BOWDIE

PHOTO BY RANDY BACON

BOWDIE

“The More You Tell Your Story”

My first son was Jacob. He was born in 1982. He was a very happy baby throughout his younger years. And in 1986, his brother came along. We named him Daniel.

Jacob started getting in trouble at the age of 13. He got involved with drugs, alcohol and jumped into a gang. He got arrested for selling marijuana in middle school. One night he went to a party and took a bunch of medication. He was taken to the emergency room and they pumped his stomach. He calmed down after this, but things got worse again. One night he and these gang members went to a party and one thing led to another and they began fighting. One boy got stabbed. Since Jacob was on probation, they arrested him and took him to jail. I didn’t want to leave him there, but I didn’t have a choice. I thought he’d be safer in jail than out here getting into trouble.

When Jacob got out he followed some rules, but still broke others. He didn’t get any new charges, but during this time he got his girlfriend pregnant. When Jacob went to court, they sentenced him to 3 years in a youth correctional facility. After a while he went to a halfway house and during that time his daughter was born. A staff member took him to see her. He was so very happy.

Jacob was sent home once he finished all the steps. He was really stressed and scared - he wanted out of the gang, but they didn’t want him out. They told him that they would kill him or someone from his family. He was so nervous. He went to work, came home, and took care of the baby - that was it.

A few months later, we went to a family wedding and Jacob came. He said he wanted to go home, the alcohol was too tempting - he left. He didn’t call when he got home. I kept calling his brother, Daniel, who was home, to see if Jacob arrived. Finally he got home, but he was drunk. His girlfriend was very angry because if he was caught, they would send him back to prison. No more chances. She threatened to never let Jacob see his daughter again.

Jacob went to the backyard, saying he wanted to be alone to think. Later Daniel went back there to get him. He found him hanging from my daughter’s swing set with his belt. Daniel called 911 and got him down and started CPR. The paramedics arrived and took him to the emergency room. We got to see him before they took him, but he wasn’t breathing on his own. When we got to the hospital, the doctor told us that Jacob had no brain activity and that I was going to have to make the decision to take him off the respirator. All of the family arrived - we took him off the ventilator and he was gone within seconds.

Daniel was devastated and he became suicidal too. He said he wanted to be with his brother. I told him I didn’t want him to do what his brother did. He needed to be strong for his sister and me. But he blamed himself for his brother’s death. The day of Jacob’s funeral, he became more suicidal. I took him to the ER and admitted him into psych care. Daniel had so much anger in him. The next years were spent in inpatient hospitals. He attempted at every facility that he was at. They tried medication and did everything they could to get Daniel to talk but he closed up. He refused medication, would hurt himself, started cutting himself, carving his brother’s name on his arm. He pierced his tongue, eyebrows, and ears with any sharp object he could find. He would harm himself whenever he could.

I visited Daniel every day, and it seemed he was doing better. During a visit, Daniel promised that he wouldn’t hurt himself. He even asked us to get him snacks for the next day. The next day never came. He hung himself in his room with a sheet on the door hinge. They took him to the ER but he was already pronounced dead.

I don’t know how I got through it the first couple months. But I had good support. I got a lot of help through Victim’s Advocates and Suicide Education and Support Services. Mostly family. I feel much better after all these years. My life will never be the same because my boys are not here. But I am doing better. I’ve learned to talk about what happened to them and what I’ve done to heal and grieve. The more I talk about my boys and my struggles, I get better. Everybody grieves differently but the more you tell your story the easier it is.