After thirty years
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Sean of the South
Thirty years ago it happened. 30 years ago today. Thirty years ago my whole life changed, and I thought I’d never be okay again.
It was a serene, late-summer day. I was a kid, playing outside, when the sheriff’s department cruiser pulled up to our house to deliver the news.
I remember my mother collapsing on the floor, sobbing. I remember, personally, going into shock when the preacher told me, “Your father took his own life.”
I remember feeling that upon this day, 30 years ago, nothing would be okay. Not ever again. I remember thinking that I would not survive my own childhood.
As I write this, I sit on a wide lake, watching autumn seize the world. The trees of Lake Martin are experiencing the first pangs of fall. There is a slight chill in the air. A woodpecker nearby is seriously attempting to give himself a concussion.
Sitting on the lake is a good place to think. Namely, because you don’t hear much of anything except the ringing in your own ears.
You only hear black billed cuckoos, northern flickers, American kestrels, or a humble American crow. You hear the soprano section of starlings, or the flapping of a heron’s wings.
Right now I see a few ducks in the faroff, swimming. Mallards, with brilliant green heads. A male and female. The female duck is, evidently, trying to drown the male. They are quacking and clacking for their lives. Although, it just occurred to me that these ducks are not trying to kill one another. I think they are mating.
And I’m wondering what the next 30 years of my life is going to look like.
This life hasn’t turned out at all like I thought it would. It has been a most wonderful adventure. It has confused me. It has moved me. It has entertained me. It has hurt me.
My own life, like anyone else’s, has been an ongoing tale, filled with a cast of characters who are beautiful, sincere, and sometimes bat-poo crazy.
And my own character has changed throughout each chapter. In fact, I wouldn’t even recognize the kid I used to be. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
In the last 30 years I’ve learned things. I have cried a lot. Laughed a lot. I have enjoyed certain moments, endured others.
And through it all I have come to believe one thing. I have found a way to sum up the whole of my personal beliefs.
I believe there is a driving force behind the universe that keeps it going. It lies in the soil, drifts in the air. It’s in the water, and in every living thing. It causes flowers to bloom, mountains to move, and people to grow. And in your darkest days, it is a balm to the heart.
And it’s love. Just love. That’s it. In fact, I can attach no more feeble, human words to the definition of this profound force except to call it the “Grace of God.”
And I have you to thank for that, Daddy. In a way, your suicide was what introduced me to this intense love.
I am the same age you were when you chose to exit this world. And I can say proudly, perhaps for the first time in my life, that I’m doing okay.
