January 24, 1995
"Men do change, and change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass."
John Steinbeck - Sweet Thursday
A year ago today I went to my dentist, Doctor Nick, in South Weymouth, to have my teeth cleaned. He has been my dentist for over twenty years and although I moved to the Cape a dozen years ago, I still make the fifty mile trip to his office whenever I need dental work. After having my teeth cleaned I walked to a nearby news store to buy the Boston Globe and on impulse I also bought a copy of the Irish Echo newspaper.
Once I got home I flipped through the Irish Echo and noticed an ad by Aer Lingus offering $399.00 flights to Ireland for April and May. At that moment my future plans crystallized, formed in a heartbeat. I decided to go to Florida in March and to Ireland in April - and after looking at a calendar chose May 15th as my date with death. In an instant the burdens of life were lifted from me. Although there were months of dark days full of depression and despair ahead of me, the light of death gave me comfort and fortitude. My plans were firm, there was no turning back. I had decided what I wanted to do and what needed to be done, there was a finality of direction and purpose. As my life as I knew it to be was coming to an end with my divorce, my life was about to begin anew - this time focused on death. A few weeks later I began this journal, always writing with the ending, May 15th, in mind. But not all endings arrive as planned - we are often fooled by the unexpected and about the only thing we can say is, "Now, what?"
Now, what? A year has passed since I finalized my plans and decided to kill myself, almost eight months have passed since I left the hospital - fooled by an unexpected ending. When I left the hospital on that bright blue, sunny afternoon in May, hope didn't spring eternal. I felt neither hope nor despair, only terrifying confusion. And in my mind there was this persistent but puzzling question, "Now, what am I suppose to do?" Although I promised myself that day that I would do whatever was necessary to get better, it was a promise I didn't really think I would be able to honor - but I have. My recovery has been as miraculous as my survival of suicide. The same fierce fortitude that possessed me on the road towards death, now enriches and strengthens me on my journey back to life.
Although I still recognize the person I was, he is beginning to fade - but I know he will never disappear. Like a shadow he will remain with me, but always behind me - tagging along as part of my past. And the memories of what happened to me and what I went through will never be forgotten, but they will fade and become less painful until they become just an image of what once was.
With time comes change, often slowly and unnoticeable like dew that gently falls on grass - with time comes change, often in increments so small that they only become visible from a distance as time passes further along. With time comes change, it's as inevitable as days become weeks and weeks turn into seasons. The calendar of one's life is marked with constant change. It is said that as humans our lives never stay still, we are either moving forward or slipping backward. For decades I slid backwards until I reached a bottom on May 15th. And over the next few months I contemplated a much deeper bottom as I thought about trying to kill myself again, using a more deadly force - a Smith&Wesson .38 Special. But then my father died and through his death I found life, a reason to live, and have been slowly moving forward ever since - unnoticeable changes that have become visible only as time as passed.
Steinbeck is right, we do change - but more importantly we can change. It can sometimes be difficult and can often require a determination that we are not sure we possess - but desire can be magical. On this winter day I can hear the curtains as they ruffle in the breeze and I can smell the wildflowers of spring - their fragrance, eternal.
8:00pm - Sandwich Library - Sandwich, MA
contact: fortheheartcries@gmail.com
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