On October 10, 2019, my brother who is 5 years younger than me hung himself at 42 years of age. He was 6 months shy of his 43rd. I won’t pretend to know what was going through his mind or what struggles he had personally. I know he was struggling financially and his health had been deteriorating due to a rare genetic immune disorder that runs in our family. I have it as well but it is controlled with treatments. My brother and I were not exceptionally close but I learned at his funeral that I was a subject often discussed by him. He was apparently very proud of me and what I had accomplished. He had his own eclectic tastes and mannerisms and he was a bit of a misfit. The one thing everyone said repeatedly was that he was exceptionally kind and often took their burdens away by listening, amusing, or advising them. I was proud of the man my brother became, and I knew he always struggled to fit in. He would read some treatise on religion or something on sci fi just to have something to relate with me about on during the holidays.
Whether it was his worsening health problems, or his financial difficulties, I will never know. He indicated to my mother the day before that was going to kill himself. She told him go ahead.
I will forever feel guilty that I wasn’t there for him. I didn’t pay attention, and most of all I was not kind when growing up. I will always wonder what I could have done differently. I will forever be haunted my brother died alone.