By Sarah Jane Braasch-Joy
In loving memory of my baby brother, Jacob Michael Braasch (01/28/86 – 02/02/10)
My beloved baby brother, Jacob, hung himself last year in my parents’ basement. I wouldn’t wish my pain on my worst enemy. It’s been a year and a half, and, sometimes, I still can’t get out of bed or stop crying. I’ll be in public, and I’ll inexplicably, to anyone else, burst into sobbing, jagged tears. I blame a lot of people for his death, especially my parents. But, mostly, I blame myself. I walked away from my life to save my life, when I was still a child myself, but, in doing so, I walked away from Jacob. I had promised to take care of him, to love him, to keep him safe and well, and I broke that promise. Now, I am broken. I will never forgive myself.
I would make a Faustian bargain, I would sell my soul to the devil, I would torture myself, to get five more minutes with him, to be able to tell him one last time how much I love him, to tell him how sorry I am. I would gouge out an eye. I would hack off a limb. I would sacrifice my life.
I would try to contact his spirit. And, I did try. When I was in Paris still, in the months following Jacob’s suicide, I spent my days curled up in a fetal position on the floor of my apartment, screaming, and intermittently vomiting. At first, I couldn’t even get up off the floor to go to the bathroom to vomit. I would just vomit on the floor and lie in it. It was the one time I was grateful for the indifference of my Parisian neighbors. I thought I would die of grief. I wanted to die, but I was stopped from killing myself when I thought of the pain I would be inflicting upon my remaining two siblings.
I begged Jacob’s ghost or spirit or essence or alternate version living in a parallel universe to visit me, to communicate with me, to contact me in some way. I promised not to be scared. As I was raised as a Jehovah’s Witness, which is a demon and occult-obsessed cult of demonology, not being scared of demons or evil spirits is not something that comes easily to me, even decades after leaving the religious community. They believe that demons are real. They believe that demons can hurt you physically, sexually, and psychologically. They believe that demonic attack is an ever-present threat. They don’t believe in hell, so they have to bring hell to earth. I was already in hell, and I would have let a demon rape me, if it meant being able to see my baby brother again.
I sat in my fucking sacred circle of salt, before my altar, and I screamed for Jacob to haunt me, even if he wanted to hurt me, even if he was mad at me, even if he hated me. I cut myself.
But, he didn’t come.
I am slowly creating a new life for myself. Each day is a struggle. I can’t tell you how maddening it is to want justice for your loved ones and for yourself when there is none to be had. You go crazy, you kill yourself, or you continue on. I sometimes envy my other beloved baby brother, Aaron. He’s a heavily medicated paranoid schizophrenic. I sometimes just want to let go and lose my fucking mind too.
I’ve decided to devote the rest of my life to trying to fix all of those things, which hurt me and mine so much. In Jacob’s honor and in Jacob’s name. I am going to leave a glorious legacy for the both of us. I am going to live for the both of us.
Jacob is my savior. Jacob’s death gave me back my relationship with my baby bro, Aaron. Jacob’s suicide released me from my fear. It enraged me, and I am using that rage as motivation.
And, in a funny way, Jacob helps me to be less afraid of the dark and less afraid of demons.
Because, if there is a spirit world, then I know that Jacob is in it. And, I know that he would never let anyone or anything hurt me.
I know he would kick a demon’s disembodied ass before he’d let him touch me.
I will always love you, Jacob.
And, you can come visit me anytime you want.