When you grow up in a small town, you develop a close-knit kind of relationship with people who aren't related to you by blood. Their joys are your joys, their sorrows are your sorrows.
Growing up, I didn't really know Bobby Chase too well as he was in the grade below me. I knew of his brother Jacob, though, because you look up to the kids who are older than you.
After graduation, I moved around a lot and ended up back in my hometown for a little while (this kinda sounds like the premise for Welcome Home, Bobby's show that is available on Amazon Video). During that time period, Jacob, Bobby's older brother, committed suicide and Bobby was the one to discover what had happened.
It rocked the town.
It rocked me.
Up until that point, I had a history of unmanaged mental illness that I squished back down and ignored. I drank. I was generally a crappy person. I started going to therapy, regularly, soon after Jacob's funeral. While I didn't go to the funeral, because I felt that it wasn't my place, I did visit his grave, as well as my grandmothers, a few weeks later.
For me, that was a cathartic moment. For Bobby, this is his: