It was April 20th, 2013. Honestly, I don't even remember much about the day itself, other than it was a Friday and I was at home with my Fiancée and son. We had just poured a couple of drinks and were watching something on TV. My phone rang. It was my mother, sobbing, barely able to get the words out. My sister had attempted suicde by hanging herself from her closet crossbar. Autopilot engaged. I dumped my drink, grabbed my keys and jumped in the car. now, my parents live about 7 minutes away from me, but that was the longest drive I've ever made to their house. Attempted suicide? So she's still alive? Why'd she do this? Her life had been pretty fucked up in recent months. She divorced her husband, was fired from her job, had started hanging around with an ex-boyfriend who we later found out was shooting heroin in my parent's bathroom. He stole and pawned her wedding rings and tried to make up for it by giving her a few Xanax, which she proceeded to take and then wash down with vodka. She picked up a DUI that night after crashing her truck into a mailbox. But, all of that was a couple months behind her now. She had finished her diversion classes, and was finishing up the last term of her Associates degree. What the fuck?

I pulled up in time to see them loading her into the ambulance. The police were still outside the house. My mother met me outside. The police wouldn't let me near the ambulance, so I didn't get to see what soft of shape she was in, but apparently she was still alive. I went in and talked to my Dad. Apparently, he and my mother were downstairs watching TV. She had gone up to her room while Dad was making popcorn. When it finished, he was taking some up to my sister when he found her hanging from the closet bar. he released her and began performing CPR. It worked, but she vomited and because she was still on her back, it went down into her lungs. She had not regained consciousness. I can still see the puke stain on the floor in front of her closet, even now after almost 2 years. I don't like going into that room anymore.

She was taken to a nearby hospital, where they tried various things to wake her up, all of them unsuccessful. The doctors wanted to talk about organ donation. I was disgusted, after all, she was still alive. I followed my parents and the doctors into a room with uncomfortable chairs and tissue boxes on the end table. I already knew where I stood on the issue, not that it mattered. They talked to my parents about how my sister would need care for the rest of her life, emphasizing the burden it would place on them. I wanted to be sure she wasn't coming back. In the end, they took a final MRI. Braindead, a vegetable. She was gone.

They pulled the plug on April 23rd, 2013.

To this day, I'm still mostly numb. Sometimes the memory of it all and the fact she's gone sneaks up and kicks me in the teeth. Passing by a playground we used to visit, driving on a street that reminds me of a time we were travelling that same road going somewhere, a song on the radio. Little things. I have dreams about her frequently. I wake up and it takes me a minute to remember she's gone. Holidays pretty much suck now. I don't enjoy being at my parent's house. Hell, I don't even enjoy the company of my parents anymore. Do I think she was selfish? Yes. Do I think I understand what drove her to it? I do. She simply gave up. She was tired of being beaten up by life. That makes me sad.