I was finishing up my work day when my phone rang. The voice on the other end was distraught.
“Your brother is gone.”
For some reason, these words from my mum didn’t quite register.
I would only remember rushing down to the scene, being escorted by a police officer and asking him in the lift: “Did the ambulance come? Did anyone try to save my brother?”
“He was already dead when we arrived,” I was told.
That was when it finally sank in. He was truly gone. In that instant, my world would be changed forever.
My brother died from mental illness. In that moment of despair, he wasn’t able to see through the lie that death was the only way to escape his pain.
He wasn’t able to rationalise that his action would bring so much agony to our family. In fact, he probably thought he was doing us a favour, relieving us of the burden of caring for him.
When the police found my brother’s laptop, they told us that he had been trying to complete his assignment. There was no suicide note.
I had seen my brother the night before – I had no inkling that he was suicidal.
That would be the last time I saw him alive. The very next evening, he would take his life.
Unlike someone suffering from a terminal illness, there were no final goodbyes to speak of. Death came swiftly. And it dashed all the dreams my brother had. One call changed my life.
How could it not when the person I knew for 26 years had suddenly vanished overnight?
His death left a void – an absence that I would have to live with for the rest of my life.
When we finally got to see my brother, I remember kneeling beside his lifeless body weeping and saying: “I’m so sorry. Zei zei (姐姐) couldn’t protect you.”
It’s strange how one’s mind processes an incident like that. Of all the things I could have said, those were my first thoughts. And these would not be the last time they would replay in my head.
It was this sense of failed responsibility and duty that would gnaw at me. I didn’t manage to protect my brother. How could I have missed the signs?
His death left a void – a void of answers, an absence that I would have to live with for the rest of my life.
My heart shatters every time my mind flashes back to that night – when I cried my heart out.
It was a grief that I had never known. A kind of sadness that engulfs. A pain that comes with the permanence of death.
I remember arriving at Mount Vernon on the first day of the wake, our hearts heavy with grief. We looked up to the sky and there it was as the sun was setting: A double rainbow. This rare sight was also seen across Singapore – different ones had captured it and sent us their photos.
Despite all that happened, the rainbow reminded us of God’s presence – His peace brought so much comfort. We had hope in the future, knowing that we’d be able to weather this storm because He was with us.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)
We laughed at the funny stories told by my brother’s friends as the eulogies were shared. We celebrated his life and remembered the legacy he left behind. We bought his favourite mango cake and each had a slice in memory of him.
There was much sadness throughout the wake, but also much joy knowing that because my brother had accepted God’s gift of salvation, he was in a better place and we would one day see him again.
Shortly after the funeral, God dropped a name into my mind for the baby I was six months pregnant with. I had to Google its meaning because it wasn’t a name that I had on my shortlist.
Zóé is the Greek word for “life” – not just life on this earth as we know it, but the eternal life that Jesus came to give (John 10:10).
I continued to ponder over this message privately, until one day someone who was praying over me had a vision of a rainbow and said: “I see a letter ‘Z’ over this baby, what does it mean?”
I knew then that God was reminding me of His faithfulness through the name He had spoken to me about. In the sorrow of death, I could still celebrate the joy of life.
It’s been three years… there’s an odd term for people like me: “suicide survivor”.
My heart aches every time I see a young man on the street who looks like my brother. Or when I chance upon old photos or listen to songs that remind me of him. It always hurts a little more when his death anniversary rolls around or during special occasions when we miss him dearly.
In the wake of this life-changing encounter, there has been so much to wrestle with. Grief, anger, guilt, shame, doubt, fear… But a wise person once told me: “Time alone doesn’t heal. It’s what you do during that time that determines whether you get healed.”
I’ve stopped seeing myself as a victim of circumstances and started seeing how God is using me in His Kingdom to bring hope.
I’ve been blessed to be able to process my emotions with different people and be equipped on the issues of mental health and suicide. I’ve also experienced freedom from many of the unhelpful thought patterns I once had.
We live in a world that’s imperfect and marred by sin, so sickness is something that we can’t run away from. But I’ve stopped seeing myself as a victim of circumstances and started seeing how God is using me in His Kingdom to bring hope.
After the tragedy, God placed in my heart a desire to minister to young people – I’m amazed at how I get to do this now through my work!
Last year, I received a picture while I was being prayed for during a healing session.
It looked like a vision of heaven: God was seated on the throne, and beside Him were Jesus and my brother. I was given a heart that was covered with cracks, but it was glowing brightly. The light within was shining through the break lines.
That day, I realised that while I would always carry the painful memory of what had happened, God was also restoring me – one broken piece at a time.
My faith is not defined by my wounds but my scars, just as Jesus was not defined by his broken body on the Cross but His resurrected, scarred body.
His death is not the focal point of Christianity – His coming back to life is.
Up from the ashes, hope will arise.
Death is defeated, the King is alive!
– Raise a Hallelujah
For anyone who is grappling with loss or has had to endure a traumatic experience, take heart because with Christ, there’s always hope. And not just hope, but joy.
In the midst of pain, He is present. He can redeem a seemingly dire situation. He can turn your ashes into beauty. He can transform your fear to faith. He is good.
If you’re feeling down and would like to chat with someone, help is available here:
Samaritans of Singapore (SOS) 24-hour Hotline: 1800 221 4444 or [email protected].
Institute of Mental Health’s 24-hour Hotline: 6389 2222
Care Corner Counselling Centre (Mandarin): 1800 353 5800
Singapore Association for Mental Health: 1800 283 7019
This article was first published on Thir.st.
