Nearly 48 hrs ago, I was staring down into my brother's grave; panicked and uncertain of what the next crucial moments would hold. Was my brother already dead? Was he waiting in the bushes to make a spectacle of his suicide? Was he somewhere nearby where we could save him? I hear my Dad say, "I looked in the trees to see if he hung himself," and shivers run up my spine. The fearful thoughts came so quickly and I could barely catch my breath, my hands shaking around my phone as I feverishly messaged my brother's friends to see if they had talked to him that day.
     An officer looked at us and said, "This is 10x what we deal with in the way of suicide. You need to prepare yourself that this could be really bad." I look back down at the grave and imagine my brother digging and have to shake back into the present moment. There is talk of a dog who may be able to get his scent and look for him. There are efforts to triangulate his location, when we get a text from him. He is alive, but won't tell us where he is. My heart races again as I worry about his girlfriend and if he is endangering her.
     We move away from the mosquito filled woods surrounding the grave to the parking lot at the front of the farm. I call my Mom and have to tell her that her son is in trouble; voice shaking, tears now making an appearance on my face. I start panicking again, only comforted by the chatter of the officer nearby who says they have my brother in custody and ar transporting him to the hospital.
     The rest of the night felt like a blur, mixed with uncomfortable interactions with my parent's significant others and my Mom and Dad seemingly unable to step outside themselves to see the situation with clear eyes. There is too much pain and dysfunction here. I stand there, with the world spinning around me, attempting to put out fire after fire. My brother is sweet talking the nurses and doctors claiming his sanity and will to live, admitting no problem other than the normal dose of needing to work on oneself. The gaping cavern between my parents sends dark smoke-like hands up, threatening to pull me down inside as I walk from one end of the hall to the other, being the peacemaker and message deliverer.
     A short time later, I am left with my brother- both parents leaving us behind; a familiar feeling. I am led to his room, where I see an empty bed with a crumpled blanket. I remember the grave and fear for his life again. A sigh of relief is released when he is found in the bathroom.
     I spend the next 3 hours watching my brother pace, mess with his vitals monitor, and pick at his IV and O2 monitor. Every time his body stills, it is followed by legs kicking rapidly and hands tapping. I can't help but think, "Is this what crazy looks like?" He rambles on about things and interjects a blaming statement toward my father and I  about how he got to this room whenever he gets a chance. I do my best to release it all, hoping that over time he will be able to see clearly.
     I know I can't stay all night, but also have to muster up the strength to leave him. I am fearful of walking out the door and losing him or making him feel abandoned. What if I leave and he never talks to me again? What if he doesn't come around and this is only the beginning of the end for him?
     Agitation and jittery kicking and tapping melt into frequent yawns and drooping eyelids. He contemplates pressing the button for the third time to inquire with the nurse about a second dose of sleeping meds. He says he wants to forget where he is.
     As he curls up on his side, I find myself gathering courage to walk toward the door. I gently rub his left shoulder, his back to me now. I tell him I love him and feel scared that he doesn't believe me. I can't protect my brother from the next hours and days and the reality of where he has found himself. I leave the hospital numb; nerves shot, heart broken, emptied out.
     The following day, I was left with the aftermath of the night before. I stayed with a gracious friend and spent the day battling my role and my tendency to take on more than is healthy for me within our family dynamic. I couldn't bare to take myself home yet. I couldn't face the green path that leads back to my brother's grave... a grave that is deep, dark, and menacingly staring at me with open threats.
     My head felt foggy and as if I could barely keep it up. My jaw and forehead ached. I couldn't express needs or even recognize them. All day I longed for quiet and undivided attention, but it never seemed to come... it just wasn't a day that lended itself to that. I tried to grip onto connection and clarity when I could. I did my best to not feel guilt over my sadness, but guilt lingered there with me like an old familiar friend.
     I pray that my brother's grave remains empty for many years. I pray that he finds peace and healing. I pray that our family could be restored. I pray that I would have clarity of mind and set healthy boundaries. May love overcome the evil of depressoin and addiction. May God rain down his mercy on all of us.