The picture to the right of this space is a picture of my
baby brother, Ernie and I in Monterey CA, 1955.
He always made me laugh. He was so funny when he
was little. Always had some way to entertain us.
We were such good friends, growing up. He changed when
he became a teenager.
We had a rough time at home and we relied on each other
for support, on a daily basis.
Yesterday was by far the worse day of my life.
I received a phone call from my sister-in-law, Jackie.
My brother had taken his own life the night before.
He was only 57, but he was a tortured soul and had
been, most of his life.
My heart is broken. Not only because he's gone, but
because there was nothing anyone could do. He wouldn't
help himself and any help we tried to give him, he rejected.
I could tell he was going deeper and deeper into depression.
Most of it brought on by alcohol abuse, an abusive relationship
with a girlfriend (he and his wife were estranged).
Hey, Ern, what was so terrible that you couldn't hang on and
make things work out? What was so wrong that it couldn't be
fixed? What was so wrong that you couldn't call me and let me
talk you out of what you did?
I will miss you so much. I can't believe you won't call me this week
and tell me about work or about your plans to move.
And we had just begun to be friends, again. Now its gone. I have
no brother, Julie has no uncle, and Jackie has lost her best friend.
Our hearts are broken, and are lives left in pieces, because
you are gone.
Be at peace, little brother, be at peace.
I love you,