It’s Hard At The End Of The Day

Ten years ago, my uncle killed himself.

He was my mom’s older brother, the oldest of the three children.  Like me, he lived in Los Angeles.  Like me, he was an attorney in Century City.  He had been married and divorced not once, not twice, but five times.  He had recently been left by his fifth wife and had reconciled with his fourth wife, the mother of his only child, a girl who at the time of his death was only 9 years old.  She was told that he died of cancer.  He had also been wronged by his law partners, and apparently was in way over his head financially.  According to my mom at the time, it seemed that he just couldn’t see any way out and he wanted to provide for his daughter.  He took out a substantial life insurance policy at some point before he died.

That spring, I was a senior in high school.  I had always lived in Oregon while my uncle lived in Los Angeles, so we weren’t as close as we might have been, but I had a lot of memories of him (and his many wives) from the yearly visits we would make to L.A. when I was growing up and the several visits he had made to Eugene when I was younger.  He was smart and handsome and a little intimidating, but also kind, and I really loved him (but not his wives).  

I remember a couple of months before he died, we had some kind of frank telephone conversation.  All I recall is him saying, “Now that you’re 18 I can speak openly with you.”  But I can’t for the life of me remember what he said.  I wish I could.

I also remember that after he died, my then-boyfriend (C., of course) came over and we laid on the couch in my parents’ family room with his arms around me and I cried.  He didn’t know what to do with me or what to say, but I was so happy to have him there.

Needless to say, my uncle’s suicide has left its mark on my family.  Most notably, at least for its effect on my life, it has made my mom worry even more about me than she normally would have.  As you ma recall, dear readers, my mom was privy to my old blog and she would get extremely worried at every hint that I was feeling sad or blue.  She finally admitted to me that she was so worried because of what had happened to my uncle.  I think she felt like there was something she could or should have done to prevent it — which of course, she couldn’t have.

Maybe because of this, even though I consider myself to be close to my parents, I can’t bring myself to share with them what a tough time I’ve been having intermittently for the past several months.  I haven’t told them that I decided to start seeing a therapist.  (First visit tomorrow!)  I don’t know if I will.  I just feel like all it will do is make them worry, and being that they are in Oregon and I’m here, there isn’t too much they can do for me besides worry needlessly.  Truth be told, there isn’t anything they could do even if they were here.  I have fantastic friends who are great at listening and keeping me company and offering advice, but at the end of the day I come back to myself and I know that my demons are my own.  No one else can help me, but me.

And in the past I’ve told my mom not to worry because I’m not my uncle, and I’m not like him.  Now, DON’T WORRY –it’s true that I would never ever consider suicide.  But I have been thinking about him a lot recently and when I think back on my memories of him, I recall always seeing this deep sadness in his eyes.  And I can’t help but wonder, what if I have some remnant of his disposition, of his tendency to be sad?  He went from relationship to relationship, living in excess, never satisfied with what he had, never finding happiness.  He is the reason I had never wanted to become a lawyer in the first place.  It’s a mighty scary legacy, really.  But In a sick way I can identify with it more than, say, my parents who met when they were teenagers and fell in love and have been married ever since.

Recently, I have felt sad or anxious so much of the time that it’s hard to recall not feeling this way.  I will have fun times, but there is always a heaviness and a darkness lurking there in the back of my mind that I can never quite let go of.  I don’t remember the last time I felt truly happy in any lasting way.  I will have happy days and then they are followed by unhappy nights.  And I want to be happy.  I want it so much I can taste it.  It just feels like it’s always slightly out of my reach.

I had sort of planned to write a fun recap of my weekend — which was a pretty nice weekend — but I suppose all this is what I wanted to get off my chest.  Thanks for “listening,” dear readers.

This is the song that always makes my mom think of my uncle, and so I also have that association:

Angel by Sarah McLachlan

Spend all your time waiting

For that second chance

For a break that would make it okay

Theres always one reason

To feel not good enough

And its hard at the end of the day

I need some distraction

Oh beautiful release

Memory seeps from my veins

Let me be empty

And weightless and maybe

Ill find some peace tonight

 

In the arms of an angel

Fly away from here

From this dark cold hotel room

And the endlessness that you fear

You are pulled from the wreckage

Of your silent reverie

Youre in the arms of the angel

May you find some comfort there

 

So tired of the straight line

And everywhere you turn

Theres vultures and thieves at your back

And the storm keeps on twisting

You keep on building the lie

That you make up for all that you lack

It dont make no difference

Escaping one last time

Its easier to believe in this sweet madness oh

This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees

 

In the arms of an angel

Fly away from here

From this dark cold hotel room

And the endlessness that you fear

You are pulled from the wreckage

Of your silent reverie

Youre in the arms of the angel

May you find some comfort there

Youre in the arms of the angel

May you find some comfort here