Trigger Warning: Suicide, PTSD


Disbelief. Shock. Confusion. Sadness. Denial. More sadness. Anger. Loss. Emptiness. Understanding. Purpose.

The hamburger was sizzling. Water, boiling. Vegetables, cut and waiting their turn. I reached for my phone and smiled when I saw a new text from my sister.

Then I read it:

“Keri is on the phone with Dad. Boyd just killed himself.”

Shock.

Keri is my sister-in-law. Boyd is my brother.

Somehow, I had the presence of mind to turn off the stove. I stumbled in confusion to find my husband upstairs. As I climbed the steps, I called out to him.

Anthony knew instantly that something was wrong.
“Boyd just killed himself,” I heard myself say.
Now Anthony joined me in this hell of emotions.

I began to cry. None of it made sense. Boyd and Keri had visited just three weeks before. He was fine. We were fine. Everything seemed fine. They stayed in our guest room. We laughed, played games, talked for hours—about life, about Dad’s declining health at the time. Boyd promised he would be there to help. He promised to lead the hard family conversations that were coming.

Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe the paramedics were working on him right now. He could survive. He had to. Medicine is powerful. And Boyd was a Marine. Boyd was strong. He was my big brother. My only brother.

But Boyd was also a good shot.

The grief was deep and surreal as we made funeral arrangements and booked travel. The services were beautiful and uniquely Boyd. I had never experienced a 21-gun salute before. Powerful is the only word that fits. I had never heard “Semper Fi” and “Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue” at a funeral either, but it was perfectly him.

As the details of that day emerged, the emptiness grew. I learned more about PTSD. I learned about a side of my brother he had hidden from me: the pain, the trauma, the desperate reach for help that was met with denial.

“We have no record of your PTSD. Sorry,” the VA told him when he needed support the most.

I don’t understand everything, but I know he’s no longer suffering. He’s not waking his family in the night, yelling at them to get down. I hope he’s found peace.

Those of us left behind are still trying to.

As I write this, his birthday was yesterday. He would have been 58.

Too young. Too tragic.

And, heartbreakingly, too common.

Twenty-two veterans die by suicide every day. Twenty-two.

There’s a great need to sow goodness in the world.

That’s where Suzie Sews Sunshine comes in. This is my purpose now—a place to spread light and good news. Every piece I sew is labeled with the date it was completed and something good that happened in the world that day.
 
There is so much good in the world, and I feel called to share it.

Thank you for visiting Suzie Sews Sunshine where proceeds are donated to STOP SOLDIER SUICIDE in Boyd’s honor and all the other unseen soldiers who are struggling. Every purchase helps me sow a little more light and hope where it’s needed most.