On this very day in 2007, I lost my brother Anthony (Tony) Joseph Bair, to suicide.
He chose to die, like 800,000+ others do every year, though, I do not believe for one second that he actually wanted to die. As I do not believe that 99.99% of people who die by suicide want to die, either.
I believe they, and my brother, wanted to live but did not know how to give meaning to their pain and exist with a purpose for life. If Tony had lived, maybe I’d be writing about his wedding, or a promotion to Head Football Coach of a Major University, or the birth of a child. Anything but his suicide, because this day would otherwise have no meaning to me.
I often think about what he’d be doing …
Would he and I still be as close as we were, or would life have pulled us in our own ways? He loved lifting weights and Football, because he was in his 20’s. Would he have gotten into Coaching after his playing career that he wanted to get back to? Would he have even gotten into football? Where would his career have taken him? Would he like some of the newer artists like Post Malone or Dua Lipa, like I do? …
We always had music that would cross over each others tastes. I was the one who introduced him to Hip Hop, among other finer things in life. Some of my best memories are our renditions of ‘Ain’t Nuthing But A G Thang’ where I would rap as Snoop and he would be Dr. Dre.
He was the one I was excited to share those weird things about myself with, like a love of Hip Hop, because he just ‘got me’. Those are some of the moments I find myself replaying in my head – where we just flowed and nothing needed to be said.
Our safe space was with each other, for awhile …
Our parents said to us that we would always be all we’d have.
Meaning that they wouldn’t be around forever and we’d need to rely on our siblings in life. It was like our own built in community of people we’d grown up with, that we could continue growing up with. Something familiar in the bleak shadows of life.
And in theory they were correct, except in practice, what they turned a blind eye to became what we had to endure. Not dealing with something yourself, means somebody else must.
Generational trauma rolls downhill quickly …
Does anybody simply take their own life because life is just so good they can’t stand it?
I don’t mean to be facetious, truly.
Hurt people hurt people, who hurt other people, until those who hurt too much either decide to stop hurting all together, or, decide to hurt less.
Suffering is optional, pain is inevitable …
The best parts of life are things and feelings that no-one can buy or manufacture. They are gifted to you by happenstance, if you’re lucky, for the nature of being is such that all you love will fade and die, which you must rectify – or, as we said earlier, pass on to someone else.
Children who have not been physically beaten or emotionally neglected by parents aren’t necessarily unabused. Kids who are unceremoniously deferred to the honor roll status of love may have it just as bad by consciously, or not, carrying the burden of the parent, the town, the country and the world that themselves has refused to do the work of not suffering as badly today as they did yesterday, by choosing not suffering at all, and instead, leaning into the pain and discomfort of organizing themselves in such a way as to give meaning to their pain, making suffering moot.
It’s how we move forward, on days we can’t …
The night I got home after losing my brother I found an essay he had written for college, in his bookbag.
I can tell you that I wanted to die after reading that essay, and it has haunted me every day since.
The only way I live with that was to process the pain of finding it without it re-traumatizing me and then share it, in my book, in a way that gave it more meaning than the weight of the initial shame and guilt.
I had to get naked and bare my truth, to me …
Finding out that you, like I, likely contributed to an environment that was so neglectful and full of pain that a person would literally choose death than to seek the comfort, love and support of their family and friends, is fucking unbearable.
Knowing that about myself makes me a monster, but, a better monster because I know I’m a monster – most people don’t know they are too. I just didn’t know it at the time that I had that in me, to be a monster. It will surprise you when your monster comes out, and you’ll have to face yours, or, someone else will.
What’s the best decision you’ve ever made?
Choosing not to immediately die after seeing what my brother thought of me before he died, is mine.
My life has been hard, miserable, painful, unbearable and yet, it has also been wondrous in so many ways that I’m not ready to die – I have chosen to give meaning to my suffering.
Have you been choosing suffering over meaning? Spill some truth below 😉