bedroom with one of her good knives in
my right hand I was contemplating on
where to cut myself see I’m a bit vain
so I had to be strategic there were
three sports pots of criteria that this
act needed to meet I had to pick a spot
on my body where my doctor or a lover or
my tattoo artists wouldn’t raise
questions about the scars after hour or
so was thinking and pressing the blade
to my skin just enough not to pierce the
flesh I gave up place the knife on the
bed and went downstairs to be with my
mother after slowly walking down the
stairs through the kitchen and the
hallway I made my way into the front
room where my mother was sitting her
legs were crossed at the ankle and
swinging in a back-and-forth motion I
stood next to her and attempted to fix
my eyes on one of the many beautiful
plants that my mother has in her living
room the house was finally quiet it was
just I and she alone for the first time
in hours then I broke the news and from
what I can recall I think it was
something like I was just upstairs with
a knife debating on where to cut myself
my mother closed her eyes tightly then
calmly replied you know what that’s
about right that’s not going to let the
pain out you know your brother wouldn’t
want you to do that see about 15 hours
before I made that confession to my
mother my youngest brother John Douglas
Gorman junior at the age of 27 years old
was murdered just blocks away from our
mother’s home while i am the middle
child by birth order the death of my
brother
added a new layer to this position the
night my brother was murdered I was
actually in New York so I boarded the
flight first flight out draped my pajama
over my face to hide my tears from the
concern flight attended and drifted off
to sleep because the uncertainty I was
flying into was just a little too much
to handle after landing and then
collapsing into my mother’s arms at the
sight of her I found myself in the
middle of my family and my neighborhoods
disbelief my mother’s incomprehensible
pain at night turned her body into a
convulsing earthquake of tears and
wailing that seemed to go on forever as
I lay next to her when I broke the news
to our dad over the phone there was a
heavy silence this was a particular type
of heartbreak since his mother had just
taken her last breath three short months
prior as I was painting her fingernails
the day after my birthday and in 1993 my
father’s oldest son our brother Javon
was murdered after being home for less
than two months following his military
duty in Kuwait in the days that followed
I went on autopilot dictated the words
from my brother’s obituary to a friend
over the phone then edited the copy and
creative directed the obituary feeling
totally numbed out in a sense of urgency
with permission from my family I pulled
a team of mental and emotional health
professionals together for my brother’s
repast trapped between fear and hyper
vigilance praying that the media
wouldn’t criminalize my brother because
when folks here are read fatal shooting
in st. Louis and blackmail conclusions
get drawn judgment is passed and the
loss of life is diminished don’t believe
me just read the comments section the
day before the funeral I ended up on the
floor in front of my brother’s casket
confused on how I got there profusely
apologizing to my mother for not being
strong enough
and the funeral director softly telling
my mother let her lay there until she
can pick herself up during the burial
the site of our grandmother’s urn and my
brother’s casket paralyzed me and there
I was in the middle with family members
and friends gently pulling at me and
pleading with me to let go and as
unrealistic as it is I was straddling
the thought of how do I be myself and my
brother too when things became still I
attempted to find a support system
because when I held that knife in my
hand and my mother’s bedroom I knew
something about me had dramatically
changed I knew I needed to speak with
someone who could understand what I was
going through so just over a month after
my brother’s funeral I returned back to
New York for business and during lunch
with a friend who lost his brother to
cancer it hit me that not all sibling
loss is equal especially when that
sibling has been taken violently and
it’s not like cancer is a living
breathing person you can demand answers
from no matter how tempting the thought
he is it just can’t be done see my
brother while eight years my junior was
my protector and we were finally
becoming friends after his murder the
world felt unsafe and unstable and
unpredictable paranoia crept in
nightmares were constant because while I
was not there details told to our family
from witnesses and perhaps a psychic
connection to my brother revealed
certain things to me fast forward to
five days shy of my brother’s death
anniversary Michael Brown jr. was
murdered his death haunted me for
obvious human rights reasons but the
visual of him lying on the ground did
something awful to me my mind transposed
the image of my brother laying on that
ground in Brown’s place the more layers
were peeled back the death of my brother
resurfaced traumas I tried to stuff away
for siblings who have lost their
siblings to violent crime whether
blood-related or through fictive kinship
bonds many of us have never known our
lives without our siblings if you’re
younger you’re grieving a person you’ve
never known life without if you’re older
you replay your siblings entire life
over and over again in your head and you
start to blame yourself for doing the
things that older siblings do on top of
the initial loss in the funeral many
siblings like myself also have to endure
the process of trial and sentencing the
time leading up to court proceedings the
duration and trial and sentencing
procedures can reopen wounds that were
never fully healed in doral life once
again nothing could have ever prepared
me for being accidentally exposed to a
picture of my brother’s body in the
morgue and no amount of public speaking
could have primed me to read a victim
impact statement before the court and
the young man who took my brother’s life
earlier this year I attended a luncheon
put on by the women’s democratic forum
where gun violence was the topic the
prosecuting attorney of st. Louis City
showed a board with the first names in
ages of 178 people whose lives were lost
alone to gun violence in 2015 now let’s
say at minimum each of these people had
one sibling at most say about two to
three blood or fictitious kinship bonds
that’s a range of 178 to 534 siblings
spanning the spectrum of age who are
affected by the loss of a sim of a
sibling and that’s just a gun violence
alone total homicides according to the
st. Louis metropolitan police department
for 2 2016 so far is at 176 people this
means as it stands there are between 176
and 528 more are repeatedly traumatized
siblings in our city while doing
research specifically regarding how
violent crime affects siblings I spoke
with the head of Victim Services a bit
stumped by my inquiry she said you know
what I’m sorry we don’t collect that
data maybe we should and she is not the
only person who has been caught off
guard by my search and one thing has
become clear to me over these last three
years those of us who have lost our
siblings to violent crime our trauma is
on the margins of the radar hopefully
that changes today what if the secondary
trauma siblings endure is the missing
piece to understanding and reversing
suicide and certain populations what
about possibly turning the tide on high
school and in high school dropout rates
in incarceration rates what if our
experiences hold the key to planning and
building trauma sensitive communities
that also informs how prosecutors and
judges present cases and administer care
to the entire family of victims what if
those of us who are caught in the middle
hole solutions to he’ll the whole what if