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I thought I had made it through the living nightmare. Grief and depression had already carved their signatures into my life. &nbsp;They each left a path of destruction and left me with wounds that never truly closed. &nbsp;No matter how much time passes.And then the unimaginable happened. &nbsp;Again. &nbsp;The second call.Justin. &nbsp;Was gone.This can’t be happening! &nbsp;The same thought I had after receiving the first call, yet I believed this one instantly. &nbsp;It had a familiarity with it. &nbsp;A dark, haunting familiarity. &nbsp; Justin and I were only one year and three days apart in age. &nbsp;We were built-on-the-same-DNA best friends. &nbsp;True partners in crime.I’ve learned there’s a sound to your soul ripping apart. It doesn’t come with screaming or sobbing, not right away. It’s quiet at first. So quiet, you can feel it. &nbsp;It’s instantly paralyzing, and time stops.And there are no answers. &nbsp; Suicide bulldozes through a family’s sense of reality and rewrites everything in its path. There’s guilt, anger, overwhelming sadness, the inability to sleep, eat, or think. &nbsp;There’s profound silence, an instant void, and a lonely ache that can’t be described.If you’ve received a call like mine, you are not alone. If you carry hurt, let it out in language, in movement, in quiet sobs or furious dancing. &nbsp;Let it out however you must.This blog is my place to name pain and, eventually, to help others name theirs. I hope someday, someone reads this and feels just 1% less alone.For now, I breathe. I write. I remember.And I refuse to let silence win.

The Second Call

I will preface this blog post to say that this is hard. &nbsp;It’s unbelievably hard as it’s still, SO UNREAL. &nbsp;There is no preparation for the phone call. &nbsp; No muscle memory to rely on when your dad’s voice tells you that your brother killed himself.It feels like drowning in place, it’s gray, and unfathomable. I felt it before I could comprehend it. In fact, I didn’t believe it at first. &nbsp;The thoughts were flooding in; I was in shock and disbelief. His words dissolved midair, and my knees lost their grip on gravity. I lost every ounce of strength in my body, and my mind was racing in multiple directions. I was trembling, in a cold sweat, and instantly sobbing. &nbsp;A complete train wreck in the middle of my mom’s kitchen. &nbsp;But in those moments, I became the person who had to speak the unthinkable. I had to deliver the news that would unravel the woman who gave us all life. I had to look into our mom’s eyes and tell her that her baby, her son, had taken his own life.I can still feel the weight of it. It’s impossible heaviness.She stepped into the room, took one look at me and said, “Which one is it?” Not what’s wrong? Not what happened? “Which one is it?”I am a firm believer it was her mother’s intuition. Piercing and precise. Painful and final.I whispered, “Brian.”And she started to go down. &nbsp;It took every ounce of strength I had to get her to the couch.Before the silence could settle, my other brother Justin walked through the front door and joined us on the couch. His body folding into ours, into the shared ache, and empty space. His hands shook. His breath was shallow.And the three of us sat there. Not speaking. Not crying. Just lost.And barely breathing.Time didn’t pass. It paused. Inside that living room, we were somewhere else. &nbsp;We were weightless, wordless, lost in disbelief and profound sadness.

The First Call

Concept of sending a love message on Valentine Day with hope.

Welcome to SaPPoS - Siblings, Parents, and Pals of Suicide.&nbsp; While I'm happy you're here, I am 100% sad, and devestated by what brought you here.&nbsp; The hope and goal of SaPPoS is to bring forward real stories of suicicde survivors.&nbsp; To show the raw, cold, lonely place of grief and to learn and share what others have gone through on their journies.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;Grief is a language we never expect to learn, yet somehow, we find ourselves forced to speak it fluently. After losing two brothers to suicide, I was left with an ache too deep for words and a silence that stretched endlessly. The world kept spinning, and I found myself searching for meaning.&nbsp; Something beyond just existing through the pain. I needed a way to honor my brothers, navigate the rawness of loss, and connect with others who understood this journey.This blog was born out of that need.Suicide loss is unlike any other. We’re left with guilt, overwhelming sadness, anger, and a whole lot of what if's, why’s, and if only’s. Siblings, parents, and close friends, each experience the loss differently, yet we are all bound by the weight of missing someone we loved deeply. We are survivors, not just of tragedy, but of the journey and life that follows.Through this space, I hope to share the reality of suicide loss.&nbsp; The unspoken moments, the raw emotions, and the slow, uneven path toward healing. But more than that, I want to hear your stories. I want us to create a community where grief is not hidden, where we speak openly, and where remembrance is not just painful, but powerful.Loss reshapes us, but it does not have to define us. By sharing, supporting, and listening to one another, we can find strength in the connections we build. If you’ve ever felt alone in your grief, I hope this space reminds you that you are seen, your pain is valid, and healing, however it looks for you, is possible.&nbsp; For that, I am happy you are here.&nbsp;&nbsp;Let’s walk this path together.&nbsp; We are not alone.&nbsp;&nbsp;

Welcome to SaPPoS!

SaPPoS

I'm building a blog about sibling, parents, and pals - survivors of suicide.  I am sharing my personal story and encouraging other survivors to share theirs.  The name of the blog is SaPPoS

Lato

Barlow

Epilogue

Arvo

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Poppins

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