Today is the one-year anniversary of my oldest brother's suicide.

A year ago today (November 8th), my brother Richard and I were walking out to the bus stop in the morning (at like six-thirty) when we realized that our oldest brother Kyle's car wasn't in the driveway.

We got home and he still wasn't there.

By then we were starting to worry, because he hadn't called into work, hadn't left us a note, and he hadn't even told his MOTHER where he was.

The next day (the ninth), again, he wasn't home still. So then my dad called the police, and they sent out a search party.

I was on the phone with my friend Jessica when my dad called our house at about 5 o'clockish. He told me to get off the phone, and unplug all the phones from the walls. ALL of them. Even the one in Kyle's room.

I didn't, of course, 'cause what if there had been an emergency?

Mom came home a little bit after that phone call, 'cause she worked a couple towns over.

Dad came home with Richard (they worked with each other) and then Dad sat us all down at the kitchen table.

Then he told us Kyle had died.

"Apparently life wasn't good enough for him," were his exact words.

For the next couple weeks I heard those words coursing through my head, and I cried almost every day.

And I'm gonna finish this up before I start to cry, too.