This week we welcome Melissa, a sister grieving the loss of her sister AnnMarie. Since becoming a survivor I have found that suicide loss impacts every culture, every religion, and every age group. We thank Melissa for her courage to share her story. Melissa’s family created a foundation in honor of AnnMarie. They are working diligently to help our youth, a population that has seen an increasing amount of suicide rates. For more information, visit AnnMarie’s Foundation.

Melissa’s Story:

Visit museums in the city. Go get ice cream. Have play dates with our bunnies. These were just a few of the “to-dos” over the summer that my little sister, AnnMarie, wanted to accomplish. We discussed these plans on Sunday, June 9th. And on Monday, June 10th 2013, I received a phone call that would forever change my life.

You know how people would say they could remember exactly what they were doing, what they were wearing, where they were when something terribly tragic happened in their life? I was grateful to never have really been in that group. But on that Monday, I became part of a club that I would NEVER want to belong to. I remember what I was doing before I received the horrible call from my brother that a police officer was coming to pick me up. I remember what clothes I was wearing. I remember what the weather was like. It feels like that day was yesterday, and it’s been almost 2 years. My sister was only 11 years old when she lost her life due to suicide. AnnMarie was more like a daughter to me than a sister. I was 17 when my mom had her, so technically I was at an age where I could’ve been a teen mom. Both of my parents worked full-time, so my brother and I helped take care of AnnMarie. I loved every second of it (though I will be the first to admit that over the years I would complain about having to babysit. In hindsight, I wish I never made a fuss about it). I would feed her if she woke up in the middle of the night. I picked her up from preschool, took her to birthday parties, and even brought her with me to meetings at work. She was my little shadow, my mini-me. She wanted to be just like me and do everything that I did.

After arriving at my parents’ house and finding out exactly what had happened, the different emotions that surged through my body were so intense. I was devastated, confused, but most of all, I was mad. How the hell could an 11 year old commit suicide?! I don’t think I even knew what suicide was at her age. I am starting to realize now that kids these days are far more advanced in their knowledge of subjects that at one point rarely were in their vocabularies, and that is a scary thing. I was inconsolable, and that was hard on my husband, who tried to stay strong for the both of us. My parents could barely think straight, so when it came time to making final arrangements for my sister, I jumped into the parent role and picked the funeral home, her outfit, everything. I even made a list of exactly how I wanted her hair, makeup and nails done. By the time the funeral came, I was out of tears. People were looking at me funny, as if to say “why isn’t she crying? What is wrong with her?” Even when I helped the funeral director pack everything around her and close AnnMarie’s casket I didn’t cry. But by this point I felt like none of what I was experiencing was real. I was going through the motions for someone else. It wasn’t MY sister that I was standing next to at the wake. It wasn’t MY sister that was just buried. I was surely living someone else’s life.

It has almost been two years since AnnMarie’s death, and most of the time it still doesn’t seem real. I think my mind just doesn’t want to accept what is the truth. Everyone told me the first year would be the worst. I actually find that to be incorrect. The first year is when you are still numb. You don’t register that your loved one is no longer there celebrating the holidays with you. The second year has been harder. That’s when I realized that she really isn’t here, and she really isn’t coming back. She has missed so many things and will continue to do so. I’m hoping to be a mother soon; how could I possibly be completely ecstatic about that when my future child’s aunt will not be here to celebrate with me? It’s thoughts like that that really bother me. People will comment on how I’m doing so well. I thank them, of course, but it is a lie. I am not doing well, I just put on a brave face because I still need to work and function in society. My favorite time of the day is right when I wake up because, for those few minutes, I forget everything horrible that has happened and I feel normal. Then reality sets in and I have to go back to being able to function. It’s exhausting.

I haven’t yet allowed myself to dwell on the “why” of AnnMarie’s death. I do wonder if I missed signs or cues that she displayed, but the truth is I will never know why she died. I don’t think, even if I pieced together whatever clues I could find, I would fully be able to grasp why this seemingly happy little girl decided to end her life. Was she hiding something from her family, like depression? I will never know, and to focus on that will only make me crazy since I will never get the answers. Every day without her is a struggle. I sometimes catch myself about to call or text her when something funny happens, but then I realize I can’t and that feeling of overwhelming sadness washes over me. I know she’s with me in spirit-she gives me little signs here and there. But I will be honest and say that the signs are not enough. I am selfish and I want her here. Every day without her is a struggle, but I am hoping that over time it will get a bit easier for me.