Have you ever met someone who it felt like you’ve known since, forever? If we’re lucky, we stumble across a few such folks in our lifetime. For me, one was Mat, he was a big man, strong as an ox, and just as gentle. He spelled his name with one T, evidently the nurse at the hospital where he was born didn’t know how to spell Mathew, and somehow it stuck. He was also my big brother, we were separated by 10 years, 5 sisters and a brother.

We had a connection, me and Mat, we just got each other. When I was a teenager, we’d go on all sorts of adventures. We’d drive for hours on paved roads and dirt, exploring the rugged canyons of the lonely Utah mountains, and the wide-open spaces of the barren desert, that’s where he taught me to drive. Sometimes we’d talk for hours on end, solving all the world’s problems. Other times we’d laugh nonstop. Sometimes we’d sing at the top of our lungs, but only to the good stuff, Fleetwood Mac, Abba and of course the great Neil Dimond. And sometimes, we’d ride in silence, exploring the rugged canyons and wide-open spaces of our own minds. The silence was never awkward, on the contrary, it was quite peaceful and calming.

A few of Mat’s passions were, shooting guns, fishing, rock hounding and gold mining. Though, that’s not what we called them. We’d do this thing where we’d swap the first letters of the words around. There’s a word for it, they call it metaphasis, it’s much funnier than it sounds. For instance, we’d go gooting shuns, hock rounding and mold gining. In fact, one day we were out mold gining, we were knee deep in water when I saw something strange on the river bed. So I dipped my hand down in the cold water and pulled out a heavy plastic container with two words written on the label, Split Shot. Just out of habit and without thinking I hollered, “Hey Mat, look, Sh!t Splots! The blank look on his face matched the blank space in my head as we both processed what I’d just said. When it finally hit us, we laughed so hard I wasn’t sure we were going to make it out of the creek. That was a good day.

It wasn’t too long after that I came home from school one day to find his prized possessions piled high on my bed. A dozen or so collection quality guns in a neat stack with a note on top. I knew Mat’s guns, and they were all there, except one. The .44 mag Blackhawk handgun. Now, I can’t tell you word for word what the note said, it hurt too much to keep. But the gist was: Ward E., These are now yours. I’m not going to need them anymore. I’m giving them to you because you’ll appreciate them. You’ve been a good brother. Tell everyone I’ll miss them, even though I know they won’t miss me.

My heart sank, and my blood ran cold. I didn’t know what to do! I stood there for a long time wondering, hurting, and aching. All I could think was how alone he must feel. I knew he was out in the empty desert somewhere, having a long conversation with himself, his handgun, and his god; begging for mercy and forgiveness, begging for it all to be over, and for the pain to just, stop. We had a connection, me and Mat. I knew his pain and though we were miles apart, I hurt with him, and for him! I even cried, and that kind of thing was not acceptable in my house.

I didn’t know what to do, so I took the note to dad, and he didn’t know what to do! So together we just stood there alone, at the side of my bed, wondering, hurting and aching, and doing nothing. We just pushed the pain down deep inside, bottled it up, and went on with life the only way we knew how, in survival mode. That was a bad day.

Mat didn’t die out in the desert that day. He showed up a week or so later. He never talked about his experience and I never asked, it was just one of those things. We went on to have a lot more good days, and bad. But there was always a shadow hanging over, a part of me always thought he just might go through with it one day, especially when he’d slip into one of his depressions.

Mat lived a hard and lonely life as an adult, much of it out of his own car. We drifted apart with age. Mat eventually did die; at the age of 55, in a nursing home in South Salt Lake, surrounded by his siblings. He died of colon cancer. Which was much more socially acceptable than dying alone, out in the desert, under his own accord. But there is no doubt in my mind, the tremendously lonely pain of depression and mental illness, which ate him up from the inside, was just as real and hurt just as much as the cancer, which ate him up from the inside.

I don’t have any answers, but my point is, depression and mental illness is real! Just as real as cancer and can have the same devastating effect. But we don’t have to bottle up the pain and carry it alone, surrounded by the ones we love. There’s help for both the sufferers and their loved ones. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is always open, 24×7, caring professionals are standing by waiting to assist! You can find more information at suicidepreventionlifeline.org, help is just a click away!

Have you ever met someone who it felt like you’ve known since, forever? I have. Mat;

I miss you for all of Forever and everything that made us one.

I miss you for all of the Yesterdays, and our adventures in the sun.

I miss you for all of the Todays, and the things we could have done.

I miss you for all of the Tomorrows, and the songs we left unsung.

But I’ll see you in Forever, cause you and me, we’re one.

Copyright © 2019 Ward E Wilson