The death of Robin Williams prompted me to ask my older sisters, “How did you explain Pat to your kids?” My son knew about my brother who passed away during my childhood, but he was unaware that it was a suicide. This year, International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day falls on November 22. Now, at nearly three times the age I was when my brother died in 1987, and as a parent to two young children, I’m reconsidering the impact of that loss.
As I observe my nieces and nephews nearing the age I was when Pat died—just shy of fourteen—I’m reminded of how his absence has shaped my life and my siblings. My mother had four children in quick succession and I came along nearly a decade later, making Pat the middle child, ten years my senior. In my youth, I often wished to be older, eager to connect with my siblings. However, as they went off to college, I sometimes felt like an only child.
On that fateful day in February when I learned of Pat’s death, the feeling of losing my family unit overshadowed my grief for a brother I barely knew. At that time, I was a self-absorbed young teen while he was a college graduate with a job and a car that didn’t match the upscale neighborhood my parents had moved to. I felt isolated, as if my siblings lived in a different world. Their grief was profound, and I felt mine wasn’t comparable.
Watching my parents grieve deeply affected me; seeing their overwhelming sorrow because one of their children chose to end his life was heartbreaking. My mother often expressed her hope that I would never know the pain of losing a child. As my son approaches his ninth birthday, I realize how deeply I have internalized this fear—that my children might not outlive me. This fear has influenced my desire for a third child; I can’t bear the thought of one sibling losing another and feeling utterly alone.
My mother once confided that she felt as though she’d lost two children because I had withdrawn into my circle of friends. I had vowed to her that I wouldn’t follow in my brother’s footsteps, even though I understood depression well. I felt its weight since early childhood and witnessed my mother’s struggles. When friends queried why my brother had taken his life, I couldn’t provide answers, but I certainly empathized with his pain and even envied the courage he displayed.
In the aftermath of his death, I distanced myself from my family, unable to cope with their pain. I turned to substances like alcohol and marijuana in an attempt to numb myself. Now, with chronic health issues, I look back and recognize that those harmful choices were my misguided attempts to exert control over my suffering.
After spending time on antidepressants in my late twenties and early thirties, I eventually transformed my diet and lifestyle following serious health challenges. Cutting out gluten and dairy significantly lessened my emotional burdens, and I discovered the benefits of meditation and alternative medicine. For nearly a decade, I have been medication-free, navigating my mental health through careful lifestyle choices, though my body is now hypersensitive. The stress from early traumatic experiences and substance use has contributed to my current health issues. While antidepressants served their purpose during a critical time, I have since sought more holistic solutions.
Recently, the suicide of a professor from Vermont Law School, a fellow alum, struck me hard. I felt deep sorrow for her children and husband. If the legacy of suicide weighs heavily on me as a younger sister, what must it feel like for a partner and children to grapple with feelings of inadequacy? Depression can distort reality, leading individuals to believe they are a burden. Thankfully, I have learned to maintain my mental wellness, though it requires continuous effort.
Some friends might think I am overly cautious about my child’s environment—protecting him from sugar, additives, and late nights—fearing he may face the same inner battles. I’ve avoided discussing my brother’s story with him, not wanting to introduce him to the concept of despair that led to his uncle’s tragic choice. I know my son is fortunate to be shielded from violence and trauma that plague many children worldwide, yet the scars of surviving a suicide linger.
During a recent beach vacation, my husband informed me of Robin Williams’ death. As I struggled to process the news, I was left contemplating how to discuss my brother’s story with my son if he ever asked. That night, as tributes to Williams aired on television, I found solace in reaching out to my sisters for guidance on how they approached the topic with their children.
On the drive home, I was moved by the soundtrack of Frozen and the poignant lyrics about longing and connection. For the first time, I grasped the depth of my siblings’ grief over losing their brother. My children, singing joyfully in the back seat, reminded me of the bond they share, yet I worried about the impact of loss on their lives. Once again, I found myself wishing I could have another child to strengthen our family unit.
I am grateful for the support of my sisters and the lessons we share about communicating with our kids. My brother may be gone, but he remains a crucial part of our family narrative. The love and connection I witness between my children deepen my sense of loss for the brother we all miss. While I acknowledge my fears, I strive to focus on creating a hopeful future for my children.
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Summary
This reflective piece discusses the impact of suicide on familial relationships, particularly the author’s experience with the loss of a brother. It explores themes of grief, the challenges of discussing sensitive topics with children, and the ongoing journey of mental health management. The author emphasizes the importance of creating a supportive environment for children while navigating the complexities of loss and legacy.