The news of my brother's suicide "rubbed me raw like sandpaper." Joey and I were born on the same day, eleven years apart, and for me, we would die on the same day eleven years apart-destiny and "my promise." I waited nine years to grieve. I kept "my promise" to myself for ten long years. The grief from suicide is more traumatic than a "normal" grief.

My other promise was to stay sober in Joey's honor. I failed sobriety quickly, drinking to numb my life and no longer for fun and relaxation.

I wish I could say my brother's suicide and our alcoholism are the end of this memoir, but my...