Chapter Three: 1 Bullet.

This is where the ending began. Not really, there were so many other things leading up to the destruction of this young man. But his life as he knew it would not make it out of this chapter.

There would be no mistaking my intention this time. Everyone would hear and understand the seriousness of the problem when I was done tonight. I had stashed one bullet that fit my dad’s eight millimeter (8mm) carbine. I forced my 14-year-old stepsister, Marie, to sit in the bedroom with me while I wrote a five-page suicide note. Her spelling was better than mine and I wanted to at least get the note right.

My twelve-year-old, younger brother Joe was in the living room crying, having just seen me carry the rifle into the bedroom that him and I shared. He knew something terrible was about to happen and he even tried to call the police. If the current 911 emergency system had existed in 1968 in our area I might still be alive today. Looking up and dialing the number to the police department gave others time to stop him from calling. He was stopped by my stepsister’s boyfriend, Dwayne.

Dwayne was the only other person that was in the house at the time. Marie’s boyfriend was older than any of us, and a regular at the house, of course he was always high along with everyone else. My cousin Robert had just gone outside. Robert and I had spent most of the evening together drinking and getting high.

What a pest my little brother was being. What was he thinking? Here all the rest of us in the house were high and he was about to call the police just because he had seen me with a rifle. Good thing Dwayne was there to stop that call. What did Joe want to do, get me arrested? After all, I really wasn’t going to go through with the suicide, and the police were the last thing a stoned 16-year-old boy needs to deal with.

Everyone in the house hated to see the police coming to the door. Especially me, and especially now. Too many times the police would make us turn down our music, hide our pot from them and end a good party early. I had to talk to the police many times about the parties, drugs, and noise, but never about having a gun in the house.

I stuck my head out of the bedroom once during the time period that I spent writing the note and assured my brother I wasn’t going to do anything and that he should quit his whining. He could either quit his whining or I would kick the shit out of him. Joe was always whining about something. He didn’t like my getting high. It was cutting into our time together.

Joe still thought like a kid and thought we should be playing baseball together or something stupid like that. He was twelve now, time to grow up. I knew I was all he had, but that wasn’t my choice. We were still too close for me to fool him. I had been a mother, father and brother to him since our mother had left and our father had moved into the Water Hole Bar in 1962.

Parenting was another responsibility and pain in the ass I really didn’t need or ask for. I was only ten years old when taking care of my little brother became my burden. Anyway, my note was almost finished. I had business to do. I had not really given a lot of thought as to how I was going to create a good near miss with this thing, somehow do damage, make a lot of noise, but live through it. I thought that was really what I wanted.

I was ready. I had the rifle muzzle stuck against the left side of my head. How could I get out of this one? I had never even shot a gun, except our B.B. gun. I had no real idea what this would do. I was fairly sure it would get the job done. But what was it that I really wanted to get done? Would I have a chance to change my mind? I was really going to look foolish this time.

After going this far everyone would think I was a coward if I didn’t do something big. No one would ever believe I was really going to hurt myself again. Without some serious injury this time the threat of suicide

would never have an impact on anyone. Lynn, dad, mom and the family would all know that I was just blowing smoke at them with the empty threats.

Since a rifle was involved this time, my dad would probably make me go for some serious evaluation. No, he loved me. I could talk him out of it; he would not make me go. Hell with it. I’m going to do this. No, let me call Lynn again first. Talking to her could help me through this. Hell with it, I’m going to do this! Wait, what was that explosion? What have I done? I’ve really pulled the trigger. That happened a lot quicker than I thought.

No turning back now.

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**Reach out to me at any time. 

I am not only willing, but I also look forward to taking a share of your pain. Email: David@bondedabrotherslove.com. You will get a caring same day response.

Nothing scripted. 

You are not alone, and you matter.

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If You’re Struggling

If you or someone you love or know is in a dark place, please know you’re not alone and there is help available. Reaching out is a sign of strength, not weakness. There are people ready to listen, ready to walk with you, and ready to help.

Immediate assistance is available:

National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline  

📞 988

Veterans Crisis Line  

📞 1-800-273-8255 (Press 1) | 📱 Text 838255

Survivor Support / Crisis Group  

🌐 https://www.crisishotline.org  📞 832-416-1177

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💡 If you know someone who needs to hear that they are not alone, share this story. Together, we can create echoes of hope that outlast the pain.

For more than five decades, I carried this story in silence. Silence nearly broke me, but telling it is what keeps hope alive.

Bonded: A Brother’s Love : One Bullet. A Thousand Echoes my hope is that it offers understanding, connection, and even a reason to hold on when life feels unbearable.

📖 Order your copy today and join me in breaking the silence. Together we can spread hope, honor the lost, and change the future.