Maxwell was the perfect big brother.  He was protective, intelligent, respected and humble.  He was the guy everyone wanted to emulate: the high school jock with brains, charisma and love for all people despite personal differences.

For having lived only 31 years, Max had accomplished and experienced so much.  He played college football at Stanford University and played in 3 Bowl games.  He published a book of poetry.  With his great love for music, he was able to tour and record a CD with a university a capella group.  He was a regular guy with extraordinary gifts and priceless life experiences.

I say these things because I miss bragging about my big brother.  He died February 12, 2009, a little over a year after our father died.  In our eyes, Dad was the keystone of our family.  His wisdom, his jokes, his presence and his support was like no other and we didn't take it for granted.  Very few are blessed with such a father.  Our father died December 22, 2007 in our back yard of a heart attack.  I was not there, but my mother tells me Max worked feverishly to revive our father until the paramedics arrived.  I can't even imagine how my brother felt trying to save his idol and being unsuccessful despite his effort and will.

Over the next year, Max became Dad to me.  He would ask me how my car was running, if I needed money, etcetera  (typical Dad questions!).  My mother and I were not aware of the fact, but he had stopped taking his medication a few months after our father died.  Honestly, he was more like the brother I knew over the next 12 months than he had been since he had been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder 6 years ago.  For 1 full year, I had my brother back and it was wonderful.

The one-year anniversary of our father's death seemed to go as well as expected, but in January he started to spiral out of control.  Max had never been in trouble with the law, but his delusions got the best of him and he was arrested and hospitalized.  For a brief time, he remained with my mother, but on February 12th, he was found in the backyard near where our father died.

I lost my best friend and my biggest advocate, but I know he is at peace now.  I can't say I was a "radical" in my thoughts about suicide prior to my brother's death, but I can say that my perspective has changed.  It hurts me to know people can be in so much pain that it feels like death can be their only relief.  It also pains me that an illness can cause people to do things that threaten their lives, all without the person realizing it.  My love and prayers are with everyone who struggles with mental illness and with those who have lost loved ones to suicide.