One Year

By: Sarah Snider

There are two truths I will not quickly forget about my Uncle: 

1) He had a clever nickname for just about everyone and 

2) he generously gave me one of the best gifts I have ever received: his vintage vinyls of the Beatles. 

It has been one year since my family and I have lost my Uncle to suicide. Prior to 2020, January 16th was a day that would pass by each year without much thought. This year, I have it marked on my calendar as “1 year.” 

To say this past year has held a multitude of emotions surrounding my Uncle’s passing would be putting it delicately. Overnight we were left with holes in our hearts and no real understanding of how to make any sense of this profound and excruciating loss. In the beginning, the grief would hit hard and in the most random of places. Texts between my brother and I would read: “How can this be real?” and “I cried at work today with my office door shut. Don’t forget I love you.” As months passed, I would find myself wanting to feel a connection to his memory by making some of his old recipes or listening to the Beatles. 

In this past year, I have found solace in the words of friends and family. I have learned first-hand the importance to accessible and quality mental health services. I have explored this grief (among other things) in therapy for nearly a full year. And I can further attest to the power of community. The community created by Suffer Out Loud has given me a sense of hope for the future for those struggling with mental health and suicidal ideation within our state and beyond. 

And yet, there will always be someone missing at our family gatherings. This is a loss that we will forever feel. My Uncle was an incredible introvert. When having large family gatherings, he would tease and say, “Come back when you can’t stay so long!” I find myself now, one year later, thinking how badly I wish to go home and say to him “Come back when you can stay a little longer, Uncle T.”