My sister-in-law blames me for my brother’s death

I have two brothers but I’ve only ever been close with one of them.

Samuel* the youngest, and I shared a deep connection from the start. We were, at times, each other’s best friends.

It didn’t matter that there was nearly a decade between us. I’d often invite him to hang out with me and my friends when we went to the movies, the park, or wherever it was that teenagers end up when everything’s closed.

And throughout our lives, I was the first (and sometimes only one) he trusted with his secrets. 

As for my other brother, Adam*, we never had much of a relationship. 

Despite being only two years apart in age, things were always awkward between us. I always had the sense that he disliked me and always felt barely tolerated by him. 

So when tragedy struck our family, I thought that might change. I was wrong.

Instead, Adam’s wife has caused a total rift between us.

She says Samuel’s death is all my fault.

A few years ago, Samuel died by suicide.

That day was one of the most traumatic of my life because I never saw it coming.

Samuel’s boyfriend, Jeremy*, had found him and called for an ambulance, but it was too late. And when I heard he had been confirmed dead, my body reacted in a visceral way – I collapsed to the floor in grief, the screams and sobs that escaped me were unrecognisable.

A family member then needed to go to the scene, unfortunately though, everyone was too far away. I lived on the other side of the country from Samuel, meanwhile Adam was 300 miles away on a trip. So the only person available was Karen*.

This made me uneasy for a number of reasons – not least that she had previously caused problems with our parents, more than once even leaving my mum in tears – but there was no other option.

Karen arrived and, for what reason I still don’t know, read Samuel’s suicide note. I know this because she took it upon herself to tell us what his last words were.

She said that he wanted his family to know how much he loved them and that he was sorry to hurt us like this.

However, these words turned out to be a complete lie.

When I saw the note for myself, I learned that Samuel had only addressed Jeremy. It was a deeply personal and loving message and the family was not mentioned once. I was shocked.

I asked Karen if there was another message and she became enraged. She said I was an awful person for poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.

As I later discovered though, this reaction was because I’d caught her in her lie. Jeremy told me there was no other note, she’d made it up.

I suppose she may have meant well. She may have thought that by creating a different narrative she was bringing the family some comfort. But all it did was make things worse.

All she’d needed to do then was apologise, acknowledge her actions were misguided and be genuinely remorseful. Maybe then I could have found a way to forgive her.

Instead, she went on the defense and proceeded to say even more hurtful, cruel, and untrue things about me. 

She called me a liar who doesn’t take responsibility. She claimed I always tried to make everything about me. She even stated that I must be mentally ill as I was ‘always causing drama’ – the irony wasn’t lost on me.

Despite knowing that none of her statements had any basis in reality, I never found the words to defend myself. 

Eventually though I hung up on her only she called me right back. In the throes of grief for the sudden loss of the brother I loved so much I couldn’t think straight and foolishly, I answered. 

This time I kept her on speakerphone, and as she spewed more of her vile abuse, my husband was around to hear every disgusting word.

And then she went one step too far.

‘No wonder Samuel killed himself,’ she said. ‘You treated him so horribly. Now you have to live with it being your fault.’

Everything went silent – like the blood rush to my ears was too loud – and I felt numb.

My husband took the phone from me and disconnected the call. I then took myself to bed and, once the words finally sank in, sobbed for hours.

Those who know me, my brothers, and our family dynamic assured me that there was absolutely no merit to what she’d said about the suicide being my fault. None.

But at the time, her attack hit me in the deepest part of my heart.

Her words rang in my ears for weeks. They preyed on my fears, took advantage of the grief and self-doubt that suicide brings to its victim’s survivors.

As a result, I barely slept for about a month. I cried without warning and, worst of all, I feared that she was right.

‘No wonder Samuel killed himself,’ she said. ‘You treated him so horribly. Now you have to live with it being your fault’

I started to believe that I had killed the person I loved so much and I wondered whether Samuel had confided something to her about me and that I had somehow hurt him unknowingly. 

It was killing me not knowing. At my lowest, that accusation caused me to wish for death myself. 

After talking with a counsellor and allowing myself a few months to process my thoughts, I was able to overcome the seeds of doubt she had sewn – though, if I’m totally honest, many of the memories I have with my brother will forever be distorted thanks to her bile. I’ll never forgive her for that.

The only other thing I wanted now was for Adam to know the truth about all the things she’d said to me. 

However, I never felt like I could tell him. We’d never had that kind of relationship, and I seriously doubted that he’d take my side over Karen’s.

Besides, I had no interest in intentionally hurting him or causing drama or marital strife.

So, my parents and I never told him about her verbal attacks on us. Instead, Adam has only ever heard his wife’s side of things – I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she told him that I was the one who called and verbally assaulted her. 

As a result, Adam and I have had no communication since just a few weeks after we lost Samuel.

I’ve occasionally called or texted a simple, friendly ‘hello’ or ‘how are you doing?’ but he hasn’t responded once. 

Karen didn’t let it go right away, either. She continued her attacks, indirectly.

In the months after the incident, she sent pages of ranting text messages to my mum saying that she was ‘concerned about’ me all while trying to make me out to be a horrible person.

With mum’s memory fading slowly into an Alzheimer’s abyss it doesn’t take a lot for confusion to set in. I’ll never forget when she called me after the texts came; she was sobbing so intensely that I could barely make out what she was saying.

We later agreed that it would be best to delete the texts and block Karen’s number from her phone completely — it was just far too distressing for her. 

Now, we’ve all been blocked on social media and I have since given up entirely on building any bridges with my brother.

And aside from the occasional text or visit (which I’m convinced he only does out of some weak sense of obligation), he’s also nearly vanished from mum’s life too. 

I often wonder whether, should Adam’s marriage fall apart, he would be willing to be a part of the family again. But I suspect not. 

Truthfully, though I started this article by saying ‘I have two brothers’, perhaps I should have said I had two brothers. Because now I have none.

*Names have been changed

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