1996. This was not a time in the world where depression, mental illness or suicide were discussed or brought to light. I am not sure I even knew what any of it was. There was no “better together”, “bell lets talk” or anything like this. There was no awareness of any kind.
Yet, as we meet the doctor that pronounced my brothers time of death and we are asked if he had a history of depression….. my mom, my dad and I all answered yes. What in the %^*$*? How did we know this? We had never talked about it.
Did my brother have a history of depression? Well I think only he could answer that question. Are people who commit suicide depressed or do they suffer from other mental illness? I also think they are the only ones who can answer that question. All humans are different, we all cope and suffer differently. The levels of life and stress that we can handle is not the same.
Is there an incident that is the one that makes life too heavy? I think that is also individually decided. Maybe there were signs, but in 1996 we certainly didn’t know them. Kevin had trouble keeping a job and he was always needing money. He was gifted athletically and I feel like he had trouble accepting it when he didn’t make it to the levels he expected of himself. He also hid behind a lot of untruths. The summer before his death, he said he had a job working for the town. I actually do not know if he even had this job at all, or if he had it and was fired from it. He hid this from us, by getting up every morning and going to work then coming home when work was done – but he didn’t actually go to work and we don’t know where he went all day. Was this depression? I do not know, but I don’t need to.
My dad was very ill that summer. He had been diagnosed with cardiomyopathy. He spent many weeks in the hospital and we were very focused on him. Did we miss the signs of depression because of this? I do not know. My mom told me that she and Kevin had discussed dads illness and how serious it was. His response was that if he was ever that sick he would probably choose to end things himself rather than be in a hospital sick. After he took his life, my mom always felt like that was his way of asking her if it was ok.
The last weekend he came home he was so happy. His smile was captivating. Many of his friends remember this weekend as he made a point of stopping in to see them. In the aftermath, we all know that he had made his decision and he was feeling peaceful and he was home to say goodbye. I remember this weekend like it was yesterday.
A week later, he went to the mac’s store near his ex-girlfriends apartment(where he had been staying without her permission)and he stole cold medication capsules from the boxes (leaving the boxes on the shelf) and went back to her apartment. He took rat poison to thin his blood and then all of the cold medication and laid down on her couch and fell asleep and asphyxiated. She found him when she came back to Saskatoon that night to start her second year of university. This is the story the police and doctors pieced together from the apartment and his tox screen.
My brother always had many friends. He had a good heart. And he is still missed to this day by so many. Death leaves a big hole, that never gets filled. Suicide in my opinion leaves an even bigger hole. A friend of his told me that she felt we all played, loved and lived a little harder because he couldn’t. This is one of his parts in walking all of us home.
Walking Home 