My younger brother took his life in mid/late 2017 I was only 16 at the time, even worse he was only 13. I'm 23 now and still have very unpleasant thoughts and feelings about it. Our relationship wasn't the average brother-brother relationship, our parents are split and him and I have separate moms but share a dad. Sadly our dad is a state case and lost custody of him but my amazing grandparents on my father's side opted to adopt both him and my other younger brother. They did their absolute best to raise him, put him in school sports, let him pursue BMX racing, brought both of my younger brothers on many many trips. They happened to live 3 hours from where me and my mother lived so seeing eachother wasn't necessarily easy and didn't quite come often. Me being 16 and him being 13 obviously neither of us could drive and my mother being a single mother couldn't bring me out to see him often yet I always seemed to be his favorite brother. Any time we would be with eachother I remember it being so much fun but I also struggle because I remember times where he would want to go out and go fishing early in the morning and me being 16 I'd often say no and opt to sleep in and often times I felt like I couldn't keep up with him and now that I'm a young adult I look back at it and it upsets me so much. It really makes me wish I took that time with him and just forced myself to keep up with him and spend more time with him, I mean I was only 16.. I had literally nothing important to worry about besides being a kid yet I felt like I couldn't keep up with him. Once he turned 12 he started to show signs of a possible mental illness and when he turned 13 he was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder, and a plethora of anxiety, stress and depression disorders. Once this all came to picture, my grandparents did everything they could for him, rather than starting on meds right away and making him numb they tried counseling, they tried a social worker, they tried programs in school and out of school. When things didn't seem to be getting better they brought up the idea of going on meds and brought the idea to him, he wasn't opposed to medication even when it was explained what the side effects could be so he began taking meds to regulate his issues. Once on meds for a couple of months his issues didn't seem to stabilize, they actually got worse so the issue was brought back to his doctor and social worker. Both the doctor and social worker mentioned a program where they would take him into a Group home of other children for 1-2 weeks while trying different doses and medications to see what balances it out the best (think of like a 24hr monitoring so see if a specific med will help or make it worse) and when this was brought up to him he wasn't much of a fan, but he was told to think on it and it could be up to a month until a bed even opens up. We'll Once that month rolled around he was informed a bed opened and that a social worker was going to come over and talk to him about it being a possible option, during this he locked himself in my grandparents room before the social worker arrived. Once the social arrived her and my grandparents were speaking to him through the door when they heard a loud pop, the social worker than opted to break into the room to find he had taken his life... what eats me alive is the night prior he had texted me asking when he could see me next and I responded with "I'm not sure, my mom's been busy recently and can't take me out there". What If I had simply just nagged my mom to bring me that weekend.. what I'd i had just told him we can plan soon or told him that the group home would help him and I can see him the day he gets out. All the "what if's" eat me alive inside. Sometimes I wish I could talk to people (think assemblys) about my brothers story and the hardship the family went through with his loss but I don't even know where to start when I genuinely can't even have that conversation with myself most days.