Tomorrow would have been my cousins' birthday; had he not tied his shoe laces through a shotgun and stood on it in his parents dining room the summer after high school graduation. I was but a sophomore in high school then and could not imagine what provoked it. It was the choice that he made. That was what he wanted to do. And he did it.
For many years I thought I understood it. In my view his parents are a bit on the Jerry Falwell wacky side; but he was leaving for college in less than a month so that did not make sense. A few years ago, one of his best friends from high school was drinking with me via Skype on the anniversary date of his death and blurted out, "He did it because he was gay and he knew his parents would never accept that." On that, I paused and fumbled opening another bottle of wine to share via Skype. The beauty of drinking via Skype is that you get the whole bottle of wine, or more. Somehow in the fog of overindulging in antioxidants, it made perfect sense. He was a boy becoming a man but was neither a boy or would be a man. He wanted out, and made a choice.
Suicide is a tragedy that will affect you forever when it has sped across the road in front of you; while you are a mere pedestrian stopped at the crosswalk with a light flashing. It is not a choice you may have made; but when others around you make that choice, they leave and you are forever haunted with whys.
With some deep soul searching I have finally come to terms with why I have feared guns all of my adult life. I doubt I really need to explain it. I think I know why I have more trust and caring for men in blue than most would. In a sideline view of my own self analysis, without a Sally Struthers' home study certificate, the determination is that I feel more trust for someone that carries a gun and does not use it. Respectively, they get instant credit with me for not using it. There is always that added bonus that it seems to be more of a protective man around you. It may just be an impression, but it is the positive one that I have. Sure, there are bad cops and good cops; but the ones that get to spend social time around me have already been weeded out.
It seems that many an officer is from a proud generational family legacy. Sometimes they are the beginning of that legacy, and they just have a very proud family behind them. When my other cousin became a State Trooper I was, and still am, so very proud of him. It is ironic that the suicide that affected our family actually happened on what was to be his birthday celebration. Today I am proud of my cousin and looking forward to his potential visit to DC for the governors conference for work and possibly police week on a social visit. I accept that it has taken many years for this wound to scab over to the point that it does not hurt anymore and is simply something that turns in to a scar that you forget about until you choose to point it out. The realization is that I look around the courthouse and I see people who are all varying degrees of onions with many layers.
Every person in the stock pot brings something to the table. It may have been something good or something bad that happened, but what is most important is how we pivot from it and grow to become a positive contribution to our world around us.
