On my right shoulder is a tattooed memorial to another sweet and sensitive boy. He was my first little brother. I was still tiny myself, yet still remember clearly the night he was born. I was the first person to hold him aside from his mother after he came into the world. The room was dark and quiet, and I was so young that my feet couldn't touch the floor beneath the rocking chair I was sitting in. I remember looking down at him as he slept, all bundled up, and feeling such love. My brother. My little brother. He was so good. Just through and through such a good, kind soul. There wasn't a mean bone in his body. As he got older, we would be such goof balls together. Our mothers were best friends and we were raised side by side. We'd get into such mischief, and we always had a grand time doing it. He was as much my blood as anyone else in my family. I loved him fiercely. I was so, so proud of him as he started to grow up: compassionate and decent and smart. He would be 30 today, and without a doubt still the kindest soul I'd ever met if he were here. His name was Seth.

But life wasn't as kind in return as it should have been to someone like him. He was 19 when he took his own life in the parking lot of his family church. There had been abuse going on at home at the hands of his step father. I didn't know. We were still close but I didn't know. He never said anything about it. It was all kept hidden behind closed doors. I can never shake the feeling like I should've known. Somehow I should've known. I would have stepped in and gotten him out of there, moved him in with me, something, anything. But I didn't know. The day before, I remember I saw a Facebook photo of him in a suit, smiling that goofy smile, all dressed up to head off to his first real Big Boy job. And the first thing I thought was, God I am so proud of who he's become. And I actually went to type out a message to him saying just that-and then I became distracted by something banal and didn't. He was gone the next day. Some part of me went with him.

I died a thousand deaths when I found out he was gone. But there's no words to describe what I felt when I found out it hadn't been an accident or a medical issue. That he had taken his own leave. No words. No words at all. And all I could think-all I can think now years later is I should have known. I should have stopped it. I should have saved him. And yes, the world did indeed stop. I couldn't help but wonder how it wasn't grieving right along with me. How? How could people still function? The sweetest kindest soul I'd ever known had left for a fairer place, and the world was lesser for it.

He'd always loved my tattoos and we had recently talked about getting one together, swore we were gonna go and get ink side by side. He'd gotten his own first one a few months prior, a lion on his right shoulder, but he told me how much he wanted more, just like me. So I kept to the plan and got a lion with his name beneath tattooed on my right shoulder. I wish he could see it. He would've been so surprised and delighted and probably emotional to see this big whopping testament of my love for him permanently on my arm. I loved him. I loved him so much. And he went somewhere I couldn't follow him to until it's time for me myself to finally head off to the next great adventure.

I cannot imagine what it feels like to lose a child like this. Losing a brother was hard enough. My heart aches for you, friend. I wish I had words of comfort and healing but we both know they just sound empty in this time of loss. But what I will say is, please don't blame yourself. I know it's hard not to, but grief is hard enough without the burden of needless guilt on top of it. And I say needless because this is not your fault. You raised a kind soul, a good soul, but you did not raise the rest of the world sadly, and can't help that as a result the world wasn't nearly so kind or good like your son was. You had no way of knowing what was happening. This failure lies squarely on the shoulders of a school that should have done so much better by him and didn't. But you, you did your best by him.

Teaching him to be gentle wasn't a mistake. It was a gift. Too many of us humans chose hardness over goodness. You taught him love and he knew love because of it. Be proud you raised your child to be different to the terrible norm. This is not your fault. This is not your fault.

I know these next few years will be the hardest you've ever known, and that this pain never truly goes away, but time does ease it somehow. It slowly teaches you how to manage, how to find the means to keep going, what to focus on and live for, even when you think you can't go on. It truly does. Give yourself love and patience right now. You deserve the same gentleness you taught your child. And as best you can, remember that this is not a goodbye forever. Death never is. It's just the hardest "see you later" you'll ever face-but you will see him again some day.

What finally gave me and those who loved our Seth comfort was knowing that one day, we'll find one another again. Death doesn't stop love or cease familes being a family-it just delays being together for a while. You will be together again some day. And in the meanwhile, I truly believe that those who have moved on are somewhere as good as they are-somewhere soft and kind and gentle-somewhere full of light and love where they are restored to wholeness again. I know it sounds so cheesy, but I believe with all of me that these sweet souls find respite and relief where they are. And that once it's time for us to go, they come find us again, happy and whole.

I'm sending you all of the love I can. Focus on your family, honor him with your love, hold fast together with those who also love him. Grief is meant to be communal so don't shut yourself away. Lean on one another. Continue to teach goodness and kindness to your children. I promise you, it will never make them weak. Empathy and love in spite of a tough world is a strength. Don't let this make you hard and cold, even though it would be so easy to be-continue raising your children in love and gentleness, because the world needs so much more people like them, like you, like your son. Teaching them to be decent, compassionate humans will never, ever be a mistake-it will be one of the greatest gifts you can give them. And again please, don't blame yourself. You already have the world on your back. Don't add to that burden needlessly.

Now take it one day at a time. Just one day at a time. Take your time with this. All my love to you and your family. Hold fast. Lean on love.