I had no idea my world was about to be shattered. On September 14, 2021, a co-worker at the bank I work at took me by the hand, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and escorted me from my post at the teller line. She brought me into a conference room, where I was met with my priest and local law enforcement. As soon as the policeman said, “You have a brother, Korbin…” — I instantly knew he was gone. My brother had taken his own life.
Korbin was a Senior Airman in the United States Air Force. Prior to his enlistment, Korbin had struggled with depression, and later experienced difficulty acclimating back to civilian life.
That same co-worker of mine who’d come to get me happened to be a member of the ambulance service from my hometown. She drove me home so I could tell my mom what had happened; she knew my telling my mom while she was alone would not be a good idea.
The next couple of days were an absolute blur as we planned a funeral for Korbin. I never in a million years expected to write an obituary for my 23-year-old brother. My nieces and nephew began collecting pictures for his memorial.
What I didn’t know about was something my friends were doing behind the scenes to support me. For the first time, one of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s Out of the Darkness Community Walks was being held in Wahpeton, North Dakota, just 30 miles from my hometown, Hankinson. The Walk would be taking place just four days after my brother’s death and before we would even have his funeral. I messaged a friend who I knew was on the committee for the Walk. I told them I’d like to come to it, thinking it might help. But the night before the Walk, I started chickening out and told them I didn’t think I’d be able to go through with it. I’m a big crier, and worried I'd bawl all the way through the Walk and draw attention to myself.
But the morning of the event, my nieces called and said, “We are picking you up and we are going to that Walk. We need to do this and walk for Korbin.”
With the two of them by my side, I figured I could do it. We’d just hang out in the back, I told myself; nobody would even know we were there.
We arrived early, and not a lot of people were there yet. I chatted with a couple of the organizers who knew what had happened. They hugged me and made me feel comfortable in this unknown territory. I was invited inside to look around at everything they had planned for the day.
A few minutes later, as I walked back outside, I heard one of them say, “She doesn’t know what’s happening.” That caught my attention. When I turned to look at the parking lot, I saw it was now completely full of cars. I also noticed several people standing around in what appeared to be the same exact navy-colored shirt. After a closer look, I realized I knew pretty much everyone in the parking lot.
Led by three of my closest friends, over 100 people dressed in navy shirts began walking toward me. The shirts had a picture of a jet and said “U.S. Air Force.” The back of the shirts also said, “In Remembrance of Korbin Steinwehr.” Everyone also had Korbin’s military photo attached to their shirts with safety pin.
I soon discovered my amazing friends had arranged to have the shirts designed and printed in just two days. They had set up a Facebook page, hidden from me, and organized a team to attend the Walk: Korbin’s Krew. There, they had gathered shirt sizes from everyone and placed an order with a local shirt maker who jumped at the chance to help because he, too, had been affected by suicide. The response had been so tremendous that the Walk committee had chosen Korbin’s Krew to lead the first ever Walk in the area.
So many different emotions poured out of me as I watched all this love for my little brother, and support for me and my family, unfold right in front of me.
Along with my mom and other brother, I proudly held the AFSP banner to kick off the Walk. One of my friends took part in the Bead Ceremony, in memory of Korbin. The Bead Ceremony, which has now become my favorite part of the Out of the Darkness Walks, involves different colored beads Walkers can wear, indicating that individual’s connection to suicide, i.e., loss type (parent, sibling, child, friend), one’s own lived experience, military, LGBTQ+, supporting a friend, etc. It lets people look around and instantly see who has a similar personal connection to this cause, which affects so many people.
I was able to take part in the Bead Ceremony three weeks later, at another Community Walk, in Valley City, North Dakota. Since those two Walks, I have attended seven more, raising funds that I knew would go toward loss support and education programs, public policy advocacy efforts, suicide prevention research, and more. The first two years, we raised over $5,000 each time. In 2023, I set a goal of $8,000 and we hit almost $11,000. In January of 2024, I received a pin in the mail stating Korbin’s Krew was a North Star. I had to read the letter attached because I had no idea what that meant! When you or your team raises $10,000, you get North Star status. In 2024 we went for $12,000 and we surpassed that. My goal for this year is $15,000.
I now know the importance of the Out of the Darkness Walks. They are a time to come together and talk about our loved ones; to show support for others after a loss; and to show support for those struggling. The Walks have helped me, and so many others, realize that together, we can fight to prevent suicide, and end the stigma that leads people to believe asking for help is a weakness.
My experience with the Out of the Darkness Walks has motivated me to become a volunteer for AFSP, where I look forward to doing things like helping to implement AFSP’s flagship suicide prevention education program Talk Saves Lives — as well as a soon-to-be introduced, specialized module: Talk Saves Lives: Supporting Our Veterans.
My goal has always been to be Korbin’s voice, and this is one way know I'm fulfilling that goal.