Indiana Woman Shares the Heartbreak of Her Brother’s Suicide and Her Journey to Healing

September usually sparks debates about when it’s appropriate to start putting up Halloween decorations. It’s that time of year when summer fades and my favorite season begins to buzz with excitement.

But last year, September took on a darker significance for me—it became the month my younger brother took his own life.

A Day That Changed Everything

On September 12, 2023, I showed up for work like any other Tuesday. It felt like my Monday since I had just moved into a new house over the weekend and took an extra day off to unpack. I work at an Early Learning Center, and that morning was just as hectic as usual, with kids running around and playing while I started my diaper checks. In the middle of changing a wet diaper, my pocket suddenly burst into the catchy tune of Taylor Swift's "Cruel Summer." A quick glance revealed it was my ex, the one I had recently split from. After finishing up, I called him back.

Frantically, he urged me to call my mom, who had reached out to him that morning to check if I had gone to work. I was confused—why would she be calling him? But I hung up and dialed her number right away.

"Are you alone?" Her voice sounded underwater. 

"No, Mom, I'm at work. What’s going on?"

Her next words changed everything: "James died last night."

I don’t remember much about that moment, except that my coworkers still recall the sound of my scream.

In those moments after, I remember feeling an eerie peace. One of my closest friends worked just down the hall, so I walked into her classroom, bright and sunny, to share the news. She asked me questions, but I just stared blankly out the window.

"You need to go home. I’ll talk to admin," she said.

Suddenly, fear washed over me. On Tuesdays at 9 a.m., I’m always at work—if I go home, it means something’s really wrong. It means my baby brother is gone. I irrationally thought that if I stayed at work, maybe those truths wouldn’t exist.

"No. I’m staying. I need normal."

The concern on her face is something I’ll never forget. I returned to my classroom and sat down with a few kids. After what felt like a long 15 minutes, admin started to get worried because my friend had filled them in on what was happening. Soon enough, I was on my way home.

I don’t remember much of the in-between—just my bed, my dogs, and staring at the ceiling. There were phone calls with my mom, and her voice felt so calm, almost matter-of-fact, as she spoke.

The coroner says it'll be a few days before they release the body.

He shot himself in the head during an argument with his ex-girlfriend. 

I don't understand why this happened. 

My friend from work arrived after a of couple hours and sat with me as I laid in bed sobbing, "I'm not ready to not be a big sister anymore."

The One Place No One Wants to Sit Front Row

The next day, I drove to St. Louis in a daze, overwhelmed by fear of the unknown. No one expects to make funeral arrangements for their younger sibling; it just feels unnatural. James and I were supposed to plan our parents' funerals far down the line, not his. Sitting in the funeral director's office, I felt a deep sense of betrayal.

When someone dies unexpectedly, there are so many details you never think about. Each one felt like another drop in a glass about to overflow. One of the hardest moments was picking up his truck from the apartment, which was still blocked off with yellow crime scene tape. My brother walked into that apartment and never came out.

Just two weeks earlier, he called me, excited about buying his first truck. "Sis! I finally got my truck!" His joy took me back to our childhood—those Power Ranger pretending days or weekends when our grandfather stocked the freezer with ice cream for us.

Now, here I was in the driver’s seat at my parents' house, tears streaming down my face, feeling completely lost and so very alone.

The days that followed were filled with funeral arrangements. Thankfully, my brother's employer generously covered all the costs, easing the burden of figuring out how to lay him to rest. Before I knew it, I went from those joyful phone conversations to standing in front of a room full of grieving people, trying to deliver a eulogy for James. Capturing a person's life in just five minutes felt impossible, especially for someone who was only 29 and had so much left to live. It felt like a punishment.

Here people, let me give you all of the things my brother will never get to do in his life. Be married. Be a father. Grow old. Stay my little brother. 

Remembering My Brother

It’s hard to believe a whole year has passed since I lost my brother. Some days, that year feels like an eternity; other times, it’s like a movie stuck on pause, and sometimes it feels like I just blinked. The grief that comes from losing someone so central to your life is surreal. And while time marches on, bringing its usual ups and downs, it feels cruel because there’s always something missing.

The toughest moments, beyond the obvious holidays and milestone days, are those small, everyday reminders of his absence. Like when his phone number stopped working, and I got that “undeliverable” message after desperately trying to reach him. Or driving past his old apartment without needing to stop, and seeing the empty chair at my parents' house, now filled with a cabinet housing his urn, framed photos, and cherished mementos.

For the anniversary of his death last week, I really had to fight the urge to stay in bed (which I did the day after—baby steps, right?). My boyfriend, Bryan, and I decided to take my mom out to lunch at one of James’ favorite spots. We invited a couple of his friends I’ve grown close to since the funeral, and to our surprise, it turned into a larger gathering, all of us connected by one simple thing: the love we share for James.

I wish I could say I've found peace in my grief, but the truth is, I still experience moments of anger, deep sadness, confusion, and sheer hopelessness. I often reread old messages and replay conversations in my mind, searching for signs I might have missed. Some days, I'm angry at myself; other days, I'm angry at him. I still send messages to his Facebook in desperate attempts to feel connected. We even celebrated his 30th birthday with a cake and watched his favorite movie, John Wick. It’s a tradition we’ll keep every year.

My mom and I have spent countless late nights on the phone, recounting details for what feels like the billionth time, just trying to make sense of it all. When my birthday came in August, I panicked, realizing I wouldn't hear from him that day. I feel his absence every single day; he was my first best friend.

Even worse, I’m struggling with a complete loss of identity. I’ve always been a big sister—his kindergarten teacher even called me on his first day of school because he needed a hug. I stood up for him against school bus bullies and helped him with homework every night. In our adult years, we spent countless hours talking about our jobs and relationships. Now, I’m just a big sister without a little brother, except in a spiritual sense. There are so many questions I’ll never get answers to, and I know nothing will ever be the same. I have to live with that for the rest of my life.

Please Stay 

This year, I chose to participate in my first Suicide Prevention Walk organized by the Southwestern Indiana Suicide Prevention Coalition. Not only did I hear stories from people who understood the complicated grief left when a loved one commits suicide, but I was able to honor my brother.

I definitely haven’t come to terms with my grief for my brother. Even after a year, there are days when I relive the shock, panic, anger, and devastation of that day. Some days, I manage to carry it better and can laugh at memories, thinking, "Oh man, if James were here, he would..." But many days, it still feels like a heavy burden I'm learning to bear.

One thing I know for sure is that if he had called me that night, I would have dropped everything to drive to him to help and change everything. Just one phone call could have shifted the course of so many lives that night.

So, I ask anyone feeling hopeless: please stay. Please make that call, even if it’s just to sit in silence. I would have given anything for that one phone call to keep my baby brother here.

If you or someone you know is thinking about suicide or in a difficult emotional state, resources can be found here.

Read More: Newburgh Mom Shares Raw & Emotional Truth About Her Dad's Suicide