Much like a powerful hurricane, the affects of suicide are overwhelming and news of the devastation spreads quickly. My personal hurricane hit as a category 5 and within moments I was pummeled with the realization of what lie ahead and frightened by the role that social media could play in spreading the news too quickly.
How do you tell your children that their father has died. And more specifically, that he has taken his own life. All over the map, and nowhere near Allentown, it would be impossible to tell them in person. Impossible to hug them as they were dealt the most heartbreaking blow of their lives.
Brendan would be the first to learn. It was imperative that they each have a friend by their side when I spoke to them, so in Boston I started by calling our dear friends Kelly and John Weber. Located just north of the city, John told me he was jumping in the car, would call Brendan and let him know that he was visiting nearby, and invite him to get together for a beer.
Within ten minutes my phone rang and Brendan’s name appeared. My heart sank to my toes. I answered, “Hi Bud” in as normal a voice as I could conjure up. He questioned me with worry in his voice, “Mom, is something wrong...you have to tell me. Something is either REALLY wrong or Mr. Weber is trying to abduct me. He said he is in the city and wants to meet for a beer, but he is insistent that we meet at my apartment. Mom, something must be wrong?” I asked Brendan if he was on the T and he said yes. I told him that I had something to tell him but that he had to get off the T, that I couldn’t tell him surrounded by strangers. He wasn’t able to get off the train quickly enough and he begged me to tell him. ‘Oh Bren,” I could barely say the words. ‘It’s dad. I’m so sorry. Oh, God Bren, he’s dead.” There was disbelief on the other end, “What do you mean?’ I told him I needed him to get off the T at the next stop so that I could talk to him. But there were questions and he needed to know the answers. I explained what happened saying over and over, “Buddy, I am so sorry, I’m so sorry this is happening.”
Finally able to exit the train, he was sobbing, unable to understand. In just 24 hours time his dad was due to pick him up for a ski weekend in Vermont. They had talked several times during the week, and John had just picked up his new skis and custom boots for the trip. The AirBNB was booked, John’s partially packed bag was on his bed.
I told Brendan to stay where he was and call Mr. Weber. This would become the first of a small army of people to come to our aid, to help us weather this unbelievable storm.
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