I’m really not much of an “anniversary” person, meaning marking certain events on certain dates.
But there is one I do each year.
The date of this newspaper is Jan. 1, 2026.
It was four years ago to this day when the phone rang. It was fairly early (Pacific time) for my mother to be calling me. But she was calling me.
At first, I didn’t think anything of it. I was gawking at something on the television and saw the phone light up.
I picked it up.
What transpired over the next few minutes changed my life, my mom’s life and the lives of our entire extended family.
To this day.
I was in stunned disbelief when those words came out of her mouth: “You brother is dead.”
What can you say to that? What words can come out of your mouth at that point in time?
I haven’t a clue what I said. I’m sure I mumbled something and asked what happened.
And that’s when the reality sank in.
She told me he had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. In the bedroom he shared with his wife. On New Year’s morning.
I would later learn that Leanne was actually downstairs making some coffee or breakfast or something. He had went back upstairs when she heard the shot ring out.
My brother Jim was gone in an instant. He was 68 when he died. I turn 68 in nine months.
As with many suicides, why it happened is never clear. He didn’t leave a note. He just ended his life.
The night before, New Year’s Eve, I had talked to him. I called and he was in his car on his way home from getting some food before they were going to play a board game and spend a quiet New Year’s Eve at home.
As promised, he called me when he got home. It was a strange call, for sure. He just didn’t seem like himself. In fact, it was the only time Leanne had ever gotten on the call.
Something was wrong but nobody knew exactly what it was. We still don’t.
Jim was about to retire from his school administration job. He had built a tremendously successful program where high school students could learn a trade. And not just woodworking or welding. Computers, nursing, graphic design, along with the tradition trades like auto mechanics and more.
It was a career accomplishment anyone would be proud of.
The only thing I clearly remember him saying that night was it “had been a bad year.”
I guess I could understand that because he has been considering retirement for a while but had delayed it a few times. Now, it was going to happen so I figured that could be part of his reasoning. Probably a little scary.
We later learned he had been having some episodes of memory loss. One of the greatest was losing his ability to play guitar. He was one of the best guitar players I had ever heard. I would later learn he just forgot how to play.
Yes, there were warning signs, but how does that equate to what the eventual outcome would be?
It doesn’t. There is no reasoning or logic you can apply to what happened that morning. He made a decision and carried it out. It really is that simple.
But simple is a long way from describing the fallout, the ramifications and what it has meant to our family since those four years have passed.
Of course, all of us have “moved on,” but that’s just a saying. You never really move on from something like that, you just learn to cope.
One way I have learned to cope is to educate myself about suicide. I reached out to a national organization and we run a website ad for that group constantly on our website.
I also spoke to many other people who had been through the same devastation. You don’t realize just how many people are in the same boat until something like this happens.
Nearly every person I spoke to had nearly the same things to say. They knew “something” was out of place, but in their wildest dreams never thought it would end in suicide. It was unfathomable.
What I’ve learned in these four years is it is not unfathomable and can happen to any family of any background, financial status or whatever you want to determine. Suicide has no guideposts, no rules about who or when or where.
These are hard lessons to learn and in so many cases, they are learned too late.
The stigma of suicide is real. The results of suicide are real, as well.
The trauma that is left behind is hard to put into words. Families are never the same and never will be the same. This is especially true for the immediate family members, in this case his wife and two daughters, along with me and my mother.
In my case, he was my only sibling. In my mom’s case, I am now the only child left.
These are deep scars and wounds that can’t be felt unless you have been down the dark path of suicide. Just the initial trauma of learning about it is enough to drive you over the edge.
But beyond that, learning how to talk about suicide is also difficult.
I regret I did not bring it up when I spoke at his memorial service. But his daughter, Olivia, did and she did not hold back. Fresh into losing her father, she spoke bravely and forcefully about the issue and how it should not be hidden or kept quiet.
Suicide it real and its impacts never stop.
I tip my hat to her for being upfront so quickly.
It taught me a lesson and that is to tackle an issue like that head on. I drove back from Indiana over four days and during that trip, I thought (and thought) about suicide.
When I wrote a column to honor my brother, I broached the subject. And that’s when I began reaching out to others, including groups dedicated to preventing suicide.
Maybe it’s okay I didn’t bring it up at the service because Olivia did and I followed her that cold winter’s day in Indiana. But I should have and have since dedicated myself to at least doing my small part to raise awareness.
That’s one of the reasons I annually write this column. This year is a little different because this newspaper, which will forever be preserved in history, reflects the date of that awful morning four years ago.
Even after that much time has passed, I continue to think about Jim all of the time, especially when I’m doing my weekly rock and roll radio show. He was so proud of me for launching that show and each week he’d tune in. He was never hesitant to tell me what he liked and didn’t, which has made it a better show.
And time does not heal all wounds. They may be less painful and you can cope better, but healing? Nope.
All I can do at this point is remember the good, bad and even ugly times we had together. We were brothers, you know. Those memories cannot be taken from me.
I also attempt to talk to my mom at least a couple of times a week. She’s 89 now, and still doing her crazy things with her crazy friends. My brother would be proud of that fact.
We’ve talked at length about what happened that fateful morning, but for the most part, we’ve both tried to move forward and continue down the road of life.
In the end, what other course can we take?
If you or anyone you know might be considering suicide, please call the national suicide hotline —988. Even if you think someone might get angry with you, call it anyway. I’d rather have someone angry than the alternative.
Greg Little is editor of the Mariposa Gazette and can be reached at greg@mariposagazette.com
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