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My brother died by suicide two years ago. I am not who I used to be. And that's OK.

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The pace of private messages is gaining speed as the second anniversary of my brother’s death approaches.
These notes are not from close friends and …

The pace of private messages is gaining speed as the second anniversary of my brother’s death approaches. These notes are not from close friends and family. For the most part, they come from people I have never met, but we know one another well. They, too, have lost a loved one to suicide, and many of them have helped me understand that time will offer no resolution. Two years, seven years,40 years later – it doesn’t matter. Those unanswered questions will remain. I have learned so much from these survivors, who embody the courageous part of love. They share their stories, and I see glimpses of my own. We want to believe what others tell us, that there was nothing we could have done to prevent such a tragedy. But as most humans understand, no act of forgiveness is more difficult than the one we seek to bestow upon ourselves. I am publicly acknowledging the anniversary of a loved one’s suicide for all those survivors who feel they cannot. There is no deadline for this grief, and yet it comes with a presumed obligation that we not make others uncomfortable. The people who love us most want us to act as if this is all behind us. The people who love us best understand the toll of that pretense.

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