Make the call while you still can.

Last week, my neighbor took his own life. For the sake of privacy I won’t state his name. I was at the house with his father and the police shortly after they made the discovery.  I sat in their hallway rubbing my face with my hands trying to absorb what I was seeing, not believing it, yet unable to deny what my own eyes were witnessing. 

Understand that I hesitate to write about certain things. I worry about my reasons for writing, the fallout of my words, the possible reactions. Will my words anger someone, or worse, cause pain? But writing is what I've always tried to do. It's the only thing I've never totally lost interest in doing. It may be sporadic and with long sabbaticals, but I always come back to it, and when something happens I feel a need to write about it. Often I have no choice. I don't know what I hope to gain but something inside clicks on, and my mind begins mulling how I might write about it. When I realized I had a column due my topic was clear.

To read the rest of this article click HERE and scroll to page 8.

 

Comments

[Pambasilea]

Thanks for sharing this, Joe. There is no way to know whether a phone call would have changed anything or merely postponed the ultimate act of hopelessness. It is natural for you to anguish over the call not made, to wonder if you might have given him the tiniest bit of comfort, and to ask yourself why you didn't see what he was hiding. Yet another life's lesson in seizing the day and taking active care of those around you. But you cannot be all things to all people. You can only try to do your best and be as kind and forgiving with yourself as you are with others. Peace, my friend.