These guys. They are the best. Jim, a long-time friend of mine, and someone John considered one of his best friends, worked as an Allentown Fireman, running into fires and helping to save people’s lives. So it was no surprise that he, John Weber and Ed Ahn were the first ones to come to our rescue the night
John died.
John Weber is the husband of another lifelong friend, Kelly. We raised our children at the same time, our kids went to the same school, we spent time on weekends, and the guys shared lots of fun bike and ski adventures. Making home right outside of Boston a few years ago, John didn’t hesitate to go to Brendan’s side when I called them about what happened. John had this to share about the news that day.
I answered my phone, as I did nearly every early work evening. Kelly was calling with the usual; “When are you heading home? I’ll have dinner ready.” I’m a lucky man that way. Like all of the family and friends of the McGeary’s that February day, there was no possible way that I could have prepared myself for what I was about to hear. “John, Krys just called. John McGeary killed himself."
Time stopped. It was silent but my head swirled in a din of emotions, questions and confusion. I could not speak or think or reason. What? Time abruptly restarted when Kelly continued, sobbing, “Brendan doesn’t know” she said. As we live near Boston and close to Brendan, we needed to get to him before he heard from friends or through social media. Someone he knew needed to be there when he heard the news. Nothing mattered more at that moment. I hung up with Kelly, reached for my keys and headed for the car. As I hurried, I dialed, full of confused emotions and having no plan for what I might say.
When Brendan answered, I said I was in Boston and thought it would be great to hang out, get a beer. I suggested that we meet at his apartment but he thought it best to meet at the pub. On any other day, I’d agree with Brendan but I had no idea how I would tell him the news and, less so, how that would work at the Publick House. Brendan was understandably “weirded out” by my call and persistence to meet at his apartment. We’d been in the Boston area for years, even keeping Brendan’s car at our house and giving him rides to and from the commuter rail to get his car for trips home or with friends. We did not hang out and “get a beer” at pubs on those opportunities. I wish we would have. That would have been enjoyable and made this a normal way to catch up. Before committing to anything, Brendan called his Mom because he was worried about me and my mental state.
I met Brendan at the commuter rail stop in Newton as he hung up the phone with Annie. He had jumped off the train so that they could talk. With the shock I had at hearing the news, I couldn’t imagine the impact on Brendan. I got him back to his apartment. He quickly packed and we headed off to Bridgeport, Connecticut where we would meet Jim Hersh and Ed Ahn, my closest of friends, who would drive Brendan back home to family and friends in Allentown. It was so good to see them but just not under these circumstances that we never could have foreseen. Could we? The drive back to North Andover was initially fraught with grief, anger, confusion and unanswerable questions. What could we have done to reach John? How could this have happened with no one aware of his desperate state of mind? As I neared the Massachusetts border, I hit a winter snowstorm and my focus turned to the road, relieving me of my racing thoughts.
The news of that February day hit me hard and unyielding as it did all of us. The thought of John’s suicide still hurts, lingering with questions that will never be answered. My memories of John are ones of laughter and joy, celebration and comradery. He would be the one to bring a smile and fond memories to any situation. Sadly, he cannot be here to lend his humor to help see us through this one.
Ed Ahn also married into the “Allentown friend group.” His wife, Trisha, and I have known each other since freshman year of high school. The friend group is big and throughout the years we have had a lot of fun, but Ed and John shared some sort of special chemistry. It might have been that they grew up in the same neighborhood in Havertown, PA, or that they have the same sarcastic sense of humor. In any case, Ed was one of John’s favorites. Brendan was beyond happy to see them at the halfway point and forever grateful for their friendship. Ed had these thoughts to share with me.
I have distinct moments carved out in my memory of things that have happened in the past; First car, first love, wedding day, birth of children, favorite pet. On the flip side; watching a parent slowly slip away, seeing pain in the eyes of people we care about, national tragedies like 9/11. And yet the day I took the call from Trisha to have her tell me that we had just lost John, it threw me into a level of disbelief that I have never witnessed before.
I can't tell you whether I have fully come to grips with this overwhelming loss, but for me the grief rolls in during different periods of time. It definitely flairs up when I come across a road bike, or a carpet store, or a boat yard, or Annie and the kids, or thoughts of old neighborhood haunts. I am not certain it will ever go away, but I do take stock in knowing that if we continue to care for each other the way I have seen done since this tragedy, the load may feel a little lighter.
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