easier, and I can enjoy life knowing that he lives on through his children. I can love him still by loving his children and being there for them.
From the loss of my brother, I’ve learned to be more empathetic and forgiving towards people, not knowing what sickness they may be battling. I want to be a reason for someone to smile and to wake up to another day alive. I want to be the person my brother didn’t have—someone who will extend their hand to help hold and walk with others as they continue their journey to battle their sickness.