Why "Suicide" isn't the most comfortable word for me to hear.

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I think it is somewhat accurate to say that this word comes up in some sort of discussion atleast once a month. That may be a bit exaggerated, or not exaggerated enough. Either way, it's a common enough word here that I can clearly remember shying away from most discussions based around it. There are the ocassions where I will respond to someone who has a discussion featuring that word. Especailly if they are depressed, I especially feel the need to step up and say something. Why isn't "Suicide" the most comfortable word for me? Well it's something that maybe a few of you will know of. I think I've mentioned it once or twice here before, though it's been a good many years I think. My brother was a very good man, but he had limitations. He was diagnosed with slight mental retardation when he was young, though you would not know it from speaking to him. He wasn't able to read or write very well, but he was constantly trying to learn. He was a very proud man, and he didn't like to talk about or think about those limitations. He also had Bipolar Disorder. He would go through manic phases and phases of severe depression. He tried to kill himself many times over the years, and this was especially hard on me because I felt as if sometimes I was his trigger. I think back now and realize that while I might have given him reason to be angry (being the youngest sibling and just a case of sibling rivalry), so did the rest of my family. Either way, each time he attempted and came home, I would hide away until my brother came to me. I didn't want to upset him, as I knew I would. I was, and still am a very very sensitive person prone to cry at the slightest things. I am going to fast forward a bit. Several years ago I got a call from my aunt who was severely agitated with me. I don't honestly remember if I called her or she called me, but she was very angry. This was coming from a woman who was (and still is) the most gentle and kindest woman I know. So I knew something was wrong. It turns out my brother was in the hospital after attempting to kill himself. In fact, he was in a vegetative state. The decision would be made several days after that call, to pull the plug on his life. He had succeeded after all those many years of trying. It would shake our entire family, causing rifts that still haven't completely healed. I would have dreams of my brother for months and months, brought on by endless "what if" scenarios in my waking life. Though I look back now and choose to believe that my brother was coming to me in dreamland to somewhat reassure me that he was fine and happy. All those many dreams was of happy times and peace with him. The family that is left behind is never the same. Years might make things easier, and feelings of guilt might ebb away, but there is forever a scar on your heart where that loved ones memories reside. So, while suicide might be any other word for you, it is a word that has forever changed my life. I may be able to hear it now without tearing up, but it still isn't a word I feel should be used lightly.