Danny:
I hate doing this, remembering your shamed puppy dog reaction whenever I gave you harsh feedback (kids today! shakes fist resignedly), but…
You know how slow I am to anger, how out of character this is for me, but…
And you know how much I miss you, but…
I know why you did it. But why did you do it?
Two years ago today, on Friday, September 13th, your brother called with what turned out to be the worst phone call of my life: You’d tried to die by suicide.
Underestimating the danger, thinking little of it at the time, but learning that was soooo foolish as the day went on.
Lucky enough to arrive at Grady ten minutes before you were pronounced dead.
The worst phone call of my life. The worst moment of my life.
And this deathiversary morning, please bear with me, I’m so damn angry – finally – a privilege I believe I’ve earned.
Let me get this off my chest – and then back to our daily life.
I’m angry because:
You left. Without warning. Without a note. You just left. The Ultimate Irish Goodbye.
Without a goodbye to your brothers or sisters.
Or your mother. Or me.
Without a request for help; I’m guessing you finally lost your life-long mental health battle. We were ready to help – but like so many others, unsure how…
An affliction you couldn’t have been proud of, no matter how often – or loudly – we told you it wasn’t your fault. We still loved you. Were still proud of you.
Angry for what you put your siblings and their spouses through: Two years of external and internal suffering. The first year beyond difficult.
Angry for what you put your nieces and nephews through, though they don’t have the full details. But someday…
James hoping “You’re happy in heaven”, John wondering why you weren’t more careful, Nora calling you the best uncle and godfather ever, in her February celebration reading.
They all loved you. And miss you.
And I’m so angry for what you put your mother through; no more birthday and Mother’s Day Gerber daisies, your regular remembrance…
And I’m angry because 30 minutes after this post, I won’t get a phone call from you with your review.
Even angrier because no chatting about the Braves or GA football, and wherever else the conversation would have flowed.
(Deep breath)
Okay, there’s my Old Man Father’s Rant, my one time angrification release.
It felt ‘good’ to get that off my chest. Sort of.
On the other hand…
I forgive you. Your family forgives you.
While acknowledging there’s really nothing to forgive you for – this wasn’t your fault.
We get it, we totally understand why you did what you did. You just didn’t fit here.
Which doesn’t stop us from being and remaining heart-broken – – we miss you every day.
But as your family navigates the post-Danny world, we have so much to be thankful for.
You were a great son, brother, uncle, godfather, friend; if only that had been a trump card for your mental health issues… you were definitely loved.
This weekend and today your family will remember you, each in their own way; your mother and I heading to Southern Soul for a pork plate, Palm Coast for a Cubano, your favorites.
Tomorrow the sun will come up, as it has each day for the last two years.
Life goes on: You won’t be here, but you’ll be here.
But rest easy, I delivered your Gerber daisies to your mother today.
She loved them.
Peace.
Dad
ENHANCE YOUR ENJOYMENT OF THIS POST, PAIR WITH THE FOLLOWING ‘AGING HIPSTER MUSIC/READING’:
Spent the weekend listening to the Danny playlist. Great shared memories.
And Love Is Not Enough still available on Amazon. What a great read for anyone who has dealt with mental health or addiction issues. Or just wants to read about family love and recovery. And a great way to find out who Danny really was.