May 25, 1994
Part 3
My final words to my grandfather and to Anne were the same, "I'll see you later." And their final words to me were basically the same - that they would see me soon. But once those words were spoken, I never saw either one again. Were their words a lie? A clever deception? I don't believe so. Their words were innocent remarks that offered a promise they were simply incapable of keeping - words that were probably forgotten as soon as they were spoken. But I still wonder why I never saw them again.
Only God knows what thoughts went through my grandfather's mind as he sat on that stonewall with a rope in his hands and looked into the woods. Only God knows what thoughts went through Anne's mind as she sat on the embankment with a gun in her hand - and watched the Hillsborough River as it flowed towards the Gulf of Mexico. From my experience I know there was no fear, they were calm and at peace. The weariness of their life's journey was finally over.
From my suicide attempt I am finally learning about their's. What they went through, the pain they suffered and their limited abilities to see beyond the present - beyond the mental torment and turmoil that raged within them. For it was only in death that they could find peace. Death offered hope.
Regardless of how suicide is committed, it is not a violent act - because to those who attempt it, it is a peaceful release. But suicide is always tragic because it is death by sadness, which is a very painful way to die.
One of the odd things about growing old, the passing of time, is that certain memories never fade. Some memories are best forgotten, for they are too dangerous to remember. My grandfather's and Anne's suicides are such memories. For decades I have been trapped and haunted by their deaths - unable to escape. Their deaths have defined me and destroyed me, the wounds penetrating and painful. If only these wounds would heal, if only their memories would fade - if only.
If only I had stayed home from school on that long ago Thursday in September, if only. Maybe my grandfather would have lived another decade - and he and I could have gone out for a beer, if only.
If only I had sat with Anne at breakfast on that Sunday morning instead of sitting with friend - and Anne and I playing our silly game of coyness, if only. Maybe she would be alive today, radiant in all her beauty - if only.
For the past few days William Styron's book, Darkness Visible, has been my bible. He mentions that one of the underlining causes of depression is the loss of a loved one at an early age - that such trauma can sometimes create nearly irreparable emotional havoc. "The danger is especially apparent if the young person is affected by what has been termed 'incomplete mourning' - has, in effect, been unable to achieve the catharsis of grief, and so carries within himself through later years an insufferable burden of rage and guilt, and not only dammed-up sorrow, are a part, and become the potential seeds of self-destruction."
That is me! That is me! Although the deaths of my grandfather and Anne have brought tears to my eyes, I have never truly mourned them. The suddenness and shock of their suicides stunned me - and I have been traumatized ever since, living a life engulfed by mental and emotional havoc. Their suicides sowed the savaging seeds of depression and despair that eventually led to my act of self-destruction. Those seeds were fertilized over the years by many other losses.
There is no rage! There is no blame. But Jesus, the burdens of guilt have been backbreaking - punishing and paralyzing. In his poem Adultery, James Dickey ends with the words, "Guilt is magical." And that it is. It is also mysterious, malignant and murderous. Guilt is a torturous assassin. What I have learned, at this very minute, is that I must free myself from the bondage of guilt - and for the first time in my life I must truly mourn the deaths of George Frawley and Anne Bennett. And then I must allow their memories to fade, to rest peacefully in my mind.
Ten days ago I was in a room I didn't die in - it was a sad and odd place, a very lonely and uncaring room. That room is there, it's in the dark corner of my mind. My grandfather and Anne died in such a room. It was a sad and lonely place, a very sad and lonely place.
9:45pm - Cape Psych Center - Hyannis, MA
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