19 Harrowing Stories and Doused Anger

Harrowing Stories and Doused Anger

Cael

The Retreat, The Philippines

A few weeks later

M Y FEET STOPPED DEAD AS L EO LED US TO A CLOSED DOOR. M Y BLOOD RAN cold when I saw the sign. We'd had days leading up to this point. One-on-one sessions. Group sessions. You name it, we had done it. It had been brutal and intense. I was already wrought and tired and at my emotional limit.

But today was where I had to face what had happened with Cillian. Today was when I faced head-on what Cillian had done.

I wasn't too proud to say that I was absolutely terrified.

Leo's hand landed on my back. "I wouldn't bring you here if I didn't think you could do it," he said. He pressed a hand to his chest. "I went through the same thing. And although it hurts, badly, it does help."

I trusted Leo. The longer I had spent time with him and Mia, the more I had faith in them. And Leo had walked the same path I had. This was his life's work. I had to put my trust in him if I wanted to get better.

The time we'd spent rebuilding houses was poignant. I had agreed to stay in touch with Jacob by email and letters. But doing something physical, like building houses and shelters, had been rewarding. It was the emotional side I struggled with most.

Savannah went on her exposure experience in a couple of days. She had been spending time with doctors at the retreat. Learning all about how they treated people, especially those with cancer. I could tell she had been lapping it up, absorbing it all like the perfect student she was. But I saw how much it pained her too. The strain it was taking on her grief for Poppy. In a few days' time, she went to a children's cancer ward in a hospital. True exposure. I was so worried for her. She had made such strides. I was worried it would put her back.

I worried about that for me too.

"Ready?" Leo asked.

No, I wanted to say. I don't think I'll ever be ready. But I nodded. I had to do this. I had to fight for my future. I'd come this far. Leo and Mia's company owned several retreats around the world. They were all places for people to go to get away from the United States and get professional help for whatever problem they were experiencing. Leo and Mia focused their time on grief, in particular, though they employed other therapists and psychologists to help their patients with an array of different issues.

We walked through the door to see a small circle of chairs, a few men sitting on them. Leo had explained to me that the people attending this section of the retreat had tried to take their own lives. For various reasons, they were still here. A few of the men looked up at me when we entered. In that second, all I saw were several Cillians looking back at me. It shook me so hard that I was finding it hard to breathe.

"Leo," a man said and greeted Leo with a handshake. He turned to me. "And you must be Cael." He shook my hand. I was robotic. Frozen in fear. "I'm Simon. I'm the therapy leader of this group." He nodded to Leo. "He's technically my boss." He tried to joke, to smile, clearly trying to put me at ease, but I couldn't move. All I saw were the men looking back at me. They had tried to end their lives. But hadn't.

Why couldn't Cillian have stayed alive too?

In a catatonic state, Leo led me to the group, and I sat down. I accepted a bottle of water but just held it in my hand. Leo sat beside me, a silent support. My throat was dry and tight, and my heart was racing too fast. My eyes darted from man to man, wondering what they had done, but more, why they had done it. Did they have family? Were any of them older brothers who'd almost left their kid brothers behind?

"Cael, I have spoken to the group and I told them you were coming." My eyes were wide and sweat beaded on my forehead. "Everyone here is willing to share their story with you. To help you understand."

My breath was choppy. So much so that Leo leaned closer. "Breathe like we taught you, Cael. You can do this." I thought of Savannah. I thought of how I breathed with her—in for eight, hold for four, out for eight. I imagined her here, counting with me too. Then the men started their stories. One by excruciating one. And I listened intently.

" … then I woke up," Richard, one of the patients, said, the room completely silent but for his voice. He wiped his hand down his face, like just talking of his experience thrust him back there, to that bad place. "I realized I wasn't gone. Instead, I was in the hospital. My parents sat on either side of the bed, gripping on to my hands like they would never let me go. I had terrified them." My lungs squeezed tight at that visual. Richard looked up at me, met my eyes straight on. "They'd had no idea how much I was hurting … I didn't tell them. I became a master at masking it." Many of the other men nodded in agreement. "I wanted to go. It wasn't a cry for help. At first, I was so pissed it hadn't worked. But …" He sighed and I saw some of the strife and pain flee his face. "But then I got help, and now I'm so thankful that I'm here. I mean that."

I was happy for Richard, I was. So friggin' happy that he got a second chance at life. But all I could think of was Cillian. That maybe if I'd been better at CPR, I could have saved him. I could have brought him back and we could have gotten him help like Richard and these other men got help.

As the group shared their testimonies, their stories were all different, but one aspect shone out that was always the same. The disabling depression they were all suffering with. The oppressive disorder that made many feel like life was not worth living and that death was the only way out.

I knew Cillian had felt this. The note that still rested in my wallet told me so. And by the stories being told to me, I knew that many had suffered alone, in silence. But to my shame, the anger I had always felt toward Cill was still there. I'd been able to conquer my outbursts and the way the rage controlled my life. But when it came to how I felt about my brother, I couldn't shake it. I was just so pissed at him. I stayed and listened to everyone's story, to not be disrespectful to those opening up to me, but the minute the last person had spoken, I got up from my chair and exited the room.

I needed to breathe. I needed to move. Because Cillian could have told me. Should have. We were so close.

Why didn't he just tell me?

"Cael?" Simon, the group leader, came to stand beside me as I paced the patch of green grass outside the retreat's therapy room. I saw Leo in the doorway, watching on.

"I can't," I said through gritted teeth. "I can't speak about it."

Simon sat down on the bench nearby and said, "Can you sit?"

I didn't want to. I felt charged with endless energy. I needed to run, to jog it off. I'd been running again every day, and my fitness was returning. It was helping. But now I wasn't sure if running a million marathons would help cool this burning inferno inside of me. I didn't want to be angry again. I couldn't go back to that person I had been before.

"Please," Simon said. Leo went back inside to the group. I didn't think even he would get through to me right now. Simon waited several more minutes for me, until I sat down beside him. My leg still bounced, but I did as he asked. When I sat, I looked up at the palm trees and the bright sun. It was scorching, but I felt like winter inside.

"I didn't share my story in there," he said. I stilled but kept my gaze straight forward. "I didn't try to take my own life." I concentrated on breathing. I respected the men back there so much for telling me about themselves, about how depression had stolen everything from them until they felt no other way out but death. But I still couldn't understand why Cillian had not told me how he was feeling. There were no two closer brothers. We'd told each other everything.

"When I was eighteen, my brother took his own life," Simon said, and I stopped moving. I felt like a hammer had been taken to my chest. Slowly, I turned to Simon. He was staring up at the clouds but then met my gaze when he felt me watching him. His eyes still held some sorrow.

"I was like you. Angry. We were close, my brother and I. Thomas." He smiled. "We did everything together. I was the youngest, just like you." Simon sat forward, elbows on his legs. "And just like you, he didn't tell me how he was feeling before he left us. I was furious. I became so angry it ate away at me like a disease. That was, until a therapist asked me a question that completely turned everything on its head."

"What was that?" I asked, voice rough but laced with desperation. I wanted to know anything that could take this anger away for good. That would help me see Cillian differently than I did. I loved him. I just needed a way to understand .

Simon sat back and faced me again. "We all know that depression is a nasty, destructive mood disorder. But the problem is, many people skirt over just how debilitating it can be." Guilt, swift and strong, wrapped around my heart.

Simon sighed. "Let me ask you this, Cael." I hung off his every word. "If Cillian had had a terminal illness, if he'd had a long battle with, let's say, cancer, would you be angry at him for dying?"

Just picturing Cillian dying that way made my stomach fall so low it was endless. "Of course not," I said vehemently. "Who would think that?"

"You see, Cael," Simon said softly, carefully, "depression, for some, can be so difficult to live with that it is a terminal illness." Something was happening to the fire inside of me as he spoke. It was growing weaker. Losing its heat.

Second by second, as I replayed Simon's words in my mind, that protective shield in my chest began to fall, exposing the mangled and sorrow-filled heart that lay beneath. "Depression, for some, can be so difficult to live with that it is a terminal illness …"

"Depression is a sickness that eats away at all happiness and light until there is nothing left but hopelessness and despair. Like cancer ravishes the body, depression ravishes the mind, the soul, the spirit. It's a silent killer, stealing life away gradually, moment by moment, extinguishing all light from the soul." Simon laid a hand on my back. "Understanding that can help douse the anger that you have for Cillian for leaving you. And perhaps put you on the path to forgiveness, and a chance to mourn him without judgment. To help you understand why he did what he did, and that you couldn't have done anything to stop it … and, by the end, neither could he."

Cillian … No …

I bent down and let the fire completely fade until I was raw and exposed and twisted up from guilt. And the tears came. The tears came so fast and free that I could barely breathe, could barely see. Cillian had been sick. He hadn't wanted to leave us, leave me, but his illness had taken him away. Just like Poppy had been taken from Savannah. He couldn't help it … my brother couldn't help it.

"Let's get you back to your room, son," Leo's soft voice said, cutting through my emotional collapse. When I looked up, the sun had gone from the sky and the moon was rising, stars bursting into the black sky by their hundreds. Simon was still beside me. He'd stayed with me as I had broken down.

We must have been here for hours, suspended in time, with this new perspective.

Leo put his arm through mine and guided me to my feet. I felt weak, like my legs would give out at any time. With the blame gone, it was like I had just lost Cillian all over again. "I held him in my arms," I whispered to Leo and leaned against him, gripping tightly to his arms.

"I know, son. I know."

"He's not coming back," I said, and the cries that were ripping from my chest were brutal and sore. My emotions caved in. The sadness that followed was an avalanche, building and building until it was unstoppable.

"Cael?" A voice I would recognize in any lifetime broke through the fog of my grief. I looked up through swollen eyes to see Savannah rushing over with Mia behind her.

"Savannah …" I said, and she wrapped her arms around me. Had I been calling for her? Maybe? I couldn't remember.

Too heavy for her to hold, we fell to the ground, knees hitting the grass, fully surrendering to my sadness. "It wasn't his fault," I hushed out and held her to my chest. Her cherry and almond scent wrapped around me too, keeping me safe in our bubble. "It wasn't his fault, Peaches. He was sick. He was sick and couldn't fight it …" I broke to pieces in the crook of her neck. I knew Leo and Mia were nearby, keeping watch. Just in case.

"He was sick, baby," Savannah said, running her hand up and down my spine. "He was such a good person, who loved you so much. He wouldn't have left you if he could have helped it. I didn't know him, but I know that." I gripped on to Savannah's shirt tighter and just held on as my body shed months and months of anger and guilt and shame and grief onto the ground beneath us.

Eventually, Leo and Mia helped us back to my room. I lay on the bed, exhausted and feeling so ripped open it was as painful as an open wound. Savannah sat beside me. Leo sat on a chair at my other side.

I pictured Cillian in my arms, broken and gone. It hadn't been his fault … he wasn't to blame. But I'd blamed him. I was the bad brother.

I blinked in the room, feeling like I was seeing everything differently now. Savannah moved next to me, and I curled into her lap, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. I wanted to be sure she couldn't leave me too. I heard the light sniffs of her own sorrow. I had never been more thankful for a person's love and support in my entire life than I was right then.

"I'll give you a few moments alone," Leo said, clearly speaking to Savannah. "I'll be back shortly. Call out if I'm needed."

"Thank you," she said quietly. I heard him leave the room and held on to Savannah even tighter.

Taking a breath hurt my chest, and my limbs felt like they were made from lead. I glanced up at Savannah and met her sad blue eyes. "I love you, Peaches," I rasped. "I'm … I'm so sorry …" I said, feeling nothing but guilty that I had laid all this at her feet.

Savannah shifted down the bed until she lay beside me. "I love you," she said and stroked my hair back from my face. "There is nothing to be sorry for." Concern was written all over her pretty face. Concern for me.

"He's gone, Sav," I said, and for the first time in a year, I really let that fact settle within me. It felt like being whipped with a thousand blades. But I had let it in. Finally. All of it. Everything. Every ounce of pain.

"I know," Savannah whispered. I felt the sorrow in her voice and touch.

"I'll never see him or speak to him again."

"I know." Savannah let tears track down her cheeks.

"What … what if he's not in a better place?" My heart squeezed at that thought. What if he never got to wherever we go?

"He's at peace," Savannah said with conviction. I could hear in her voice that she believed it.

"It hurts," I said and threaded my fingers through hers. I squeezed her hand twice. Our sign that I was falling. But I knew this time I had to. I had to feel this. I had to allow true grief in to get better.

"You're strong," Savannah said. "And I'll be here for you when you're not."

I laid my head on her stomach and held on tightly. My eyelids began to grow heavy, sleep pulling me under. But as I drifted off, I pictured Cillian's face and silently said, I'm sorry, Cill. Sorry for not understanding …

I miss you.

I love you.

And I wish you could have stayed …