Letter 14

January 18, 2015

Dear Jesse,

I’ve often thought about how you left this world, how you chose what the final act of your life would look like, and I fucking hate it. I hate the last scene. One thing I have commonly heard from those left picking up the pieces of a suicide or a drug addict overdosing has been this,

 “I will remember them not as a drug addict or person who decided to end their life, but as the person they were before it all.”

 As I wrote to you before, the only way through something is just that- through it. I think it would be total denial if I were to walk around after your death only speaking about your “good sides” or the “good work” you did here while still alive. In my opinion, in order to be able to genuinely celebrate the authentic person, you have to accept all parts of them, even the final scene in which their curtain closed. Because of your choices while still alive, there will never be, Jesse Brittell, without the reality that he took his own life.

It’s in your final script.

It’s set in stone.

It can never be rewritten.

Through me sorting through this situation publicly, people will eventully be able to focus in on the beautiful works of your life, your unique contributions, but not without understanding all of you. You can’t have one and not the other. It’s not about staying stuck at the timeline of your demise, but rather about acceptance. I can accept all of you and still disagree with your choices, but it’s a process.

A painful one at that.

This is the part I think many survivors get stuck at and so the focus then becomes about only the good and lets push aside the ugly and uncomfortable. No judgment, just observation and insight from my own journey. When something devastating like a suicide or drug overdose happens in a family, the journey to healing is forever defined by the initial trauma. Like the sayings go, Without light there is no darkness, without sadness there is no happiness, and without life there is no death. And in your situation and mine, there is no Jesse without the decision he had made to take his life. There is no ignoring, just the journey of slowly accepting the final act.

One day my son, Dylan, will learn about you. Your life and your beauty, but he was also learn about your final chapter. This is where my lifes work and my choices will be beyond important. This is where I’m consciously breaking the cycle. This is where I am not just living for myself but I am living for the next generation. I am living for my son. I need him to see that his mother picked herself up even when the pain had been so great she too felt like she wanted to die. I need him to see that transcending is possible, that belief in ones’ self and own strength is as important as the air he breathes.

I need him to know that he can persevere in the midst of an excruciating situation.

I’ve often thought about that time you found mom when she had tried to drink herself to death. I’ve thought about what her choice silently spoke to you as a child and I often wonder if it was still whispering in your ear when you took your own life.

I miss you terribly, Jess.

(Jesse & Dylan 2012)

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Letter 13