At 11 years of age I visited my brother in the hospital. I really didn’t know what happened to him. I was only told that he was sick, I was too young to understand, and I never shed a tear.
At 12 Years old I was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for my mother to feed me lunch when my brother, who was sitting across from me began to speak to me. He referred to me as “Susan” and asked what I was doing here… I just laughed because I was 12 and I was unaware of what my brother was going through and possibly too young to truly comprehend.
In the summer of my 15th year I came home from school and noticed my brother’s bedroom door open. This was quite strange as he always kept it shut. I entered and seen my brother trying to get up from the bed, but he wasn’t having much luck. I remember him looking at me as if he wanted my help or at the very least wished to communicate something to me. He said “pills”. It took me a few seconds to realize that the bottle of pills next to his bed was open, and empty. I proceeded to call my mother, she was at work. She called an ambulance and I waited. I visited my brother in the hospital once again and once again didn’t truly understand why. I never shed a tear, I was confused. Why would he do such a thing, I didn’t understand it.
Shortly after my 19th birthday I received a call from my Mother. She said that Darin was in the hospital and I should come home. I left my friends house and came home right away. My mother and I went to the Montreal General Hospital where my brother was brought to. I was told that he had some problems with his heart and he was on a “heart machine”. I visited several times over the next few days. Although I knew in the back of my head what had happened, nobody spoke of it and still, I never cried.
The following years seemed to be better. My brother found a girlfriend, moved away and got a stable job for a while.
I think I was about 27 when he moved back. He was no longer working and was having relationship issues. I never really knew the details because we did not talk much. At least not about the details.
On May 8 1997, when I was 30 Years of age, the greatest moment of my life came to pass. My son Brandon was born. I remember Darin holding Brandon for the first time and thinking, everything is good now. He called Brandon Smiley because even though Brandon was in and out of the hospital and often sick, he always smiled and laughed.
Late November of that year, on my birthday, I received a call from my brother. He apologized for not being there. He said that he was at the hospital again. He told me that earlier he was on the Jacques Cartier Bridge and was contemplating jumping off when a stranger came to him and asked if he needed help. This stranger drove him to the hospital. I never visited Darin in the hospital, but we spoke on the phone at length. I asked some questions so maybe, just maybe I might understand. I felt sorrow and still confusion, but I never cried.
Dec 18, 1997, approx. 6:30 PM A knock on the door. I could barely hear it, I was listening to some music which seemed quite important to me because I remember not wanting to open the door, so I could finish the song. A second and louder knock came. I went to the door. I remember feeling annoyed, how dare somebody interrupt my music.
Two police officers were there when I finally opened the door. The first words spoken was a request to lower the music and I thought to myself, who called the police to complain about my music? It wasn’t even that loud!
When I returned to the door the policeman asked me my name and if I knew Darin Gardner? I answered. He proceeded to inform me that my brother was dead and asked if I would be able to come with them to Identify his body… I was stunned and hesitated. You know that thing you do when you need more time to process, I asked “what?” and Before he could repeat himself, I said “OK” and went to get a coat and my shoes.
Dec 18 1997, Approx. 7:30 PM I was led down a non descript hallway to a non descript doorway and led to a set of non descript curtains. A doctor, or at least that is what I perceived him to be, asked if I was ready. I remember thinking “NO!” and I said “yes…”
I will certainly not go into detail about what I saw, but I will say that even more than 20 years later that image is still engrained into my very being. Suffice to say, it was Darin. I did not shed a tear.
I did not cry, I called a friend of my parents because my mother was visiting that night and I informed them. I did not cry, I proceeded to call my Father and the Mother of my Son and I did not cry. I called my boss at home and informed him I wouldn’t be at work an still no tears.
Over the years I thought back on those days, trying to make any kind of sense out of it. But I didn’t understand, couldn’t understand! I never cried…
Feb 17 2018 in the early afternoon, I had been sick that week and missed a day of work. I was so sick that I could no longer speak, and I was reading a book I had picked up a while back but hadn’t had the chance to read it. Turtles all the way down, by you, John Green. Not only a favored author but also a favored human being.
“I wish I understood it.” she said.
“it’s ok.” I said “Nobody gets anybody else, not really. We’re all stuck inside ourselves.”
“You just, like, hate yourself? You hate being yourself?”
“There’s no self to hate. It’s like, when I look into myself, there’s no actual me—just a bunch of thoughts and behaviours and circumstances. And a lot of them just don’t feel like they’re mine”
That blurry, almost completely faded image of my brother’s face appeared in my mind. He was smiling as if to tell me, now you understand.
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