Facebook post will remind you to have meaningful conversations

GORAN was “too embarrassed about his demons” to talk. His brother has taken to Facebook, imploring others to learn from his mistakes. Trigger warning.

TRIGGER WARNING: This article contains information about suicide.

YESTERDAY, at 1815hrs, exactly 21 years ago, my baby brother, my only sibling took his life.

I was sound asleep in my bedroom next door, absolutely exhausted from the day’s spearfishing off Sydney’s coast. My dad (moj Tata) and Goran watched a movie together, and then, when he had built up enough courage, he simply walked to his bedroom, past my door, and did it.

I woke to the sound of my dad wailing like a million banshees. To date, it’s the most blood-curdling sound I have ever heard and hope to never hear again. From anyone. Even a sworn enemy if I ever make one.

I rushed in, startled from a deep sleep, and it took me some time to appreciate what was happening. When I eventually did, I tried, with my best Bronze Medallion skills, to keep him alive. All in vain ... he slipped away some time before the Police Armed Response Team moved in.

Goran and Boz Zamboni.

Goran was ‘too embarrassed about his demons’ to talk.

Boz Zamboni took to Facebook, imploring others to learn from his brother’s mistakes.

The next few weeks were a very drunken blur. Probably fighting, too, judging by the state of my knuckles and face.

What I do remember, absolutely crystal clear, are the friends who rallied around me and kept me going, TALKing through the absolute darkest hours of my life. You know who you are and I love you. I will never be able to repay you. I owe you my own life. But that’s precisely why we’re friends, ’cause I’d have done the same in a heartbeat. But hope to never have to.

My baby brother, age 18, died ’cause he didn’t TALK. Too embarrassed about his demons, the stigma, whatever ... he died ’cause he, we, simply didn’t f**king TALK.

I don’t blame him. He was scared. Petrified. He only did it when in a familiar surrounding, with his dad and big brother, his lifelong protectors, immediately nearby, as a comforting thought on his final journey.

I blame myself. I blame the macho bullshit about not TALKing. If it wasn’t for that, I know that my sons would have a loving, fun, caring, intelligent, handsome Uncle Gogo to spoil and lead them astray when they got older.

Instead, they will only have my memories, which are sadly fading with each year, no matter how much I think about him every day. Every. Single. Day.

Goran Zamboni died 21 years ago.

Today is World Mental Health Day and R U OK? Day. Folks are finally starting to TALK, shaking off the stigma about mental health. Way too late for my baby bro, but hopefully fewer, and eventually no family goes through the absolute devastation that suicide leaves in its wake.

To those whom I have TALKed to in the past and hopefully helped, you know I’m ALWAYS there for you to TALK to. For anybody else, same applies — just reach out and I’ll be there, along with a crate of beer, bottle of JD (Honey) and a bag of ice.

Because there’s no better way to keep the Black Dog away than by lobbing empty beer bottles at it with a good mate. Fact!

TALK. Just TALK.

Boz says his brother Goran died because ‘we simply didn’t talk’.

P.S. TALK.

P.P.S. Gogo, until we meet again, hopefully when I’m a properly old bastard, I love you and I miss you.

This story is an edited Facebook post that has been re-published here with permission.

If you or someone you know is in need of crisis or suicide prevention support, please call Lifeline on 13 11 14 or visit www.lifeline.org.au/gethelp