Three Losses

me and my big brother circa 1977ish

On an ordinary afternoon, five years ago, I received a phone call from my ex-husband. He had bad news.

Officers from the Sheriff’s Office were on their way to my home to inform me that my big brother had ended his life while in jail.

Following a paper trail, my ex, who is in law enforcement, was the closest next of kin they could find. The trail led them to the small town where he lived—the same town where my brother had lived with my dad.

But my dad had passed away 30 days earlier.

When Jason heard the news, he asked the officers if they could wait until he told me himself. I will be forever grateful for that act of kindness. It was hard enough to open that door when I knew what was coming. I couldn’t imagine seeing those men in uniform without knowing the news they were about to disclose.

The officers were polite and professional, but that didn’t make the hurt any less painful. (The following months were extremely difficultI as I was met with rudeness and a lack of care from the department while trying to obtain information and his belongings.)

My brother was sick and had struggled with addiction for years. Honestly, I had expected this news for a very long time, but knowing it might happen someday didn’t make it any easier when it actually did.

Once my heart started beating normally again and I found a little control over my emotions, I called my younger brother.

We had already been through a storm of emotions together over the previous few months with our dad. I think we both held our breath whenever each other’s name lit up on our phones.

I broke the news to him while he was at work and told him I would go tell our mom.

I had to tell my mom.

I had to tell my mom her son was gone.

Worst moment of my life.

My strong daughter went with me.

My beautiful mother was outside having happy hour with my stepdad and their neighbors. She was happy. She was laughing.

Not a worry in her atmosphere.

And then it was shattered.

We all knew he was finally out of pain. We know he missed my dad. And we are pretty sure he got himself arrested on purpose.

This was planned.

I regret that I did not have close relationships with my dad and my brother. Fortunately, I had made amends with my dad before cancer took him. I was able to visit with him and say the things I had wished I’d said years earlier but never did.

The final conversation I had with Rich, my brother, was filled with awkward pauses, tears, and a final “I love you.”

He had called while I was with my younger brother. We were on speaker together, sharing the strange loss we were about to experience—the kind of connected emotions you can only have with siblings.

Losing my big brother and my dad was crushing.

Losing my stepdad was heartbreaking.

But they were different.

Losing Doyle meant I wouldn’t see his happy smile when I walked into their home. I wouldn’t see him sitting there watching sports or working on a puzzle. No more advice would be given. I would no longer be able to bake him an apple pie.

My kids lost their Papa.

My mom lost her partner.

But we all have hearts full of memories and gratitude for a man who lived a full life.

Losing my dad and my brother left my heart full of regret and wishes.

So many things I wish I had known.

So many things I wish I had done differently.

I regret not being the bigger person. Hurt feelings should have been pushed aside.

But there were decades of hurt, and that is hard to get over.

Even with the regrets, I am at peace knowing they knew I loved them.

I think about all three of these men often. They pull at my heart in different ways, and I relish the memories I have with each of them.

I am who I am because of them.