Henry

I met Henry in 1990 when we were assigned to be roommates at a company conference. I got to the room first and my unpacking involved putting my suitcase next to my bed. He arrived and we performed polite introductions and small talk while I watched him arrange his socks in one drawer and fold his tshirts into another. He didn't finish until he had ironed his wrinkle-free shirts and lined up his grooming supplies beside the sink.

"Oh great", I thought. "I get to spend the next four days with the most anal guy in the company." Four days later, we had formed a friendship that lasted 17 years. I'm still not sure why. He was 10 years older than me. He was serious about his job and had the company's mission statement memorized. He was a Vietnam vet and a former Nascar driver. He was a life long bachelor with an eye for pretty women.

And me? I was...well, I was none of those things. I think I forgot to pack socks on that trip.

He sounds like a serious guy but he was also a complete optimist. Kind of a "the sun will come up tomorrow" personality. He survived cancer. I watched him take a battery of pills and lather lotions on his body to help with the chemo or radiation. But he never complained and he always pointed out that he was blessed and that he was so much better off than most of the people on the planet.

Later, I switched companies and talked him into coming along. It was a good move for him and his talent and work ethic were recognized and he moved up the ladder into some high profile positions. I was thanked for bringing him into the company. A few years later, I made another career move and we started to lose touch. There was an occasional phone call but then 2 years went by while we forgot to talk at all.

If this is starting to sound like a eulogy, well, I suppose it is. It's been a year now since he left work early, wrote a note to his new wife and shot himself in the bathtub. I wanted to put some time between the news of his suicide and writing this. First, I wanted to understand it. I wanted to wrap my head around what happened and why. I wanted to find the answer to this problem.

But I've changed my mind.

I don't want to understand it. I don't want to know that he was always in pain and I never recognized it. I don't want to know what was in the note he left. I don't want to grasp how he could battle cancer so bravely and with out self pity and then take his own life after the battle was won. I don't want to find out that Henry could hate his new wife so much that he would make her carry the lifetime burden of what she saw in that bathroom. I don't want to think that I might have made a difference if I'd kept in touch. This is the second story I've written dealing with suicide and I don't want to realize that everybody is capable of it. I don't want to wrap my head around that kind of darkness.

I can accept that some things just are. Sometimes there are no answers.

I don't need to understand.

Finally Something to Admire

Aaron was an ass. He was cruel, racist, lazy, sexist, and he was my boss. Those who worked closest to him never lasted long. After a long line of his female assistants quit after a few months with him, we hired a man who lasted 11 months before resigning after being reduced to tears in front of the rest of the staff.

He boasted that he had friends in high places and couldn't be fired and after so many outrageous incidents that resulted in nothing more than a friendly warning, we came to believe it. I once tried to think up with even one small thing to admire about him. I couldn't do it. Came up empty...

...until I heard the details of how he killed himself.

Aaron's reign came to an end through the most unlikely hero. Betty was a timid, nervous woman who never really made eye contact during the interview. But Aaron's reputation was well known and she was the only applicant. That was a good enough qualification and she was hired. Her resume told us where she worked before and where she went to school but it never showed us her back bone. Solid Titanium. Sure, she cried. But she fought back and we rallied around her and based on all of our testimony, Aaron was finally fired.

But I'm not writing about Betty. Admiring her was easy. I still do. This story is about how Aaron killed himself.

On January 2nd, the local paper, the sheriffs office, and various relatives were informed in writing of Aaron's death...by Aaron himself. When the sheriff arrived at the address, he found a home that was spotless and devoid of furniture. An envelope filled with instructions was on a kitchen counter. Aaron and his wife (and the cat) were in the front seat of Buick in the still fume filled garage. They had written their own obituaries and sent them to the paper with a check, prepaid for a simple cremation, sold all the furniture, taken their clothes to the thrift store, discontinued utility services and paid the final bills, cleaned the house, applied for the life insurance benefits, and left instructions for the disbursement of any remaining assets. They had taken care of every conceivable detail. It was so clean. So efficient. Why?? It went completely against how he lived. It took a dumpster to clean out his office but just an envelope to clean up his life? Was it one last act of control? Was he trying to make amends for a messy life?

Whatever his reasons were, I was fascinated. I still believe suicide is the ultimate act of cowardice...but...(and I apologize everytime I tell this story)...but ...I gotta admit...I was impressed. This was something about Aaron I could admire.

Rest in Peace Aaron.