This has been a long week. We got a very unpleasant phone call last Sunday from a friend who informed us that his 34 year old son, who we have known since he about 10, had died by his own hand the night before. The events and circumstances that led him to that decision are complicated, but are all moot at this point. Joe was as nice and decent a guy as you will ever know. Now he is gone, and in a most pointless way. Such a waste.
At this point in my life, not an awful lot of things shock me, and Joe's death, as untimely as it was, did not. It was not the first time I had gotten such a call. For various reasons, I ended up with the task of calling a large number of people that knew Joe, in order to inform them what happened. I have spent a fair part of each night this week doing just that. It is an exhausting and draining experience that sort of grinds you down, leaving you with a more or less constant headache that does not go away, but only varies in its intensity. Still, I consider it something of an honor to be allowed to be of that small service to Joes Dad.
One of the things I did find almost shocking was the remark from a few people, who have known Joe and his family for years, that they would not be attending either the wake nor the funeral, because going would make them feel "uncomfortable." What? Just when exactly did one begin expecting to be "comfortable" at a wake? Sorry, but a wake or funeral is not at all about how YOU (or I, for that matter) feel, it is about how the immediate family of the deceased feels. I don't imagine they will be feeling too "comfortable" any time soon. I am easily as self-centered as anyone, but I can't imagine turning around a wake to be an issue of how I feel. These are not nasty or uncaring people, but what are they thinking? Pretty disappointing. I can no longer help Joe in any way, I can only offer my small consolation to his devastated father and the rest of his family. How I feel is of no consequence whatsoever.
Lots of thoughts and emotions accompany an event like this, and I was fascinated by the range of reactions I got as I told people what happened. Some were angry with Joe. I understand that, because at its root, suicide is a 100 percent pointless and somewhat cowardly act, that accomplishes absolutely nothing other than to transfer all of your grief and suffering, multiplied many times, to those that love you the most. It is a very poor choice, a complete and total waste. But while I understand the anger thing, I have a very limited amount of energy to expend being mad at a dead person. People I have not known to be at a loss for words in 25 years were struck speechless. Two crusty old guys stammered, and even over the phone it was obvious they were doing their best not to burst into tears. Some groped to find a reason for what is an unreasonable act. One wondered, hoped really, that it was some sort of unfortunate accident. A few people recalled some memory of Joe, the stories all sprinkled with descriptors like, "decent", "nice", "polite", "helpful", "honest", "hard working" and "rare". A few said very little, thanked me for calling, and got off of the phone. Lastly there were those who, probably detecting how shaken I was, remarked something to the effect that "well if nothing else, his suffering is all over now..."
That last one really hit me hard after it had sunk in for a while. I know what these well meaning folks are blind to. How sad.
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