20th Anniversary of My Dads Suicide
Was the saddest, most terrifying and freeing day and time of my life.
I was ashamed, scared, nervous, and relieved.
I knew not where to go and at the same time felt I could go wherever without judgment. From him and for him.
The main thing I still struggle with is not the why.
But, what does he think about me?
Proud? Judgmental for mistakes I’ve made? Would he be critical of opportunities I missed? Would he be happy I’ve pushed on the world a little and as he used say “shot all the angels”?
I struggle with what type of relationship could have been with him. We weren’t on good terms before he left. He questioned me on a lot of things that weren’t simply a fathers concern for his son. I realize though some of that was cast on me through analysis of his own pain of assessing himself and the connections he saw between me and his father.
Would he have had much of a relationship with my son, his grandson?
Why should I even care? And how could I not? Furthermore, should I even attempt to not?
I suspect I will always have these feelings.
I can say that I do have anger. And even some shame. Still. After 20-years.
But I also have empathy for my father. I can appreciate that he was struggling with something. What? We don’t know, but we can speculate [money, unfulfilled dreams, burden of choices he was unhappy with or depressed by, tired of seeking a place of belonging, just plain tired]. He was a Vietnam Vet so PTSD is potential issue also.
I hope that I’ve given some forgiveness to him. I’ve written that, spoke it out loud to him. In my heart? One day I will even tell his grandson how I felt and the process to forgive so he to knows me better and can learn.
I can give him some peace knowing that I’m okay wherever he is. Give him some confidence that I paid attention to what good he was teaching me.
Give him some pride that although I’m far from the perfect father, I’m pretty good, and working to get better at it. Trying to do things differently than he did where it’s necessary. Take a page from his play book where they work.
Give him some satisfaction that I have worked to use the opportunities I’ve had and to create new ones. I think he’d be especially proud of my talent zig and make good stuff pending disasters sometimes.
His example was not wasted on me and several lessons learned.
He left us Memorial Day weekend 2001. I could not recall the exact date this year. But for some reason on May 28th I cosmically felt it. Mostly I just remember getting the call late on a Sunday night. Instant grief that has hit me with spasms for 20 years now. Haunts me periodically.
Worse thing for me is, have I learned anything?
Did I take the freeing opportunity to operate out from under a fathers glare? Or did I squander it? I believe I did both.
Fortunately, my race is not run. I’m still here. I have the time to change what I need to, capitalize on what I don’t, and grow.
I still have time to honor him, forget him in a positive way, and find peace for us both.
He would be 74 this year. I’m now 47. We’re both aged. We were not on good terms before he took his life. If he had been able to overcome what was eating away at him we would have gotten past our issues by now, at least I’d hope.
The finality of death makes never knowing a certainty.
One could tell me to move on. It has been long enough. Let it go. And they would not be right or wrong. Solid advise both ways.
Remembering and honoring the history, the negative and positive, is not the same thing as wallowing in pitty and making excuses for why I’ve not taken this experience and moved ahead.
A few reasons why I don’t want to let go.
- I’m no longer ashamed. It happened. I can’t change that. But by hiding in that shame, I can’t use my experience to help others. It takes away my credibility of having this part of my lived experience and all of the positives and negatives to help. I have standing on this topic, and to not use it would be a tragedy.
- I don’t feel guilty. Nothing I did led him to make that decision. Sure I was a little bit of fuck up as a teenager. I challenged him. I did this even as a young adult. That’s what we do. Sons. It’s part of the cycle. Every parent, every father, knows that you’re kids will worry you, frustrate you, and piss you off at some point (in my case several). None of that was a cause of death.
- Letting go and forgetting is a form of canceling the event. That would be lying to myself. It would give me an excuse to also not learn a damned thing from this.
- There is no inherent strength in doing so. Again it’s part of my history. Not owning it makes me weaker, not stronger. If you can’t own your history, there is no hope for progress.
- I do have some relief and solace in the aftermath. No matter what destructive thing I did in the wake. I’m still here. I also know that I created every bumpy road through one decision or another. And, I still could not go over a cliff. I’ve just tried to figure out the best I could to get both hands on the wheel, both feet in the floor, and drive on (thanks Jay Farar, Son Volt and Johnny Cash for that mashup).
My primary regret is taking 20 years to write this.
I’ve taken some visible steps to share my experience. For example I have done several American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) Overnight Walks (5 I think) and raised money (at around $10k) through an open campaign personally and professionally. I have done the 21 Kill pushup challenges on the Facebook.
But this process to sit down. Write and share these reflections is the most public.
I’m inviting anyone to read it. Comment. Troll. Mock.
Even exposing some insurance risk because life and health insurers don’t like to write policies for those like me. Their actuary tables would show me as a huge risk. Runs in the family they presume. Except it does not.
But I share anyway. Why?
Because I do hope that someone will read it. And if they know someone who is struggling. Try to help.
My Dad displayed issues. He was depressed. He had financial and health stress. He was somewhat isolated as he took himself out of a few relationships and was not interacting as he had been. He did have PTSD from Vietnam and other experiences. He was not well adapted to civilian life or the time he entered when he retired from the Navy in 1991.
He was a very feeling man. He felt his experiences, he did not just witness them and then process them out. He absorbed pain in many ways and carried it. Ironically he was a healer as Navy Corpsman who took care of many sailors, marines and soldiers. He was a counselor. And he absorbed a lot. But he did not develop a means to process it out. That weighed on him. That is a factor often in those who take their own lives. Its way beyond sad or melancholy, or even depression. It’s something else.
It’s too easy to say this all is a perfect set of symptoms. They are not. But there is a lot contributing factors here in him, that you may recognize in others.
You can; 1) Ask them how they are? 2) Observe them. 3) See if there is something you can to help. You may not. If you can’t, don’t carry the blame. Sometimes unfortunately people are just going to go. Nonetheless. We should try and help where we can’t. But we should not burden with guilt where we can’t.
That person still has to make a decision. It is a choice. It is elective, rationally speaking. The person will not be rational. So best you can do is try to be that rationality for them. Again. It may not help. If it does not, you do have to let that shit go. Don’t wear it. Own it to an extent, but don’t damn yourself in the process.
I have shared this in hopes it may help others.
If I don’t. This experience will be for not. I would be selfish and not in any way part of a solution.
I sat there in the state of his birth and death (Missouri, USA) on the 20th Anniversary Memorial Day Weekend. I felt an eerie feeling of why do I happen to be here? Timing is really interesting. Shortly after the 20th Anniversary I was in KCMO for a project. I watched the St Louis Cardinals play my hometown Arizona Diamondbacks on the exact date of his death (at least what the Coroner recorded after they found his body with the rifle he used).
Was I at that game and in Missouri as a final forgiveness passage of time? A tribute? Or just coincidence?
I did feel the fact it was the day on 5/28. But it passed as just a thought. No tears. No anger. Not even a smile about my Dad. Just a day. An important event. But I may have gotten passed this. Or there is a spasm to come. Time will tell.
For now. I’m okay. And I’m happy with sharing this. I’m not ashamed. Not fearful of what others may think. I’m hopeful for my family and myself for our future. And I’m strong enough to support others I may have a chance to.
Cheers Dad. I do miss you. I do wish you were here. But I also know may you had to just go. Without a note — at least I saw none — I have no way of knowing why. So I just have to with the lessons learned. Forward and up. Not looking back, but I want to look around (thanks Neal Pert).
— —
Authors note. I started writing this in early 2021. The timing of me being at a Cardinals game and in KC for business in this anniversary was added in the final editing.
I sat on this for nearly another 2-months past his passing. I released it to the world while on a road trip for his grandson’s upcoming 10th birthday. I finally felt like letting go I guess. And me and Aden also took a moment to commentate him by taking an amazing trip to Montana. Something I know he would have liked on so many levels.
— — — — — — — — — — — — —
If you’re struggling or know someone who is contact the National Suicide Hotline at 800.273.8255 or visit
If you’re interested in this topic visit
If you are inclined to support financially I took part in the AFSP Overnight Walk June 16 and would still welcome any donation and support, and would be honored to walk in honor of those you may have lost
https://www.facebook.com/donate/445007470069356/?fundraiser_source=external_url
