If I could bring you back, even for a moment, I would hug you, hit you and then give you this letter.

You thought you had nothing to live for, that no one who would miss you. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

I got the call at about 9.30 a.m.: ‘Your brother is dead. He killed himself. The police need someone to identify his body.’

I fell against the door frame and hit the floor. It was as though I had been punched in the stomach, my legs turning to jelly. I couldn’t breathe. Time stopped.

You were my only brother, older by three years; always a tormented soul, drifting along, never feeling as though you fitted in. But you were my protector, and now you were gone. Never before had I felt such a physical reaction to emotional pain.

The police had found you in your car, in the car park of the local hospital.

I went to the morgue. I stood, shaking, supported by the police and my husband as they showed me your still body. You looked so peaceful with a serene expression on your face. I felt the most tumultuous mix of emotions in that moment. I was relieved for you – you’d had a difficult life and lived in such inner turmoil every day and now your pain and suffering was over. But I also felt a sense of resentment. We’d had the same hellish childhood, but why were you allowed to bow out?

For the first time ever, I was angry at you. You knew I hadn’t spoken to our father since my teenage years and hadn’t planned to again. He hadn’t been much of a father, but he had a right to know that his son was gone. How dare you do this and make me have to speak to him. Telling both my parents that their only son was dead was the hardest thing I have ever done.

There has not been a single day since that I have not thought of you. I am the little sister you teased and taunted, beat up and protected. I wear a necklace with a little male figure engraved with a J for you. I am reminded constantly of you: through your three nephews who still miss you; your three children who will grow up not knowing you; your partner who blamed herself because you’d fought a few days before and hadn’t made up; your friends who cried openly and painfully at your funeral.

And there hasn’t been a single day that I’ve not felt the burden of guilt. Why hadn’t I known? Why didn’t you talk to me? Could I have stopped you? I had always known you had a tortured soul, but to have just slipped quietly into the night, leaving behind the constant noise of grief and guilt for those who loved you … it was so incredibly unfair.

I felt such anger at you for leaving us to not only pick up the pieces of your life but also carry on with our own, weighed down with such immense pain at losing you. I felt such anger at you for leaving me to tell our parents and look after Mum who just couldn’t cope. She lived in my son’s room for weeks afterwards. I had to feed her, wash her and dress her. She couldn’t make even the simplest decisions for herself. Her grief was so great, so all encompassing, it physically weighed her down. I had to look after her, and my three small children, and myself.

I found myself crying without even being aware of it.

You would have loved your funeral, the service was so you. You would have laughed at the relatives who thought the tomato plant on your casket was marijuana, rather than symbol of you being a chef. You would have loved that we released balloons and played the soundtrack to Monty Python’s Meaning of Life. You would have loved that I sent you to the next life with a casket full of things that meant the world to you, the tape of the last Wallabies game, the (empty) bottle of your favourite wine, your favourite lollies, the glow in the dark stars I put on the inside of the lid so you wouldn’t be scared of the dark. You would have loved that I keep some of your ashes in your beloved Zippo lighter.

I wish I’d never had to do any of those things. I want my brother back.

Having to do all the practical things after your death was so much more difficult. It was hard and painful, every single step.

Packing up your home was hell. I felt you were going to walk through the door any minute and go mad at us for invading your privacy. Having to decide what we would keep and what we could bear to give away.

We found the gifts under your bed, bought when your youngest daughter was born, a daughter you’d yearned to see but who had been away from you by her mother. It was so incredibly heartbreaking. Your life reduced to the ‘keep’ box or the ‘give away’ box.

We had to collect your car. I sat where you sat as you texted goodbye to me, crying, missing you so much I couldn’t breathe. Why would you do this to us? Your pain is over and for that I am grateful. Our pain is ongoing, unrelenting. How could you do this to us?

I had the task of telling your two eldest children whom I know you adored, who you struggled to see. They were ten and eleven. My nephew is the absolute spitting image of you. It was painful to look at him. ‘I want you to know your dad loved you from the very second he laid eyes on you. He was so proud to be your father. He talked about you all the time, he thought about you every second of every day. I am so sorry you won’t get to know him as you grow up. Is there anything you want to ask?’

‘If he loved us so much, why did he die?’

Why indeed, big brother.

I will never forget their raw pain when I told them you were gone. Finding out that your death was deliberate shattered them even further. They cried and yelled, threw things. They were so angry, so devastated. They wanted to know why you didn’t think about them before you did it.

Did you?

As you collected the things you needed to end your life, did you think of us? Did you wonder what would happen after?

Watching your children release balloons at your funeral was crushing. They didn’t understand why, and I couldn’t explain it to them. They were so lost, so small, so innocent. Why would you choose to do that to children – your children?

The pain of losing you and the aftermath has torn my family apart. Mum and I no longer speak. She is so overcome by her unrelenting grief.

So tell me, big brother. Are you still happy with your choice? Are you still so sure no one will miss you? That no one will grieve? That your absence won’t be felt?

You couldn’t have been more wrong if you tried.

Your little sister

A