My Brother

In life we learn new lessons most days. On the 29th of December 2019, I learnt the hardest one of my life so far.

My kid brother at 35, (18yrs younger than me) Robert Anthony Jones died. We tried to save him, the police and ambulance tried to save him, the hospital A&E tried to save him. But none of us could. He died in resus.

The doctor and nurse who tried to save him came to talk to me and my dad. When they told us we both broke down. I had never experienced such emotional pain or had been so overwhelmed with emotion that my body shut down and I collapsed to the floor with screams and tears. I could not believe it. I cannot say how my dad felt beyond it must have been worse for him.

We then went to see him in the resus room. I held him whilst he was still warm and wet with sweat. I told him I love him and will always be his brother. I promised to look after his son Alistair, sadly a promise Roberts estranged wife is intent upon me breaking.

This was truly the worst thing I ever had to do, well it was until we got back to my parents house and I had to tell my, our mother that her son is dead.

I have never heard such sounds of complete despair come from the mouth of a human being. She fell to the floor, wailing and sobbing. Both me and dad held her.

Since Roberts death there are hours and even days I don’t cry but when I do I cannot control it. Silly things like making a cup of coffee how he liked it or seeing someone wearing a coat like his, or worse seeing his face in the mirror as I am driving can trigger me.

I hold many people responsible for his death, mainly professionals who should have supported him but are overstretched due to the lie of Austerity. There were two of his so called friends who have raised my suspicion too.

We still have no clear cause of death. There will be an inquest and I am giving a statement to the police tonight.

We have been clearing his home and sadly due to the nature of his illness and how social care let him down it has not been an easy task. My parents are in their late seventies and my own chronic illnesses limit my mobility and ability. We hand the keys in tomorrow.

I am not ‘over’ his death, I never will be, he was my brother and in some small way akin to my son, I break down all too often. My social anxiety is through the roof. The physical and emotional pain have wore me down but that same pain is killing my parents. I am watching them age daily.

We try to stick by each other but the frustration and hurt lead to rows. I look at the loss of life’s glint in their eyes and am so scared I will lose them both too.

If I could keep busy I would but my body doesn’t allow it and my mind will not let me physically heal.

I have never ever felt this pain at loss, its unimaginable. I thought I knew death after many years ago losing two babies at full term with my then wife, but that never prepared me for this.

I want to remember Robert every minute of every hour, I want him to know how much he was loved, but I want the pain to fade. Sadly so far it hasn’t.

Rob was a pain in the arse, his illness made him tetchy and at times verbally aggressive, but he had his morals and loved all his family especially his son.

He was my brother and that’s all that matters. Rob to most, Bob Bob to his nieces and nephews, son to my parents, Brother to our sister Helen, Freddy to me and Daddy to Alistair.

He is missed, he is grieved he is and always will be remembered and loved. My brother.


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Jonesy the Dog of Socialism

I am in my 50's (ok 51), I have life challenges but still continue to be a father, a biker, a socialist and a human being. I fight hate and injustice in any way I can. I am me.

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