An open letter to my dead brother's bullies on the anniversary of his death.

Warning: This post deals with suicide, and may be triggering for some readers.

I can hardly believe it has been a decade since I received a gut wrenching, surreal phone call from my mother telling me that my brother was dead.

I thought it had been some strange dream, that I would wake up in a cold sweat in my bed and thank God it hadn’t really happened. I’d been at work and it had been a good day. During our lunch break my workmates and I had gone to a factory outlet and I had got some fabulous bargains. Life was good.

Then I received that phone call from my Mum.

From the tone in her voice, I knew some serious shit had gone down. My first thought was that something had happened to one of my beloved grandparents. When she told me it was Jack, I immediately thought he’d “attempted” suicide.

He couldn’t be dead. Not possible. How could my 15 year-old baby brother be no longer in this world?

I remember punching the rendered brick wall in my office walking down the stairs. The grazes on my knuckles never registered in my consciousness. I remember many strange, seemingly insignificant details from that day (the route we traveled home from work, stopping at a service station and the fluorescent lights blinding me), but not much of the important stuff.

A decade on, there have been some great joys in our lives – weddings, babies, celebrations – but there has also been a huge amount of pain, soul searching and no real answers. The wounds are still there. Not scars, but wounds that may never really heal.

We will never know everything about Jack’s death. It’s a conclusion all families affected by suicide will come to in their own time and it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

We knew my brother was smart as a whip, fiercely loyal, a bit cheeky, loving and a bit of a bugger sometimes. We knew he suffered from anxiety and he struggled to express how that affected him on a day-to-day basis.

We know he was bullied at school – kids love to pick on any differences in their peers, and a lanky, blonde, huge-grinned boy with a quick-wit was an obvious target. We knew he loved winning an argument and he could almost always out smart us with his banter.

And we know the school he went to, in our opinion, didn’t manage his illness as it should have. So much so that some of his teachers didn’t even know he suffered from mental illness. We know that other students recognised that bullying and came forward after the event, sorry that they never spoke up or took action against something that they knew was wrong.

It’s a series of “what ifs” and “if onlys” for my family. My immediate family have all been left with permanent medical conditions as a result of my brother’s death, all managed at varying degrees of success. My father, who had his own mental health and addiction issues prior to my brother’s death, now requires permanent care.

We remember so many fun times with Jack – a young man who was so dearly loved. But they will always be tinged with pain. Every funny story we recall about him around the dinner table always ends with a sigh, a sideways glace or a very quick change of subject to avoid upsetting anyone too much.

I have never spoken to Jack’s bullies. To be honest, I don’t know their names. I think my Mother does, but she has never told my sister and I, because I think she fears we would confront them. I am not sure that we would, and I don’t know what I would say to them.

Even in writing this piece, my mother warned me that she didn’t want to be responsible for “burying anyone”. This speaks volumes about the kind of person my mother is. She is tortured over her son’s death, but she would never wish his fate on anyone – even his bullies. She is a woman of faith, and I believe her attitude is the ultimate reflection of her values.

We have all felt guilt over the years: If only I had been a nicer sister, if only I had asked him more about bullying and his anxiety and the issues that were worrying him – the list goes on. The thought that we could make that guilt worse for someone – a bully – is not something any of us would feel good about.

But still there are no answers. Instead I look for ways to learn from what happened to Jack.

I’ve learnt you never truly know what someone is dealing with, so why would you go out of your way to make their lives harder?

A quick laugh from your peers is hardly a reward when you consider the damage you could be doing to someone’s self confidence. I saw bullying when I was growing up. I never really actively participated in it, but I didn’t always speak up against it either. Mainly because bullies are intimidating and they love a crowd. The last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself and become the target.

But the truth is bullies are often insecure cowards who aren’t even sure why they act the way they do.

I was bullied from time to time too and another thing I’ve learnt is the things you are picked on during your childhood and adolescence are the things that you are praised for as an adult.

So to bystanders I say don’t be afraid to be a trailblazer. Speak up if you see a peer, child or co-worker being bullied. Teach your children to speak up against bullies and how to identify bullying behaviour. If your child is a bully – and it can happen – acknowledge it, educate yourself on how to stop the behaviour and discuss with teachers ways that you can work together to avoid it continuing.

The worst parents are those who don’t accept their child’s bullying behaviour and instead, blame other for provoking them.

And take mental health seriously.

If someone you know suffers from anxiety, depression or any other mental health disorder, support them. Mental illness really does kill people. Claiming you don’t understand it is not an excuse. Educate yourself.

As for my family, we will keep going.

We usually try to avoid the anniversary of Jack’s death – May 5 – by working and keeping busy. But this year we are going to pause and remember the great young man he was.

About how funny he was, how much he loved his family and how much he would have adored the little nieces and nephew that he never got to meet. Most of all, we’ll remember that wide, cheeky grin.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please call Lifeline on 13 11 14

If this post brought up any issues for you, or you just feel like you need someone to talk to after reading it, you can contact Lifeline on 13 11 14 at any time of the day or night.

Watch Australian children talk about their experiences with bullying and what we can all do to stop it.