My Brother’s Death Was All My Fault
At least, that’s what my sister-in-law says
I have two brothers and was always very close with one of them. My connection with Kevin, the youngest, was deep from the start. At times we were each other’s best friends, and throughout our lives, I was the first and sometimes only one he trusted with his secrets. As a teenager, I would allow (invite) my 8-years-younger brother to hang out with me and my friends when we went to the movies, the park, or wherever it is that teenagers end up when everything’s closed.
As for the other one, Ken, we never had much of a relationship. Only two years apart in age, we were a thousand miles distant in our non-relationship. Things were always awkward between us, for reasons unclear to me but likely due to some social/personal deficits he appears to have. His relationship with each of our parents has always been delicate as well. I have never had the sense that he liked me. I always felt barely tolerated. Kevin felt some distance from Ken as well.
When the three of us were in our 40s, my beloved brother Kevin passed away. August 2020. Suicide. The day he died was one of the most traumatic days of my life. Although I’ve seen and lived through more pain than any Lifetime Movie could handle, Kevin’s death outranked it all.
My brother Ken’s wife was the one to respond to the scene of death because everyone else was hundreds or thousands of miles away at the time.
This woman has previously caused problems with our parents as well as myself. One time when my parents were visiting, they ended up leaving abruptly — Mom in tears — to stay in a hotel because of some things this woman said to her. I don’t know whether Ken was aware of that.
We all suspect the woman is bipolar at best, possibly worse. Regrettably, she was the one to show up when Kevin died, at such a monumental time in our lives, but there was no option.
Ken’s wife is the one who read the suicide note before it was taken by the authorities. She lied to the rest of us about what it said. It wasn’t her place to say anything at all, let alone make things up to try and offer false comfort. She may have meant well at the time. But when caught in her lie, she didn’t apologize and say “I meant well but I’m sorry.” No, instead she got insanely defensive.
This woman called me in a manic rage and said a dozen-plus hurtful, cruel, and untrue things about me, including calling me a liar who doesn’t take responsibility, always tries to make everything about me, saying I’m mentally ill, always causing drama, etc. She told me I need to read my Bible. Even knowing that she is insane and that none of her statements had any basis in reality, it was (and still is) shocking and hurtful to me — even more so with my being in the throes of grief for the sudden loss of the brother I loved so much.
As she spewed all her vile thoughts onto me, she would not allow me a single word. When I hung up on her, she immediately called me back — and in my shock, I foolishly answered her second call. Fortunately, as she hurled more abuse at me she was on speakerphone and my husband heard every disgusting word, so I had his support.
Then she said one more thing. The one thing that went too far. “No wonder he killed himself,” she said, “You treated him so horribly. Now you have to live with it being your fault.” My husband took the phone from me and disconnected the call. The woman kept trying to call back, but he shielded me from her and did not answer.
I have examined myself deeply against this woman’s claims. Those who know me, my brothers, and our family dynamic assure me that there is no merit to what Ken’s wife said to me about the suicide being my fault. None. But at the time, her attack hit me in the deepest part of my heart, preyed on my fears, and took advantage of the grief and self-doubt that suicide brings to its victim’s survivors. I barely slept for about a month, lost weight, and cried without warning at random moments. I feared that she was right, that Kevin had confided something to her about me and that I had somehow hurt him unknowingly.
I started to believe that I had killed the person I had loved so much. The woman’s words had caused me to wish for death myself.
I have never felt that I could tell Ken about all the things his wife said to me. I doubt there’s any point. I’m not interested in intentionally hurting him or causing drama or marital strife. My parents never told him about her verbal attack on my mom, either. Ken likely has enough stress in having to live with and manage his wife’s mental issues.
So instead, Ken has heard only his wife’s side of things and not the truth. I’m sure it hasn’t been favorable towards me. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she told him that I was the one who called and verbally assaulted her. I don’t think it would even matter to Ken that I have a witness who can verify first-hand that she attacked me.
More recently, The Wife has called and texted my mom to complain about me. One of her text rants went on for page after page, even with no response from Mom. The woman passive-aggressively tried to influence my mom in her favor, against me, under the guise of being “concerned about Kristy.” With Mom’s memory fading slowly into an Alzheimer’s abyss, this woman was trying to gaslight her. She spewed page upon page of her self-righteous “concerns” onto my mom, trying to make me out to be a horrible person.
Mom called me, sobbing so intensely that I could barely make out what she was saying. We later agreed that it would be best to delete the texts and block the woman from Mom’s phone — it was just far too distressing for her. The woman also contacted my aunt, my cousin, and who knows how many others. They found it bizarre and unsettling. Then she abruptly blocked us all on social media.
So now, Ken does not communicate with me. For over two years I occasionally called or texted a simple, friendly “hello” or “how are you doing?” He hasn’t responded once since September of 2020 — just a few weeks after we lost Kevin. I have since given up. I suspect he has blocked my number. He doesn’t treat my mom much better.
I wonder about something: if/when Ken’s marriage falls apart, perhaps then he will be willing to be a part of the family again. Honestly, I suspect not. It may just be who he is and who he always has been.
I started this story with four words, “I have two brothers.” I should have said I had two brothers.
Now I have none.
*note: names have not been changed, as there are no innocents to protect.
