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How do you comfort someone when that's not even what they need? How do you look at your younger brother and tell him everything will be okay. Is there a way to say 'It's time to move on. I'm sorry your classmate and teammate killed himself, but these things happen.' 

These. Things. Happen.

A bit insensitive, right? -But how long is TOO long to grieve when suicide becomes epidemic? Since the morning my brother discovered the boy he knew was dead, there've been 3 more incidences. Three.

Total= Four. 

In a week. 

And it's easy to say even that's not so bad- until you discover the most recent is another boy. One you've known your whole life. A man, actually. A man with three sisters- and you once played with two of them sometimes when you visited your grandmother. And you went to bible school with these girls. 

And you saw the whole family in church every Sunday, sitting two pews ahead and a little to the left. And maybe, just maybe, you once had a little crush on this boy. Just because he was nice, and even though he was your friend's big brother, you envied the way he protected her. The way he teased her. 

And you wanted a little part of that for yourself.

But now he's gone. You knew that suicide, like the curse that it is, tends to spread. People hear of someone, a person, doing this terrible thing, and they maybe think, 'That's so easy. I just can't handle my life anymore. I'll do the same thing, and it's over. No more worries.'

Yes, you knew all of that. But you didn't expect it to hit so close to home. 

Okay, a 20-something from Dyersville. Oh Lord, how awful. The 19 year old who graduated from the high school down the street? Yes, you recognize the name, and sure, the picture in his obituary makes him seem such a sweet boy.

But it's not the same. And then you drive to your grandmother's house because you forgot something there. Shampoo. How trite.

And you drive past the house. An average suburban two-story. Yellow siding with burnt sienna shutters. Brown shingles. A low-cute hedge across the front. The basketball hoop in the driveway.

In the driveway that is now filled with cars, minivans and trucks. People going in and out. Comforting the family whose hearts are crushed, worlds smashed.

You wonder if they still own the rat. Has it died too? The world is coming down around you.

Memories, worries, everything circles round and round your head. You sit down to write it out before your brain explodes. And then you realize something. You are just as much of a mess as you fear your brother is.

And you wonder: How am I supposed to strong for him if I can't handle it myself?

Life keeps going, and it carries you, too. But it doesn't seem to care if you're being carried by the ankles with your head bouncing on the floor. So it's going to hurt for a while.

But, you know, since everything is backwards anyway, maybe instead of your head bouncing a little less each time until it drags, it'll bounce higher. And higher. Until your head is on top and your feet are down, and you can grab life with your hands. Cause that's how it's supposed to be.