Things Happen
Some years ago, I had a wonderful friend named David. Tall, thin, blond, wildly intelligent, musical, serious. I met him in grad school; we became fast friends after I moved a couple blocks from him in Allentown. He was from a coal region town, called, appropriately enough, Coaldale. He drove an old VW bug.
Things happen. His dad killed himself in their garage with a hose hooked up to a running car. Something about somebody else's money or other such nonsense. David was never the same.
Soon he was living in Wildwood and teaching at Cape May Courthouse. He lived alone for a little while, keeping a bunch of finches in cages in his apartment. Sometimes he kept fish, too, and once showed me dried up seahorse that he retrieved from its tank after its demise.
Things happen. David gave away many of his possessions, some to me. He talked about killing himself. I don't know if my words had any effect on him, living with his little creatures and dangerous thoughts. Afraid for him, I called again a few days later. No answer.
Finally, I got through to a man who David had shared an apartment with and got the bad news that David drove past Reading into Lebanon, where he used to teach, and hanged himself in a friend's garage. The apartment I was living in on Oley Street had old windows that were almost impossible to move. At the exact moment the news came over the phone line, the window I stood nearest to came crashing down with a huge thunk. That's how my heart felt too.
Things happen. Yesterday, my husband's uncle decided to also go this route. 84 years old and despondent, he also hanged himself. This man had everything money could buy and a terrific family who loved him dearly. Last week, at another funeral, he mentioned to his brother that he would be next. Nobody thought he would take his own life.
I watched one of this man's brothers cry last night and heard of another taking it just as badly. My heart is broken again.
Things happen. My cousin, a Vietnam Vet, a multiple Purple Heart winner, chose this route but put a gun to his mouth. A high school aquaintance did the same. A college friend drove into a tree on purpose.
They leave the rest of us behind with survivors' guilt, with broken hearts, with stubborn "whys?" ringing in our heads. I have no answers but observe that sometimes we don't think properly because of stress, medication, illness, despair. I just ask that my friends who read this pray for these folks, and for all who suffer in this manner.
Things happen.
Things happen. His dad killed himself in their garage with a hose hooked up to a running car. Something about somebody else's money or other such nonsense. David was never the same.
Soon he was living in Wildwood and teaching at Cape May Courthouse. He lived alone for a little while, keeping a bunch of finches in cages in his apartment. Sometimes he kept fish, too, and once showed me dried up seahorse that he retrieved from its tank after its demise.
Things happen. David gave away many of his possessions, some to me. He talked about killing himself. I don't know if my words had any effect on him, living with his little creatures and dangerous thoughts. Afraid for him, I called again a few days later. No answer.
Finally, I got through to a man who David had shared an apartment with and got the bad news that David drove past Reading into Lebanon, where he used to teach, and hanged himself in a friend's garage. The apartment I was living in on Oley Street had old windows that were almost impossible to move. At the exact moment the news came over the phone line, the window I stood nearest to came crashing down with a huge thunk. That's how my heart felt too.
Things happen. Yesterday, my husband's uncle decided to also go this route. 84 years old and despondent, he also hanged himself. This man had everything money could buy and a terrific family who loved him dearly. Last week, at another funeral, he mentioned to his brother that he would be next. Nobody thought he would take his own life.
I watched one of this man's brothers cry last night and heard of another taking it just as badly. My heart is broken again.
Things happen. My cousin, a Vietnam Vet, a multiple Purple Heart winner, chose this route but put a gun to his mouth. A high school aquaintance did the same. A college friend drove into a tree on purpose.
They leave the rest of us behind with survivors' guilt, with broken hearts, with stubborn "whys?" ringing in our heads. I have no answers but observe that sometimes we don't think properly because of stress, medication, illness, despair. I just ask that my friends who read this pray for these folks, and for all who suffer in this manner.
Things happen.
posted by Reading Reader | 4:23 PM
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