I love soft days when the mist lets you walk without getting too damp. Today is a cross between rainy and a soft day. Some of the leaves on the trees are beginning to turn, but the weather has been bouncing between comfortable and too damned cold. Some of the leaves aren’t bothering to turn, just turning brown and giving up. Others are remaining steadfast.
I know why this is happening.
For the past week, every other night or so, I have dream installments. They involve Dan and he’s not dead. He just decided he didn’t care for the way his life was going and he wanted a clean break. A new start.
The first dream was one of those that happens when you’re just becoming conscious, but essentially still asleep.
I didn’t attend my college graduation ceremonies. I was already working in New York (that’s New York City, to non-New Yorkers) and wasn’t able to make it back.
Now, many years later, I am once again at my alma mater and working in an office. Through my department, I met the woman who runs special events on campus. Eventually, I began working for the photography company that shoots the individual photos at commencement ceremonies. I now make sure the grads have filled out their Nomenclator cards and that the Nomenclator (the guy reading the cards) keeps the cards in the proper order.
I’ve been doing this for several years now and love it. There’s something about seeing the students embarking on their futures. It has nothing to do with nostalgia. It has to do with the excitement, the smiles, the proud families.
It’s not routine, even after six or seven years, 3 times a year. A professor come in with a robe that had been skunked. Student marshalls haven’t paid attention and don’t know where they need to be. A student runs in, late, only to find out his commencement is being held across campus in another venue. Occasionally, we have a fainter.
I’m going to do a cross-post here. I don’t have the heart to do two posts.
On July 25, 2007 you wrote a note at home, had a friend drive you downtown, and then jumped off a parking garage. I can’t say that I understand the thought process behind that decision, but let me speak to the last line in your note: “Suicide is painless. M.A.S.H.”
Was it? Was it really? Or was hitting the ground at high velocity a lesser pain than whatever you were going through?
Whose pain are we talking abut? Yours? Maybe it was painless. However, I think the mental anguish leading up to the actual event had to have been pretty painful.
So were you talking about the pain of the people who love you? Then I call bullshit, bro. Nine years later and I feel that pain as intensely as I did the day you took your own life.
So life goes on. After a fashion, maybe. I look at mom. She doesn’t know what day it is and I’m not telling her. Between the dementia and the pain pills for the shingles, I’m lucky if she knows her own name. And hey, she doesn’t even remember that you committed suicide. On the days when she remembers she had a son named Dan, she thinks her daughter is that son. Yeah. Fun times.
Trying this again because something went wrong. This is from “Our Sunday Best”
Hey everybody, Trae here. Today is Sunday and normally that would mean another riveting edition of OurSundyBest. And we had one in the hopper too, almost done, but honestly it just feels….wro…
Source: Moment of OSB Silence