Tyler Hurn
My brother, Kaleb, passed away over two years ago. I came home from school early on the 3rd of April 2014, at around 12–12.30ish. My brother never came home from uni that night. I remember seeing my brother’s jandals by the backdoor the next morning, but I never thought anything of it. Returning home at around 12, Mum and I walked out the backdoor and into our backyard to find him. My first thought was to protect my Mum, so I pulled her back to where she couldn’t see him, my hand covering her eyes. I had to call the Police and an Ambulance, and I found his note that was placed so perfectly on his bed.
My brother was the only person in the world who I could relate to about my childhood; he was the only person who went through everything with me. If I have children; he would’ve been the only uncle on my side. If I got married, he would’ve been the best brother in law. I lost a person who I was the proudest of in my life. I still aspire to be like him, to be as smart, kind, and as generous as him. I didn’t just lose a brother; I lost one of my biggest role models. One of the hardest things for me to deal with is that for every milestone I go through now, I know I should have celebrated it with Kaleb first. He was one year and ten months older than me. On my 18th birthday I struggled to deal with it, because I felt guilty that I got to celebrate it, but Kaleb never did. I feel guilty because I want him to be here so much and he deserves to celebrate it. I would give anything for him to be here still.
After Kaleb’s suicide I couldn’t sleep without having a light on because I was too scared. This carried on for around seven months, and to this day I still sleep with my light on at least once a week. I couldn’t be home alone, so every day after school I would go to my friend’s house until my Mum came and picked me up. This carried on ‘till we moved house. I couldn’t walk down the hallway of my own home alone. I couldn’t hang out my washing on my own because it was in the backyard. I still have nightmares and bad dreams that stem from Kaleb’s death. I struggle to deal with the fact that if I had been home just one hour earlier, that I might have been able to save Kaleb, my only sibling.
One of the hardest things about losing a sibling to suicide is that you begin to feel as though you’re second best. I let my feelings become irrelevant, I wanted to protect both of my parents and all my friends by letting them think that I’m feeling fine and that I’m coping well. My parents are trying to deal with the loss of their own son; they don’t need to deal with my emotions on top of that. I’m slowly learning that they prefer to know how I’m feeling. I still don’t talk about how I feel very much, but I am trying.
My parents will never lose me to suicide, and I want to stop as many parents losing their children to suicide as possible. In New Zealand there were 569 suicides in the 2014/2015 year. Every single one of those people is someone’s son or daughter. It is so important to bring that number down, and to end the stigma and taboo that surrounds the topic of suicide. It should have media coverage just like depression, domestic violence, and road safety have. The more people that feel that it’s okay to talk about it, the more people that will give themselves an opportunity to be saved.
