Jer

19 years ago today my brother Jeremiah killed himself. There is some difference of opinion between me and other members of my family as to what his death was. I think there is an opinion that it was an accident. My father would always say Jer was "horsing around". That is one of the phrases he used to describe his death. I don't think my father ever said the words "he committed suicide". But my opinion is that his death was a noteless suicide.

I was eleven on the night of May 6th 1992. My mother and I were at Porter elementary school for my band concert. I played the clarinet. I remember squeaking my way through "twinkle twinkle little star", then after the concert and back in the band room claiming that is was "the saxophones" when Trevor Ashby called me out on ruining the concert. Sometimes it is just hard to admit what really happened, and I get that.

I had reason to hate my older brother. I think pleanty of 11-year old girsl might say the same thing about their 14-year old brothers. And I did hate him. I didn't try to hide it either. I remember running into the house to grab my babysitting money so my mom and I could eat at Taco Bell after the concert. Jeremiah was playing video games in the front room and asked me what we were doing and where we going.

"No where and you can't come" was my answer. These were the last words I ever spoke to him. When we returned from Taco Bell and a quick trip to Wal-Greens there were emergency vehicles at our house and lights flashing. My mom kept saying "Sarah, tell me that's not our house". It was. We arrived moments before my brother's body was carried into an ambulance.

From that moment to the point of my parent's return from the hospital these are the things I remember:

• My sister, Delaina, who had left our faith years before suggested we gather as a family (siblings only) and pray. This was a clue that the situation was serious.



• Jeremiah's dog "Bar-b-Que" barking hysterically in the backyard while the EMTs moved about our house.



• Looking at the floor while Bab-b-Que barked after I received a pitiful look from one of the EMTs.



• They left a pillow at our house (the EMTs) and for weeks I wondered if they were going to come back to our house and ask for it back. I was eleven remember.



• Church people outside the house and inside the house. Sister Huber was putting dishes away and folding kitchen towels while my parents were gone at the hospital. I remember she asked me how my mom kept the kitchen towels so white. I had the good humor to suggest she used bleach and smile.

My parents came home. We sat on the sectional couch waiting for the news and my dad choked out "Jeremiah's gone". Sister Huber closed the cupboard and walked out of the kitchen. I like her, but ever since that moment I wondered if she just realized she didn't need to be yards away cleaning our kitchen at such a moment, OR if she waited long enough to get the information she wanted and then went outside to tell everyone else. In a non-menacing way I think it was probably both.

Jeremiah's death shaped my family like water creates canyons. My father never ever recovered. I spent years feeling guilty. My grandmother moved in and the house went through major remodeling. My brother Josh decided to embrace the gospel of our faith and made changes that enabled him to build stregnthen his testimony of the savior and serve a mission for our church. For years I cultivated resentment towards my parents, especially my father for things he said to me about the way I treated my brother just a few days after his death. In college at the admonition and encouragement of my best friend Rebecca I met with a BYU counselor to hash out my childhood, focusing specifically on Jeremiah's death. But, it wasn't until I held a baby boy of my own, my Evan, that I finally started to comprehend the devastation my parents must have suffered. A realization that came a few weeks too late for me to admit it to my father.

Now that I am a mom and I can see how insanely close to Mother's day my brother's death was I think of my mother. She is a saint.

Now when I think of my brother I say a little prayer for his soul. I pray that God will forgive my brother for the choices he made in this world. I pray that God will forgive him for taking his life. When I get upset about my father's death I close my eyes and imagine that my father and Jeremiah are building a house together. I envision a sunny late afternoon with sawdust and jeans and a little furry Bar-b-Que walking about them. I imagine that they are working together to build the perfect home for my mother. It brings me peace and makes me smile to think of this. Of course, at this exact moment I am crying my eyes out, but usually it makes me smile.

I want to wrap this post up more poetically but truthfully if I leave my baby girl in her high chair any longer she is never going to forgive me and I am late for a smoothie party with Tatum so I will just end it like this.