Of birthdays, and departures, and vows.

One day earlier this week, I was leaving work for the evening when I noticed several police cars and a good bit of police tape at the far end of our parking garage. The scene was too far away for me to see what was going on and the security guard I passed on my way out would not tell me what had occurred. It later became clear that our property owner's "sound bite" on the incident was that it was a "medical emergency," as one rep after another used that phrase and looked uncomfortable when asked what happened in the parking garage the other night. My mind is nothing if not inquisitive, and I embarked upon a mission to find out more about this incident.

Yesterday, I found an offense report at the police department's web site indicating that a 62-year old man had committed suicide by shooting himself in our parking garage just after 5 pm that day. I cannot stop thinking about this man. My thoughts and feelings have included sadness that he felt the need to end his life prematurely, wondering what caused him to do that and worrying about his family.

Today, I found his obituary. Reading it gave me a great sense of relief that he appears to have had a loving and wonderful family and a life that included many happinesses. It also makes me wonder even more what could have led him to the hopelessness that would permit him to commit suicide. I have considered leaving a note of support for his family at their online guestbook, but I have not yet figured out what I should say.

Today would have been my father's 65th birthday had he not died 9 years ago. When I learned of my father's death in that long distance telephone call from my brother, one of my first questions was whether Dad had taken his own life. Although my brother said no, I do not believe I truly accepted that until I actually read the autopsy report blaming a heart attack for my father's death. Dad struggled for years with the depression with which I so often grapple as well, though it was only after his death that I learned from family friends that he had, for a brief period of time while I was in high school, been hospitalized due to his illness. I was upset that no one had ever told me this; I think knowing it would have led me to treat my father more gently and with greater patience. I realize I should have done that anyway, but nonetheless, I wish I had known.

This is the hardest time of year not just for me, but for many, many people. I have thought a good bit this week about what nice thing I can do for Phil's birthday. Here it is: Instead of acting abruptly when encountering less-than-cheerful folks, thoughtless drivers or less than stellar customer service, I will make sure I offer a cheery or supportive word and try to leave their day a little brighter after our encounter, because who knows what struggles they may be having? This is a small thing to do, but I know from being on the receiving end of such kindnesses that they mean a lot when someone is feeling sad or hopeless.