CHAPTERS 11 & 12

NOTE:  This is the time period I realized that I now lived by a different calendar than all others. Kind of like Christian’s view of B.C. & A.D. My new calendar had started August 18, 1968 “Before Suicide & After Suicide". A very memorable first anniversary for all the wrong reasons. This is the unedited version of Chapters 11 and 12.

 

CHAPTER 11:  SUMMER OF ‘69

Summer is nice. We can smoke pot anytime we want to. Joe has new friends. Some of my old friends and some new, cool kids that we have met since Joe started getting high. The only thing I see wrong with these guys is that when they get high, they laugh and seem to have a good time. They get high to enjoy themselves, not just to feel normal like we do.

They must not know what’s really going on in this miserable world. In a lot of ways, they remind me of the kids at school. Why don’t people get it? How can anyone be the same as they were prior to August of 1968?

Summer is bringing on a new problem, and it’s been hurting bad, every day now for about a month straight. When we are nearing the first anniversary of my suicide. There is no real physical pain. I just hear the sound of the gun shot and feel the exploding of the head being relived several times a day. There was no physical pain the first time with the actual shot to remember either. There was just the sound of the shot and that feeling of being lost.

It does not take much to make the recall happen, just a couple of moments of silence and we are there in the room again. This new thing happening is not only hard on me but it is tearing Joe apart. Him and I had both seen the aftermath. But before now Joe had never had to live with the moment of impact.

He had never been in the room before when the shot happened or seen the initial explosion of the head before. By the time Joe had made it back to the room last August most of what was going to drip from the bunks had already done so. Now he was getting to see what it was like immediately after the shot from my point of view.

Joe wants to tell people about this, but he knows they would only think he was nuts. How do you tell people that not only are you possessed by your dead brother’s spirit, but that you are also having to relive the actual moment of death, the impact of the bullet and explosion of the head.

There are already enough people that feel we need serious help. Most of the people who know what happened that night just pity Joe. I’m not going to encourage him to talk to anyone, because there is no one out there that really knows what life is about. They are all living in a make-believe world. My world is the only real world.

And sometimes I think even my world may just be a bad dream. A nightmare that is lived over and over. When will I wake up from this? I really wonder how many other people live their day-to-day life thinking that they are actually asleep and the whole world including each individual person around them are part of that dream. Everything that happens to you, your wife and kids may just depend on the beans that are giving you indigestion as you sleep. The death of a friend or relative is just a character being removed from your sleep induced soap opera. There have been many days while I am wide awake, fully aware of everything around me, yet still wondering when will I wake up.

The summer of 1969 is almost gone, and we’ll have to give school another try. I’m sure this will be the year I quit school. I did it at fourteen last time and it didn’t hurt me. It’s impossible for me to live in my world and try to fit into theirs. There are a lot of adults there that want to stick their nose in my business. They think they can learn something from my experience. They pretend they want to help. I know the truth. It is just like it was my first time around, they really wish dealing with kids like me wasn’t a mandatory part of their job.

CHAPTER 12:  WE JUST STOPPED GOING

As the weeks go by, school is almost non-existent. We only go there a few times each week. Usually late, if at all. Last year we let school interfere with smoking pot. Most of Joe’s teachers knew that he smoked pot. But I think they knew that was pretty common for teenagers of the 1960s. And most of them know he is trying to get over a tragedy in his life. None of them say anything about either the tragedy or the high.

Even the counselors have stopped trying to talk to him now. I think we all know that I have no

interest or reason to be in school. In the 1960s there was not any kind of a good crisis intervention at the school level. And even outside of the school setting subjects like suicide were not talked about much. When my suicide was discussed, it was done behind Joe’s back, never wanting to upset him. Really never getting the single person involved that was still living with the aftermath, not only living it daily, but minute by minute.

At this age Joe was now starting to look like an athletic young man but he did not participate in any organized sports. He was a bright young man with an IQ of 123 yet was flunking almost every subject at school. Even when he was physically in class his mind was somewhere else.

He set alone at lunch. Other students wanted to befriend Joe, even to try to help him through his problems. We wanted no part of their help. Our life was so different from everyone else’s it was like we spoke a different language. We could not even hear their words, our always present ugly thoughts drowned out the noise that was coming from their faces.

When these people invaded our space, we made sure they knew they were not welcome and we were more than willing to fight to be left alone. Instant explosion was now the norm. Joe had been pretty much of a wimp on his own. Now with our combined strength no one could beat us.

The fighting, smoking pot and lack of regular attendance did not match the school’s expectations of Joe. Shortly after mid-year of the ninth grade, we were out of there. We just stopped going. No one from the school or the family ever tried to get Joe to go back. Again it was becoming evident that the world did not need me and I surely did not need them.

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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.