Some die young

This is a story about how to die young.

Like it was for my little brother who committed suicide in an age of 25. He was mentally sick, diagnosed with young schizophrenia. He cut the vein on his left hand with a very sharp knife with a red handle.

I dreamed about him later on. He told me that he was unlucky that he had committed suicide. He told me that it was not his meaning to go out of this world, but that he only wanted to test if the steel was sharpened or not.

The steel was sharp. He got scared. To say he was scared to death, is a cliche, but that was what he was. He ran. Scared to death. He ran some hundred meters and jumped into a flooding river. He drowned between the stones in that ice cold water which came from the mountains he loved so much.

In the early morning, just before dawn, another little brother came to that said spot, and discovered something floating on the floor. He thought somebody had spilled coffee on the floor and went back to sleep.

I was sleeping in my bed, far away from the place where I grew up. At 2:30 AM I woke up in a total horror. It was like a flock of devils were attacking me from everywhere and I was paralyzed to lay like a dead in my bed. I realized that I was on my way to die. 

At about 10 AM my sister called me and commanded me to sit down. Then she told me that our brother, number 5 in the row had disappeared.

14 hours later I had travelled to the airport, taken a plane two hours, jumped into a waiting car at the second airport, and been a passenger three hours in a car before we came to the last part of the journey with a fast going boat half an hour. Then I had to walk 15 minutes from the quay to my parents house, where I had grown up.

How could the home's child slip between my fingers? My mother was beyond this world, injected with calming medicines, but still awake. My second father was there with our family. He had taken a leave from his work as a district physician only to be with us, and stayed faithfully with us a whole week.

Two of my brothers found the self-killed's cadaver 52 days later; three years later I wrote a poetic story and got it published; and today I am on my last distance of my own wandering on this earth's soil.

I ask you to walk together with me the last steps. It must take as long as it have to.

Source: https://www.hamaroy.kommune.no/melding-om-oppstart-av-planarbeid-og-hoering-av-planprogram.6612504-510730.html