In this, my last semester at St. Edward’s University after 16 years, I was compelled to share with my students some tragic news: my brother had taken his life.

I explained to them that my siblings and I considered his mental illness to be the cause of his death. It could have just as easily been heart disease or cancer that killed him at 61 years old. My mother died of cancer at 61 and my father died of heart-related issues at 85.

Like heart disease or cancer, mental illness is not something that can be stopped by sheer will or faith. I actually had someone say that to me once, that another person’s suicide happened because that person must have “had no faith,” clearly meaning religious faith. I am uncertain as to whether that particular suicidal person “had faith,” but, without knowing him all that well, I am certain he was mentally ill. Just like my brother.

My brother was religious, so I guess “having faith” is not the cure for being mentally ill. “Having faith” is not the cure for cancer, either. My mother was even more religious than my brother.

So you see, it is not that simple. It is just as ridiculous to blame and shame someone (and their family) for committing suicide because they were mentally ill as it is to blame and shame someone for dying because they developed incurable cancer. My brother sought treatment, yet he still died. My mother, the cancer patient, sought treatment, yet she still died. It’s not their fault. People die for a lot of different reasons. Sometimes, it’s mental illness.

I know my mother got the best cancer treatment possible at the time. I’m not so sure that my brother got the best mental health treatment. In our society, we treat these two things like they are different somehow, that they deserve different levels of compassion and care. We all really need to get over that. Illness is illness.

My brother was smart, funny, held down a good job, was a great mechanic and knew all about computers. He worked hard, paid his taxes and cared deeply for his immediate family. He was in regular contact with all of us siblings in his extended family. His job was difficult and although I am sure the pressure bothered him, in the end he apparently could not escape the perceived heaviness of his life, a life that would appear “good” to anyone else.

It appeared good to me. I’m sure he thought it was good also and probably was greatly confused and conflicted about having a good life and yet just not being able to hang on to it. Because he was mentally ill and that is what mental illness does to some people.

When I told my students about my brother, it was my hope that two things were apparent: my brother did nothing any worse than anyone else who dies just from being sick and I am just as sad as any other person who lost a close relative regardless of the reason. I think most of my students understood. Many of them offered their sincere condolences.

A few of them, those who had lost family members to mental illness, truly understood and were quick to let me know that they appreciated the way I explained my family’s view of my brother’s death. They also comforted me.

They knew what it felt like to have a family member die from an “unacceptable” illness. They also seemed relieved and yet sad that someone else could now understand what they experienced.

It is during times like these that I realize how much my students mean to me. I will miss their joy, their hard work and their capacity for kindness most of all. And I will miss my brother just because he is gone.

Amy Burnett

Associate Professor of Finance