letterstochristopher - Tumblr blog

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Text

Letters to Chris. June 8. Two months later.

Hey Buddy,

Once again, I'm here at the Starbucks down the street. Where I wrote my second ever letter to you. At the time, I couldn't believe it had been six days since you'd been alive. That was so hard to wrap my mind around....It feels like yesterday, but it that two months ago. Somehow 61 days have passed. In that letter, I talked to you about how time refuses to pass when you need it to. But obviously...pass it does. Because here we are...61 days later. I can't understand how time keeps passing? I don't want it to...Each day that passes is another day away from you. What is it going to feel like when you’ve been gone for years? I can’t bear to think about that. And for some reason, you've felt so far away lately. Where are you? I'm so scared I'll never feel your presence again. There are days where I think everything will be okay. Where I think just knowing you are still very much alive, albeit in a different way than I am, will be enough. I go about my day. I’m productive. I laugh often. Then there are times where all of this is just too much, and I don't know how to breathe. Those are the moments I feel on the verge of a panic attack. The walls close in, my chest constricts so I can't take a deep breath. It's like my body completely just rejects the reality of you being gone. Seriously, Chris, where are you? And how does the world keep spinning with you not here? How does the sun continue to rise? How do other people feel happy, laugh, make plans? I see all these people going about their days like nothing has changed. Can’t they feel your absence?? I feel like your death should have disrupted the entire world. I'm sure everyone who loses someone they love feels the same way. But yet...life goes on. For others. Not for me. Or Nikea. Or Mom or Dad. Not yet. I hear it's supposed to again some day. Rumor has it. But I don't want it to. I'm so afraid of letting go.

I've never been more scared of anything.

It's weird...now you're like this mystical being...someone who had at one time lived that has gone to a place I can't follow. Who now knows things I could never imagine. Who I'll never see or touch again. Or hear laugh. Or get a text from. You've taken on this almost ethereal quality. I don't know how else to describe it.

I've been going through and re-editing professional photographs I took of you. The ones from when we visited you in the hospital for Carter's birth, his newborn pictures, your wedding reception. It is so weird seeing them. Looking at you in iPhone pictures is one thing...but from my beloved Canon 5D Mark iii, it is quite another. You look so alive. Like I could reach through the computer screen and touch you. The pictures from the hospital are adorable. You were so exhausted, but so in love with your new son. Then the newborn shoot we did a short while later...Remember that day? When everyone came over to see Carter, BBQ, smoke cigars, and hang out like the Rudloffs do best. Grandma and Grandpa, Grandpa Ward, David, Stacie, Derrick, Travis, Grayson, Austen, Hannah and Sayre, Sue and Tim were all there. It's hard to describe how I feel when I see these photos. I can't say "happy" or "peaceful," but a weird hybrid where they there but completely overshadowed by a million other emotions. Devastation. Nausea. Exhaustion. Disbelief that you’re gone. Anger. Fear. Gratitude that I have these photos.

I posted a pic of you and Uncle Tim on Sue’s wall. In this picture, Tim is sitting at our patio table, with you in the background smiling. Hannah commented on it, her words perfectly describing what I feel every day:

“Isn't it crazy that 2 people in this pic aren't here anymore? I mean it's just so crazy. They're right there! I can picture what they looked like right after the pic was taken. I can see them talking, breathing, enjoying family time. But now they're gone. It doesn't seem real.”

It doesn’t. You’re right there. Both of you. Happy. Enjoying life. I just can’t wrap my mind around the fact that you are in those pictures which I feel were taken yesterday but not here. How?? God, life is cruel.

I posted a couple of my favorites (remember the ones in our backyard where you were wearing your ACUs? You're holding Carter and looking down on him, your cap pulled deep over your eyes, and another where you're kissing him) on a photography community page I am a part of, called Mastin. Kirk Mastin, who created this forum, made a group of actions which help photographers edit photos in a way that make them look like they were taken by a film camera. On this particular page, people share photos and ask for ideas, editing tips, etc. I was honestly terrified to share these pictures. For one, there are thousands of super talented photographers on here. But also I wanted to share why these photographs are so precious to me. I'll never withhold how you died. None of us will. Because we are never, ever going to be ashamed of you. Ever. But I am so protective of you, and am always waiting for someone to say something ignorant. And then I'd have to kick their ass. But I shared how my brother had commit suicide April 8, and how I had never really been a fan of my work on this particular shoot just because it was an earlier one and I was super hard on myself, yet after reediting using Mastin, I was completely in love with the photos. I ended the post saying, "How handsome was he in his uniform?!"

The response I received was overwhelming.

In the first hour, I had over 200 likes and about a dozen comments. Two days later there are over 550 likes and 62 comments, including 11 others who lost loved ones to suicide. I had hoped to reach at least one person who was going through what we are...but I was in no way expecting the outpouring of love I ended up getting. I cried because I had no idea so many on this website were themselves suicide survivors. I had asked what their loved ones names were...Scotty Phelps, Nicholas Hill, James Jacob, Caitlyn Rose Bailey. Beautiful souls who you are joined with on the other side. My heart feels as full as it has in two months, in a way, because so many people out there care. Perfect strangers who hurt for us and know what we feel. Now, 552 other people know who you were. They read about you, saw your pictures, cried for you. They know you lived. And I cannot physically put into words how that makes me feel. You may have only been here 25 years, buddy, but you've made your mark.

By the way, I’m sorry I chastised you for not thanking me when I gave you all the photos I edited. I know you were so exhausted from a new baby and work...I should never have gotten after you. I’ve freely admitted that I can be an asshole. But still, I’m sorry.

I taught yoga tonight for the first time in five months. My old boss asked if I could sub, and I wanted so badly to say no. But I felt this push...from Clay, who really thought it would be good for me, but also from you. It was so solid. I knew I had to say yes. And from the moment I accepted, there was never a question of what my "theme" would be (I love theming my classes. I’m a nerd-I know). I would talk about the resilience of the human spirit, how we learn so much about ourselves and our ability to survive during times of absolute heartbreak. I was completely honest, sharing how I didn't want to teach at first. Because 1) it had been so long since I taught (five months...has it really been that long??), and 2) it’s the two month anniversary of your suicide. Our last full conversation took place after I had left a class there, too...Remember, when you were stressing out about finding an apartment and I told you how we were moving into our friend’s basement while we job searched? That conversation is still so fresh in my mind. Like it took place yesterday. You talked about how you couldn’t see the light, how you had started smoking to deal with your stress, saying you knew I would tell Mom and that you didn’t need a lecture (Hey punk-I never said anything. I didn’t “tell” on you ever. And when did I ever lecture you??! Hmph).

Anyways. In class I shared four main things I have learned in the past two months through grieving. Firstly, the human being is capable of enduring the most horrific of tragedies. Things we never think we’d be able to survive. If someone told me I’d lose my brother and my uncle Tim, I’d want to quit life right then. I would have said there was NO WAY I’d live through losing both of you. But obviously, we are all still here. Me. Mom. Nikea and Bethany. Dad. Katrina. Hannah, Sue and Sayre are still here after losing Tim. I don't always know how I am. I say this a lot, but it does surprise me at times. It feels like I should have died from heartache by now. It just proves my point. We are resilient. We are so much stronger than we think could ever think possible.

Secondly, I believe we learn more about ourselves during times of grief than any other periods in our life. I've learned how fiercely I love. I never realized...I knew that I loved my family more than anything. Obviously. But I had no idea how deeply that love went. To my very core. I've learned how much I've taken these people I love for granted. Look at you-I always thought I had tomorrow to call. I’ve also learned how strong I am. This kinda goes back to my first point, but I’m blown away by my resilience (I’m totally patting myself on the back right now). I mean seriously. This is it. Bad shit will continue to happen because that’s life. But I know I’ll get through because I’m getting through this. Not unscathed. Forever changed. But still, I’m surviving. I’m a survivor.

Third, I've learned how much people can surprise you. I’ve had so people reach out, cry with me, share their own stories of loss, donate large sums of money. I mean, the photography post I told you about is a perfect example. It times of hardship, people want to be there for you. And we should let them. I think mental illness is a subject very near and dear to many hearts. From what I have seen, so many either struggle with it or have a loved one who does. So they desperately want to lend a helping hand, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen. They want to help me make a difference. And this gives me hope. Everyone I've talked to has been so eager to have a discussion about a topic that up to very recently has been considered taboo. Which leads me to four: regardless of what we are going through, there are people out there who know exactly how we feel. The first few weeks, I felt like I was the only one who had lost someone I love to suicide. I knew I wasn't, but I had no idea how many were out there, desperately wanting to talk about their loved one. That's why I asked the names of those I listed above...I know how desperately I want to tell people your name, talk about you, share your story, even with those I don’t know. And I want to know about their loved ones. You all need to be remembered, even by those of us who don't know you but are still bound to you because we, too, have lost a sibling, parent, cousin, friend, spouse, to suicide.

Random thought, but I had a random memory pop in my head the other day. Remember when I used Endust on our wood floors that one time when my chore was to dry mop? When I was done, Mom told me I needed to actually mop because the Endust made the floors so slick everyone was falling. Right after she said that, you walked through the front door and slid. It was so funny, and even though I felt bad I couldn’t stop laughing.

I love those random memories.

By the way, I need to thank you. I think you've been helping my photography business take off again. Since you passed, I've booked a wedding, two family sessions and a yoga festival. Out of the blue. I really believe that's you. One particularly rough day I heard you say, "I got you, Sis." I heard it. As clear as day. And I know you do. You still feel so far away right now, but I know that's not forever. I just need to keep holding on, like I've been doing. Keep breathing when my chest constricts and the walls close in, keep getting out of bed in the morning, keep loving...I know these are all things you want. Please be patient with me. I'm doing my best right now. But I miss you.

Love you, Buddy.

#love #suicide #suicide survivor #survival #family #faith #grief #grief support

1 note · View note

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Photo

Chris, Bailey, and their new son Carter. Taken by me.

#army #suicide prevention #brother #love #son #family #faith #suicide survivor #grief #grief support #photography #fujifilm #mastin

0 notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Quote

It wasn't that you didn't do enough to try to help Chris...It was you couldn't fill the holes with enough to help him live because his holes were too large and too many, and you couldn't do that anyway.

Mom’s friend

#suicide #quotes #suicide survivor #love #family

0 notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Photo

Chris and me at his wedding reception. He was so much taller than me!

#brother #love #suicide #suicide survivor

0 notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Quote

I will never let you fall I'll stand up with you forever I'll be there for you through it all

From Chris’ favorite song, “Your Guardian Angel” by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

#red jumsuit apparatus

0 notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Photo

Typical

0 notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Text

Letters to Chris. May 30th. Day 52.

Hey Buddy,

My grief has been evolving. I feel it changing into something else, something darker and harder to deal with. I think the reality of losing you has begun to set in, and it's too much. It's so weird how grief morphs over time...It's not like at any point I ever believed you would "come back to life." I think I was still in the denial phase. Since we haven't lived in the same state for a few years, it has been easy to believe you were still in Minnesota...waking up for work in the mornings, hanging out with little Carter, grilling your amazing steaks, hanging out with friends, looking forward to coming home again to visit...living. Breathing. But the reality is, you're not. You're not doing any of those things. I don't know what you're doing now. And that's so f*cking terrible. I want to know what you do during your days, what you think about, what you laugh about. What your world looks like. I hate not knowing, not being able to be a part of your new life. You feel so far away and it destroys me. You've done so much to show me you're okay, and I'm so grateful. So I'm sorry that I complain about you being gone. But it's just the way it is. You're gone and I miss you. I just can't wrap my mind around the fact that you were here and I took you for granted. I always thought I had tomorrow to call you and say I love you. I just can't fathom it. How the hell did I not call you every single day to make sure you were doing okay? What the f*ck was wrong with me?

God, I suck.

The past few days have been some of the hardest yet. I know of the "stages of grief." They are by no means linear, but more like a squiggly line that has no end and no beginning. Mom actually sent me a meme about that the other day. Two side by side depictions of grief, one "normal," with the linear line going through the five stages, and then ours, a squiggly mess. Of course it was a joke. There's no such thing as normal when it comes to grief. Knowing that helps. Nothing is normal, yet anything and everything is normal. Because it's easy to be down on myself about how I'm doing. Some days are better than others. Some days I think I'm processing healthily and will be okay. I work out, take the dogs on long walks, care about how I look, laugh a lot. Other days I struggle to motivate myself to do anything. Cleaning? Forget it. Cooking? Hell no. Taking the dogs out? Clay can do that. If I didn't have a job that forced me to get out of bed, I'm sure there are days I just wouldn't. Today would have been one of them. I didn't need to be in until 2:30, so I stayed under the covers cuddling your clothes until 1:30. It doesn’t help that the stress is still destroying my skin. I feel like I have aged 10 years. Confidence issues on top of everything else blows. I want to hide all the time. As you can see, I'm super productive.

Pretty sure this is the depression phase. I want to go back to denial.

I actually didn't cry Friday or Saturday night. I know...wow, right? We were in Chicago celebrating a dear friend's wedding, and it was a much-needed reunion with our Kansas City friends. I love Chicago. I have been there twice before, but the last time was 2010 when Clay and I first started dating. I absolutely fell in love with it, and have always wanted to go back. You would love it. Probably not to live in, but to visit. And you would LOVE Garrett's. It's a popcorn place that makes the best damn caramel popcorn you'll ever eat. Yes, better than movie theater popcorn. Clay was a skeptic until he tasted it. There's a reason there's always a crazy long line every time. But anyways (sorry...always getting distracted by food), in the days leading up to flying out, I was honestly dreading leaving. Not because I didn't want to see everyone, but because lately the thought of being around a lot of people overwhelms me. And I've lost my ability to celebrate right now...it just feels weird. How can I celebrate anything when you aren't here? How can I laugh and be happy when my little brother has left me? I know this is normal, but it makes me feel like an asshole. Yet I'm so so glad we went. It was such a beautiful wedding. The bride has been such a wonderful friend for several years, and I was so grateful for the privilege of seeing her walk down the aisle. We got to hang with our friends and explore Chicago, which I know was good for me. I ate Garrett's popcorn and chocolate gelato (which was as good as the gelato I ate in Italy, I sh*t you not), went on an architecture boat ride, visited Millennium Park and the Navy Pier, got caught in a crazy down pour, shopped Zara with Court (a tradition whenever we visit big cities together). It was a wonderful weekend. I just adore all my girlfriends that were there. They all know what happened to us, and have been so very supportive. It wasn't until we were leaving that I opened up about my struggle with coming, how I don't know how to be around people anymore. I used to look forward to hanging out with people. Now I feel so alone even when surrounded by friends. Remember my island analogy? Yeah. Everyone is way over there, laughing and happy. Enjoying their life, looking forward to their futures, planning, excited. And over here is me, trying my best just to get out of bed in the mornings, clutching my brother's clothes because it's all I have left.

The day after we got back, I became this ball of absolute and unstoppable fury. Without warning. Clay and I went to our cousin's BBQ, which was a good time, and I was excited to learn that a Trader Joes was right down the street. That was my favorite store back in KC, and I have only been to one a couple times since we moved. So we decided to pay it a visit on our way home. For whatever reason, I lost my shit when we walked in. I just became so angry. I always know why, but I don't know what the triggers are. I wanted nothing more than to fight with Clay. He knows better, and won't take the bait, which made me even angrier. By the time we got home, I was a mess. I climbed in bed and held your shirts close to my chest and couldn't stop crying. I haven't cried like that yet. Where I couldn't breathe, couldn't think...where I want nothing more than to make it stop hurting. I get scared when I get to that point. I worry about what steps I would take to make the pain go away. At this point, I think it's the people in my life keeping me here. I couldn't do anything to put our family or Clay through any more heartache.

I feel like I've lost myself. Who am I without you? Will I figure this out? Will I ever feel like myself again?

Mom and Dad sent me an email about free counseling through the Guard. So I reached out to my contact person yesterday. I haven't heard back, but am hoping she'll get back to me this week sometime. I need someone to help me process this. I also was going to the Heartbeat Support Group tonight. Clay picked me up from work and we showed up to an empty parking lot. Apparently they moved the meeting to last week, but failed to update their website. I was pretty upset about that. Even though I was nervous, I was looking forward to being surrounded by people who know exactly what I'm going through. So now I'll have to wait until the last Tuesday of next month. Disappointing, but it is what it is. I'm grateful to have a group even if it is only once a month. I had brought one of your shirts with me to work so I'd have it tonight in the meeting. I think I'm just going to start keeping it in my purse so I have it with me at all times. It helps. Katrina said she wished she could fly me out next week to go to her support group. If only! Maybe one day. That would be so awesome. (By the way, she's hoping to come out in September to visit for the Walk Out of the Darkness walk. Fingers crossed.)

Tonight, I put your clothes away. It was so f*cking hard. I honestly hated it...I felt like I was burying you. They have been sitting in a folded pile on top of our dresser on my side of the bedroom. I just had to, though...the constant reminder just destroys me. I keep using that word. Destroy. But it's the only word that seems appropriate. I kept a few of your shirts out to sleep with. And while half of your shirts are in my dresser, in the drawer closest to my side of the bed, the other half are in your military backpack right by my pillow. That was the hardest thing I've had to do in a while. Clay had to remind me that it's not like I'm moving on...I just need some order. That helped.

Nikea and I talked yesterday. She said she and Mom put your stuff in tubberware containers to keep it all safe. I had organized it all, but many of the boxes didn't have lids so your things were sitting out in the open. Mom had already been crying when Nikea showed up to help...she had just finished a load of your laundry. I think she's been doing laundry ever since I left. It helps her to feel like she's taking care of you. It's been hard on Mom...a lot of your things are missing and we aren't sure what happened. They may have been tossed, or maybe still in your old camper. It makes her hurt that you didn't have a ton of stuff. So Nikea and I remind her that you were a bachelor...a 25 year old guy doesn't want a bunch of stuff. Clay didn't have any real fancy things before I showed up. Besides, if you wanted something you would have bought it. That made her feel better. But she's your mama, and will always be protective of you. As we all will be. I'm so glad we get to keep your things. Mom will never get rid of anything. When I come home in June I will be getting your old coffee maker, toaster, uniform and that huge firefighter blanket. I may grab a pair of your pajama pants, too, since I cannot for the life of me find the ones I wore of yours while home (seriously, wtf happened to them??). I'm going to love having something of yours in our kitchen and living room. And Clay's happy, because he has wanted a toaster forever. So we can think of you every time we brew coffee or make toast. Not like we don't...I mean it when I say I think about you every single second. Still. Brushing my teeth, talking to patients, watching TV, walking the dogs, cooking, cleaning, sleeping...you're always there.

I heard your voice this morning. It may have been a dream, but you said, "hello," and it woke me up. It was your voice. I've never had a dream wake me up like that before. Was it you?

Anyway. I love you, Buddy. So f*cking much. Every second of every minute of every day I am missing you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

#grief #Grief And Loss #griefsupport #love #brother #suicide #suicidesurvivor #suicidesupport #faith #family

0 notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Photo

Opening the Twilight books I got him. Chris, don’t be mad I posted this proof that you liked the books ;)

0 notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Text

Letters to Chris. May 22nd. Day 44.

Hey Buddy,

“Suicide” was never a word that was really in my vocabulary. I’d obviously read in papers and books about it. I’d seen it on the news and TV shows. I had known a girl in my middle school who was rumored to have killed herself. But now it defines me. After you, suicide has become a massive part of me. I honestly can’t verbalize how that makes me feel. It’s not something I had ever expected to become such a huge part of my world, of my identity. And definitely not because of you. But now, after suicide has become part of my daily life, I see it everywhere. Now that the word has entered my vocabulary, it refuses to leave. Just last week, Chris Cornell commit suicide by hanging himself in his hotel room. His last tweet, much like your last Facebook post, seemed happy…carefree. He, like you, had children. Then my boss’ friend commit suicide. Not too long ago he had sent out a happy email to their friend group, cracking jokes about their annual golf trip. He also had kids. My friend’s friend threatened suicide last night…A high school here in Colorado is experiencing so many suicides it is being called an “epidemic.” Zack Snyder’s 20 year old daughter killed herself back in March. He only just went public with it because he’s taking a break from directing to be with his family.

It’s f*cking everywhere. It makes me ill and breaks my heart.

What can we do to stop this? I have decided to make it my life’s mission to bring awareness to a subject that has been taboo for far too long. With the pressures society places on us, the financial, workplace, family demands we all experience, mental illness is on the rise. And that scares me. We still know far too little about how the brain works. I remember how I felt about suicide before you. I had obviously tried it before, but I then picked myself up. Mom says that’s the difference between men and women. Women often use far less drastic ways to end our lives, which often allows us to survive and realize we don’t want to die after all. Men are more prone to violent ways, like you were. But anyway…I had understood it. When Mom had called me back in October to confide she was terrified you would shoot yourself, I became angry. Not at her, but at the possibility of losing you. I didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility of losing you. I was ignorant. As a psychologist, she knew the warning signs. So we begged you to get help. She sent me a text the other night after reading my last letter to you:

Chris, why did you lie to me last summer about getting counseling help through the guard? Were you purposefully misleading me? I found out yesterday that never happened. They would have helped you! And someone could surely have helped you manage finances better. If not Mom and Dad would have been glad to guide you.Why didn’t you ask for help, Chris???

Chris, WHY???? Didn’t you care what happened to you? Didn’t you care what losing you would do to us? I can’t even breathe without it hurting. I know we are going to survive this, but we shouldn’t have to. This should never have happened. It should never happen to anyone. Ever. So I’m going to fight for you. Always. For the rest of my life. I have no idea what I can do to help. But I have to try. No one should have to live without their brother the way Nikea, Bethany and I now have to. No one should grieve a son like Mom and Dad are. I feel so powerless, but I can’t just sit by and watch this happen. I couldn’t save you, but maybe I could help someone else. I tell myself if I can help one person, that’s all that matters. One person. It won’t bring you back, but I think it could help the heartache you left behind that refuses to abate.

I’ve been reading a book Dad got for us, called Finding Piece Without All the Pieces by LaRita Archibald. Her son took his life at 24 years of age. Her experience makes me grateful, if that’s possible, for ours. The people she dealt with through the police department and hospital that night were awful and uncaring. We were so lucky. Everyone our family worked with during that hellish first couple weeks were amazing. They knew you were someone’s son, someone’s brother, someone’s father, and treated you and us with so much love and compassion. When Dad went to get your things, people went out of their way to help. I think I told you about this already…how your landlord packed up your things and cleaned up, how your boss’ ex wife helped Dad load the truck, how Viking not only held a get-together in your honor but also donated to your son’s education fund. The funeral home was so patient as we made decisions…and completely understanding and not pushy when we decided against buying a fancy urn since we knew you’d want an artillery box for your ashes. God, we were so lucky, Chris. Nothing can bring you back, but the empathy of others has made this a little bit easier.

LaRita brought up something interesting in her book. That when you first hear about a loved one’s suicide, your grief over his loss is first overshadowed by the manner in which he died. It’s so true. Just knowing that you took your life almost destroyed me…I thought it was going to. Even though I knew you were gone, it was hard to wrap my mind around more than the simple fact that you had purposefully taken yourself away from us who love you. Now, over a month later, the reality that I’ll never hear your voice or hug you again is hitting. I’ve started having panic attacks. I think you help calm me when they start, because they abate fast. I’m just so tired of you being gone. I’m ready for this to be over. I’m ready to have you back…where I can call you anytime I want. It still doesn’t seem real. How can it, when someone who has always been there just ceases to exist in this world? I say this world, because I know you still exist. That you are as alive as me if not more. This helps get me through the days and nights, but it doesn’t keep me from hurting. I keep looking for other signs from you. And maybe that’s not fair to you. After all, I’m sure you have a lot going on right now. More than your high-maintenance sister.

I found a bunch of pictures of you on my computer last night. Remember the day we celebrated yours and Dad’s birthdays together? I even took a video of us singing to you guys. Dad had a blast with that….As we’d sing “Happy birthday to…” he’d keep interjecting “us!” I got you the two other Twilight books. Yes, argue all you want but you DID like those books. You had asked for them :) And then there are several goofy pics you and I took together. I wish, I wish, I wish that we had taken more like that as we got older. I stopped taking selfies, and the silly sibling pictures stopped. And that breaks my heart. But at least I have these. Then I was randomly going through some pictures from my old Instagram the other night, and found a pic I posted of our grocery cart from when Mom, Nikea and I went shopping at Shnucks for our Christmas Eve celebration five years ago. There were like six huge wine bottles, and my caption read, “To say my family simply likes wine is a serious understatement.” To which you responded, “So very true! LOL love you sis!” Actually, you wrote, “love you you sis!” which makes me giggle. I wish there were more silly responses like that, but we didn’t comment on each other’s stuff all that often. I’m grateful for the things I do have…the photos, the voicemails, your texts…although I’d give anything, absolutely anything, to have commented on all your posts, to have texted you every day, called you every day. It f*cking sucks realizing your shortcomings as a big sister when it’s too late.

I talked to Grandma and Grandpa on the phone last night. We would only occasionally talk before you left us, but now we chat pretty often. They are doing well. Grandma talked about how they drove to Hermann to the wineries. According to Grandpa, there is some prime people-watching there. He said one time they drove up just to sit in the car and watch all the craziness unfold during one of Hermann’s festivals. I thought that was adorable. Such a cute date night. Grandma’s 90th birthday is in July, so I’m going to try to get home for that. I’m already coming home in June and August, fingers crossed I can take one more day off for that. It’s getting harder and harder to be away from family. I’m doing my best right now, but it’s not going very well.

Anyway, bedtime. I love you, Bud.

Jenn

#suicide #suicidesurvivor #family #faith #love #grief #griefsupport #brother

2 notes · View notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Photo

The pic I talked about that is on my phone. He was so damn adorable

#suicide #grief #griefsupport #i love you #littlebrother

0 notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Photo

Chris, his son Carter and our sister Bethany

0 notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Text

Letters to Chris. May 15th. Day 37.

Hey Buddy,

I want to go home. So badly. I’d give anything to be able to get on a plane and go see our family in our home. Be close to all your things. Sleep in your old room. In so many ways, I feel so alone. In a way I never have. I miss our family more than I ever have. And oddly, even though I’m so far away, I feel closer to them than I ever have. It’s a weird dichotomy. I’m grateful that grief has brought us closer together. I’ve read about how other families have been torn apart by it. So I guess we have that going for us. I’ve definitely never been more grateful for the people I love. My God we are so blessed, Chris. There’s no way we could have survived this without each other. And it makes me realize how much I hate being so far away from everyone. I feel like I’m on an island. Clay loved you, and is grieving you, but he didn’t know you as well as we did. So in my grief I feel so alone. I just don’t have much to give. Or know how to connect right now. To anyone. Clay has been so loving and patient, but I know it must be lonely for him, too. I just feel like I’m trying my hardest to keep myself together so I don’t know how to be there for anyone else who isn’t grieving you. I’m sure there are times Clay feels so far from me, like he can’t reach me out here on my little island. But I don’t know how to fix that.

Mom said your autopsy report arrived today. Your autopsy report. That just sounds so weird to me. I asked if she had read it. She had. There was a lot of medical jargon she didn’t understand, but there were a few things she did. Your blood alcohol level was so low. Only .05. Which we had already figured. Your text to Mom was so clearheaded, it was obvious you were sober. It also said you shot yourself in your right temple. The picture of you on my phone is from your right side…I had taken it at Grandma and Grandpa’s Christmas a few years back. You look so happy…with this cute little smile across your face, your one dimple visible. It’s one of my favorite photos of you. Your beautiful face. It’s hard to describe the feeling of looking at you from that side and knowing a few years later you’d hold a gun to that temple…

I’m going to that dark place again. It’s so hard not to sometimes. I usually do okay. I honestly don’t think about that night very often. Mostly it’s just thinking about the fact that you aren’t here, that I can never hear your voice say my name again or laugh, or make fun of me. I find myself often imagining your response to different things I’m doing or thinking. Silly things. Like when I gave Scotland a much needed haircut, and dog fur literally enveloped me. I could just hear you laughing and saying, “Oh my gosh!” Or thinking about how much you would have loved the movie, Guardians of the Galaxy 2, that Clay and I saw Friday night. Or how much you’d love our view of the mountains. Or any ditzy moments I have, how you’d make so much fun of me. Or wondering if you’d like a dinner I prepared, or what you would think of Clay’s steak-cooking abilities (they are good, but between you and me, yours were better. Shhhh). In moments where it’s just too much, I envision you sitting right next to me, talking me through it. Like tonight. I was chopping sweet potatoes, and just lost it. I took a lot of aggression out on our poor cutting board, but it wasn’t enough. I slid down to the floor and sobbed. I had a bite of potato in my mouth, so I’m sure I looked pathetic. But I thought about you sitting on the floor in front of me, holding me as I cried. I try to pretend your arms were around me, holding me close and telling me that everything will be okay, that you’re here and you will never leave me. In those moments, I’ll close my eyes and try to feel your presence. To hear your voice.

God, I miss your voice.

Mom and I talked for a good hour tonight. This weekend was obviously hard for her, being Mother’s Day. I was thinking about that card you gave her…the one where you wrote “Love you always,” in your cute little scribble. I wonder if she got it out and looked at it again. All the little reminders of you all over the house are both comforting and heartbreaking for her. There just can’t be one without the other. Your pictures are all over. Your ashes. Your papers and letters Mom and Dad have to go through. Your weird “old man” artwork in your old bedroom (I’m never going to stop teasing you about that). I understand what Mom meant when she said she needed to put your things in a safe place, where she wasn’t constantly reminded of your absence. I get it. I mean, I’m wearing your sweatshirt right now. But even though I feel so close to you when I wear your clothes, it also breaks me. It’s hard to describe the way it feels…your absence, I mean. It’s like a vacuum. Like your missing place in our world has created this enormous black hole that is threatening to suck us all in. I guess it’s similar to the wave analogy, how I keep getting battered by all these 100 foot waves and all I want to do is let go and drown. We keep holding on, not allowing ourselves to be fully sucked in or under because we have to live for each other. We still have a life to live. What kind of life will it be? I don’t know. It’s going to be so different, and honestly it’s impossible to think about the future. I know it’s the same for all of us-Mom, Dad, Nikea, Bethany…We’re doing the best we can. But it’s so hard not to get shoved under this massive black ocean by these unrelenting waves.

I read through your texts again. Even though they are so sad, they make me feel closer to you, too.

Thu, Oct 13, 7:00 PM

You: F*ck this depression.

Me: You can change it. I promise. I’ve been there. Like super recently.

You: Recently?

Me: We just had a lot of financial shit going on. Clay’s business had a rough patch we couldn’t recover from. So it’s been really hard. I’ve decided that I can’t change the circumstances if I’m feeling that way and so I decided to just change my outlook on it (for the record, I sucked at this). So I’m back on my meds and I’ve been taking really good care of myself.

You: Come to Minnesota. Come work for me!!!

Me: Oh I’d love to buddy but I think Clay might’ve finally got a job today actually. We shall see! He had an interview that went really well today.

You: I’m on meds…not working.

Me: Then you need to switch up your meds. Sometimes you have to try several different types of meds to find one that really works. I did :( We’re moving into our friend’s basement. It’s been a really hard road. But the thing is things always get better, Chris. And depression sucks! So if your medication isn’t working you could talk to your doctor about trying something different. And rely on the people that love you. Like me and the fam.

You: She was my first love. I miss her so much. I just wish she would take me back!! I’m not a bad person!!!

Me: Realize that you are worthy and that you are worthy of love and past mistakes never dictate who we are.

You: Exactly I told her that!!

Me: I know Chris. But you need to work on yourself first. That’s what I was doing for years! We can’t be what others deserve if we don’t take care of ourselves and heal what’s broken. Then you can only focus on fixing yourself. It sucks to have a broken heart. But they heal. I promise.

You: I just can’t see the light. And I’m sick of this shit. Like I never want to get up in the am anymore for work. WHICH IS NOT ME!!! SO F*CKING DONE!!!!

This is how are conversations would go. All of them the last several months.

Wed, Dec 21, 1:36 PM

You: [name] agreed saying that she would be happier if I was dead.

Me: She doesn’t mean that. of course no one wants you anywhere but here. Especially us. We love you.

You: I’m tired of EVERYTHING.

Me: Then change things. You have the power. You aren’t weak. You’re strong. Everyone goes through shit. Clay and I are too. Worst year of my life. But I’m not giving up. I’m going to keep f*cking fighting. You do the same. You find what is broke, and you fix it.You have a great job, you have partial custody of your son. You can be happy if you want. Or at least at peace. I’d kill to have your position in life right now.

You: She does mean it. I’m so tired of my f*cking stress.

Me: I know. Stress sucks. What is it that stresses you? You have a job. You have rights to see your son. You have a place to live. What is it that stresses you?

And you didn’t respond. This last text string I keep going over and over. I can’t help but think this was your cry for help, and I let you down. Were you telling me that you wanted to die? Were you wanting me to fight for you? I never knew the context of that conversation you were talking about, but I know it was something said in anger but not meant. I would give ANYTHING to go back to that conversation and call you, and beg you to never hurt yourself. I myself have said similar things in the past so figured it was the same with you…that you were saying it because you were sad but you didn’t mean it. And now all I can think about is how I let you down. My brain knows I couldn’t have saved you even if I had called you that day instead of texting, but my heart tells me otherwise. I told you that you could be happy if you wanted. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t trying to trivialize…I was trying to empower you. To make you see how lucky you were. But instead I came off like I didn’t care. And I’m so so sorry. That’s never what I intended. I was trying to hard to protect you from yourself. But as someone who has fought the same battles I should have known better.

Regrets make this so much harder.

But I’m still breathing. Even though nights suck ass, the days are okay. I told you that already. And this last weekend was the best I’ve had since you left. Clay and I popped around several different bars before going to the theater Friday. I’m not drinking, but I still have so much fun exploring different places and drinking my nonalcoholic beverages. I know you rolled your eyes at me when I ordered my kombucha at Fermentaria. Hey, man, don’t knock it till you try it. And what do you expect from a hippie former yoga instructor?? You would have loved the last two bars we went to…one entire wall was retracted to let in the awesome spring breeze, and dogs were everywhere. Then Saturday, we hiked and BBQ’d with our friends. I invited you to hike with us…did you take us up on it? Sunday, Clay had a meeting so we didn’t make it to church…but we ended up going to brunch and then meeting our cousin, Maggie, out for her birthday at a local cider place. So obviously…good weekend. I actually had a goal to not cry this weekend. I figured I would be busy enough that I could remain distracted, and be exhausted and happy enough at night from all our excursions that I could just fall asleep.

It didn’t work. It’s Day 37 and not a single day has gone by that I haven’t cried. I know that it takes time. But the grief has taken its toll. I’m exhausted all the time. I have black circles under my eyes. I have all these pimples on my cheeks from tears and under my nose from (I’m sure) snot. Sorry, dude. But that’s the truth. My face is raw, and I’m not sure how to fix it. I know us crying isn’t what you want. The other night as I sat in the living room crying to you, I asked you what to do. Begging you to tell me what to do. And in that moment, I heard you. Clear as day. Let me go. Which made me cry harder. Because I don't want to let you go. How can I let you go? I know that letting you go doesn’t mean it stops hurting, or I stop missing you. It means to take comfort in the fact that I’ll see you again one day and live my life. But, Chris, I just don’t know how to let go yet. If you have any pointers, by all means share them. I’m at a loss.

But you’re still showing up. That same night after I wiped my tears, I looked down at my phone and saw in my text box the words "I’m sorry.” I just stared at it. I hadn’t touched my phone. How did that get there?? And then our TV turned on by itself when I left our bedroom to get a drink later that night. Two more reminders that you are here with me. I’m sorry. I know you were apologizing for the grief your actions caused. Well…it’s okay, little brother. I forgive you. It’s okay. Despite you hurting me like this, you are my brother. Always. Now and forever. I may still be angry with you, but it’s just because I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Love you, Buddy.

#grief #griefsupport #love #suicide #suicidesurvivor #family #God #faith

0 notes

letterstochristopher · 7 years

Text

Letters to Chris. May 8th. One month later.

Hey Buddy,

It’s been one month. An entire month has gone by since you’ve been here. The idea of it is absolutely absurd. How the f*ck have you been gone for an entire month? How the f*ck am I still here? The idea that I still am is absurd. One month ago, Mom called to tell me you shot yourself, and my world turned upside down. I still don’t know how I survived that first night 30 days ago. Seriously…how am I still here? I must be stronger than I’ve ever thought.

But I’m so tired, Chris. Every day is a battle. I know I'm strong, but I don’t always want to be. I shouldn’t have to be. Not like this. It’s unfair how life tests us like this. Like it’s purposely testing my will to live. I obviously have one…that’s why I’m still breathing. Maybe it’s just for the people you left behind. Maybe it’s because I still want to live. I honestly don’t know. Because holy shit this f*cking sucks. It SUCKS. But somehow…I did okay today. Funny enough, I didn’t realize the date until I went into work this morning. I’m glad, because it would have been impossible to get out of bed had I known. It just doesn’t feel like it should be a month already. Death has a funny way of messing with time. It seems like April 8th was yesterday. It seems like a year ago. I can’t decide which…

It’s always there...but like I said before I can laugh now. I can actually laugh at jokes and TV shows. I can function at a semi-normal level. I can talk normally about you and not lose it. I spoke with a woman yesterday who had reached out about my letters to you. We talked for two whole hours about you and a flightmate of hers who had taken his life a year ago. His name was Ben. Ben was around your age, and also had a family that loved him. My heart broke for her and for his loved ones. Like his family and friends, we are left to pick up the pieces and live with hundreds of unanswered questions. But they are still going…still surviving. It gives me hope for us. I can’t tell you how much it helped to talk to someone who has been there. I give you and Ben credit for introducing us.

Thank you.

But I'm still broken on the inside, even if I look to be holding it together on the outside. You just can't be a mess all day, every day. The world doesn't work that way. I had my three weeks off work to be that mess. Now it's time to be a functioning human again. One who contributes to society by going to work and the grocery store, talking to strangers, taking out the trash...you get my point. While I can see my normal self coming out now and again, like being able to get ready for work and actually care what I look like, I still see major changes. In addition to having no patience for anyone's shit like I told you about in my last letter, or not being able to be teased by my husband (I'm so damn sensitive right now), I avoid talking to any stranger I absolutely don't have to talk to. I'll find myself praying that I don't get stuck on an elevator with someone, or get checked out by a Chatty Kathy at the store. I just don't have the stamina. My empathy is also limited. I told you about that, too. It's just like I have no time for people's petty problems. And that's way different for me. The weather today was definitely appropriate. It stormed nonstop. The clouds came in fast and dark. There was hail surrounding us but luckily we were safe from the baseball sized ones that hit up north. By the time I got home, the rain had slowed to a trickle. So I went for a run on the same path I took the other day while listening to your favorite song, “Your Guardian Angel.“ I’ve been listening to that song nonstop. I think I told you I want to get some of the lyrics tattooed somewhere. I’m thinking the part that goes:

I will never let you fall I’ll stand up with you forever I’ll be there for you through it all

I’ll get them done the same time I get the one of you as a kiddo dressed up as a cowboy (I’ve messaged our tattoo guy in KC, sending him that pic and your signature to see if he has ideas about how to combine the two). I’m so excited. But anyway. It just felt so therapeutic to run in the rain. I loved it. It was so cleansing. It was grey, yet the clouds weren’t quite as ominous as they were earlier. It reminded me of when you and I would run together. Back when you were younger, and you had your long lanky legs…like a colt. Even though you were shorter than me, you could still outpace me.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

A lifetime ago that I changed your diapers. That you loved to play dress up. That you loved Legos and Toy Story and Harry Potter. That you had big dreams of firefighting. That you called to tell me you were going to have a son. You were so alive. Death is so weird. How can someone be here one second, and gone the very next? I can’t wrap my mind around it. Still. My brother died. One month ago. Thirty days ago. The words still seem so foreign to me. Maybe they always will.

One month. Yet you are still reaching out. The other night as I laid in bed with our door and window closed, and the dogs and Clay sleeping peacefully, I suddenly smelled Herbal Essence. Anyone who has used that shampoo knows it has such a distinct smell. We don’t have any floral scent in our house, but yet the aroma was almost overwhelming, like I was holding the bottle right under my nose. And it stayed for several minutes. I thought it was odd, but didn’t give it too much thought until two days later. Then it hit me. There was absolutely no reason for me to smell Herbal Essence in our bedroom. If anything, our room smells like dog (thanks, Daisy and Scotland). I texted Katrina to ask if she knew what shampoo you used. I already knew the answer. Because scent is a way passed loved ones reach out to us, I knew you used Herbal Essence. I just knew it. She answered:

“I used his shampoo once and laughed. It was a girly shampoo…herbal essences…”

I absolutely lost it. But for the first time since you passed, they were tears of joy. You were in my room. You were saying hi. Of course my tears scared Clay because they came on so fast. He looked absolutely terrified as he asked if they were happy tears or sad tears. “Happy! Happy!” I cried. I’m so so grateful, Chris, that you continually remind me that you are still here with us. I’m so grateful I can call Mom and tell her about these experiences. I called her the minute I received that text from Katrina. Mom was at an anniversary party at our neighbors (remember the Schrimpf’s old house?), so stepped out to chat. The second I told her, she started to cry tears of relief. As I’ve said, I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child. As much as this hurts your sisters, as your mama I know her pain is tenfold. So knowing you’re okay, knowing you’re reaching out to your big sister to let her know you’re safe and happy, helps ease her suffering. Even if it’s brief. Your ways of reaching out remind me that you are where you are supposed to be. I’ve always always wanted nothing but for you to be happy and safe. And now you are. In so many ways, it’s everything I’ve prayed for. The way you finally found peace definitely isn’t what I had in mind. But I can’t change it. So keep reaching out, little brother. Please. Keep reminding me that you are okay. That you love us and are with us. Because we love you. Always.

Good night, lil bro.

Jenn

#grief #griefsupp #love #suicide #suicidesurvivor #survivor #family #hope #faith

2 notes · View notes