In Loving Memory of My Little Brother,

Jeffrey Brandon Fulton

February 18, 1976 - January 17, 1994

"Missing You"

In the corner of a darkened room, lies pieces of a life lived long ago. I've kept it locked away all these years, So that few would ever know. A searing pain tears at my heart, as I dare to look inside. And relive those those years, a lifetime past... a tragedy from which I cannot hide. In the corner, there lies a dusty book, filled with memories of you. opening it carefully...it hurts to look inside, And remember all that I once knew. I gaze upon an image of your smiling face, As I am taken back in time... Remembering what it was like to kiss your cheeks, And how your blue eyes used to shine. As I turn the pages, I get to watch you as you grow up all over again. Baseball games, puppies, and girls... Age two, then six, then ten. I remember how you caused so many to laugh, and that you cried so many tears. It's hard to believe that I've not heard your voice In well over six very empty years. The gun to your abdomen at age 17, was a knife in my heart, no defense. When they lowered your casket into the ground, A neverending nightmare began. Slowly, I flip through the memories of your short life, I remember you-- so vibrant, so alive. Though many may have forgotten that you ever lived, In my heart you've never died. -- Michelle Fulton-- April 17, 2000

January 20, 1994--It was standing room only. There were people packed everywhere... in the halls, in the aisles... people even gathered outside the building when there was no room left inside. In almost any other circumstance, the words "standing room only" would have been a joy to hear. But this was a funeral for a 17 year-old boy, and there was no joy to be found. Ten days earlier, after a fight with his girlfriend, he angrily left school and vowed to make her sorry. He went home, took off his good clothes, neatly folded them and laid them on his bed, wrote a note to his parents saying how sorry he was, and then shot himself in the stomach with a .22 rifle. He thought that he would hurt himself a little... that he wouldn't do any "real" damage. He was wrong... dead wrong.

Before he passed out, he managed to call 911. They arrived on the scene and took him to a local hospital. For seven days and seven nights, he fought for his life. However, the odds were against him as the bullet had destroyed one kidney and severely damaged the other, as well as damaged his liver. His family was distruaght and begged God for answers. Why? Jeffrey was an honor roll student. He was a letterman in Football, Baseball, and basketball. He was popular and dreamed of being a lawyer one day. And in one explosive moment on his living room floor, it was all gone. Jeffrey lost his battle for his life at 11:38 PM on Monday, January 17, 1994. He left behind two grief-stricken parents and a distraught sister. That sister was me.

Suicide is a deadly game that many teens play for one reason or another. Some truly believe that it is the only way out of a painful life... others want attention and are crying out for help. No matter what the reason, if you are reading this and you think suicide is a solution, keep reading. What follows is the mess you will leave behind. Jeffrey was a depressed teen-ager... he suffered from manic depression, yet sadly went misdiagnosed. His death robbed my family of it's life. The house I grew up in became a shrine to him, a dead kid who never should have died. There was no longer any life in that house. It was cold, sad, lonely, nauseating. My mother left his room as he left it... clothes neatly folded on the bed and the bed only half made. She began to live at the cemetary more than she did at home. The caretaker eventually had a bench placed at his graveside just for her. She lost every ounce of any will she had to live even though she still had a daughter and two grandsons. She could not see past the grave of her dead son. My father was guilt-stricken... he felt that if he had done this different and that different that Jeffrey would be alive. As for me, I was angry. I was angry that he was gone and that he hurt us so much. The problem with that, how do you get closure when the person you are angry with is gone? The answer is simply that you can't. Everything we counted on and took for granted about our family was ripped apart by a gunshot.

What was Jeffrey like? He was warm and funny, with a sense of humor and a zest for life that many young people sorely lack in this day and age. He was the class clown, and his favorite thing to do was imitate other people. He used to do a rousing PeeWee Herman imitation that would keep everyone in a restaurant laughing for hours. My parents and I often wished we could hide under a table when he was with us. He was a ham, and he loved to make others laugh. He liked to hunt and fish, and he collected hot wheels. He was a sports freak who loved the Miami Hurricanes and Michael Jordan. He played varsity football, basketball, and baseball, and excelled at all of them. He was a very talented young man, so full of promise. But in an instant, he was gone.

Suicide is never a solution. Life is never so bad that it cannot get better. The worst part of a suicide is that you cannot take it back. It has been 10 years now, and I have still not been able to find peace. I wonder if he has...

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