Two years ago today, my uncle committed suicide. It's incredible to see the impact this has had on my family.

I've seen open discussions about emotional issues between members of my father's family who have not really talked in years, and certainly not about things like this. I've seen other people pull away and become almost inaccessible. I've seen guilt, and anger, and blame, and tears, and laughter, and serious consideration of what it means.

It's caused my parents, who have always been incredibly open about how much they love us, to stress that even more. We talk about Herman all the time. I've seen my father struggle with a lot of anger towards a man that would dare to kill his brother, whom he loved, knowing all the while that they are the same man. I have heard him tell stories about his brother, and heard the fondness he has for him.

And I have thought about the confusion over my uncle's strong faith and high involvement in his church community, and how even then he committed suicide. I have thought about how important that community is, how that is probably the most important thing. But I have also thought about high expectations and the need for leadership to appear strong and happy and without fault, and how these things can turn even the safest haven into a trap.

I have seen my parents' relationship grow stronger because they were hurting and turned to each other, seen them reinforce their relationship as a safe haven itself. And I've seen them make an effort to turn that love outwards, to myself and my sisters, to my cousins, to my aunts and uncles, to our friends, and I have appreciated it more than you can imagine.

So, Uncle Herman, you stubborn and funny man who never missed a chance to tease me when I was little, we miss you.