It was odd, as though we all had nothing to say that first morning, just looking at each other and shaking our heads in disbelief. It would be the first day of many that we would stand around the kitchen island asking “why?”
The word suicide was impossible to say. “Took his own life” seemed a gentler spin on the truth, the truth spoken by the coroner; “suicide, no evidence to the contrary.” “But how do you know that someone didn’t knock on our door and John let them in, and they forced him to kill himself.” Even as I said it I understood how crazy it sounded, but there had to be another answer.
The day before, while I was with the police and we were looking for John’s phone and any sign of a note, I came upon his travel bag on the bed in the boy’s room. It was already packed with items that he needed for his upcoming ski trip with Brendan. It was just sitting there, waiting for him. What on earth happened that morning? What could he have been thinking? Clearly, he was getting ready for an adventure with his son that he had been looking forward to for some time. And in late March he would have packed his bags again for Colorado, where he would spend cherished time with some of his best friends and John John. And Maddie’s 21st birthday. It was just two weeks away and we had planned to visit her and her friends at JMU for the weekend. What could have been so painful that he couldn’t see the three of them and the amazing times ahead?
In less than an hour Charlie and Jen were back at the house and Anne, MJ and Christine had checked in and were ready to help. Mostly, the day was a blur. In the conversation with mom and dad the night before mom said she would make contact with the funeral home. Another moment of overwhelming anxiety. John and I had never talked death, not in any matter-of-fact way. We were too young. I didn’t know what to do with his body. Would he want to be in a casket (in the ground or mausoleum) or cremated? How would I make that decision without truly knowing what he would want? Would he hate me for deciding the wrong way? And the funeral, all of the decisions that would need to be made about the funeral. I am a professional event planner, and the last thing I wanted to do, or was prepared to do, was plan this “event.”
I would have preferred to crawl under a rock that day. To some degree I was ashamed. Not of John, but of myself. What had I done, what could I have done, that would have changed the outcome? The guilt was unbearable. But for the sake of our children, my family and our friends I held it altogether. This was a loss like nothing we had ever been through. Our friends needed to know that they could approach us and that it was ok to ask questions. There was a constant course of cars lining the street outside and the same cadence of people through the house. All friends, all who were touched by the life of John McGeary. Each one needing to see us, needing to know that we were ok, and needing to give us hugs. This pace would last for weeks and undoubtedly, the question “why” would go on forever.
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