Preface Warning: This blog entry may be difficult for some to read. It’s okay, I understand. It isn’t the easiest to write. If you have stress and anxiety triggered by talk of suicide, stop here.
I left Johnson City on August 22nd and headed across Tennessee to Mom’s. I needed to be there for her as she navigated the first wedding anniversary without Dad, and the observance of the one-year mark of his passing just five days later. Unfortunately, I was dealing with some other stuff that had made national news the previous week and I was distracted during the first couple of days. That was hard on both of us.
Mom needed me, but I couldn’t be fully present because I was grieving the disappearance and later death of a dear friend, one who had seen me through some of my darkest moments after losing Grubby. There was so much speculation and conjecture about what had happened, and people coming out of the woodwork to speak ill of her without having all the facts. All that anyone knows is that her husband, who was a cop, was found murdered at their home, and seven days later, her body was found about a mile away.
It was really hard to reconcile what it appeared to be with the person I knew, the person who had done so much for so many. Mary made me realize that there is always another person lurking inside of us, the one that, with the right set of circumstances, could snap and become the monster that people were accusing my friend of being. Still, as a suicide survivor, I want Grubby to be remembered for the way he lived, and not the way he died.
I hate it when people say that he made a choice because I don’t believe that he did. I think that he – Grubby – the one we all knew and loved, was already gone when he took that final act because my Grubby would never have done that to me or to Abby. And, in thinking about it, if someone had told me at 7 AM on February 24, 2021, that Grubby was going to take his own life, I would have said that he wasn’t capable of such an act, and yet within six hours, he had done just that. So, it’s true that anyone is capable of any act, no matter how big or how small, that is completely out of character for them, and that sucks!
Instead of focusing my energy on all the negative stuff being said about my friend, I choose to focus on the legacy she left behind: a legacy of bringing people from all over the country who had lost a first responder to suicide together, a legacy of building a memorial for those loved ones – those who are not likely to ever be on the big national memorials in DC and around the country, a legacy of beating on the doors of Congress and fighting to get PTSD and suicide included in the Public Safety Officers Benefits Act, which would provide those families with a federal line of duty designation and the same benefits that those who died in the line of duty received, passed. Although Abby and I were initially denied, were it not for my friend, it would not have been possible for us to even try to get that declaration.
We always remind people that we want our loved ones to be remembered for the way they lived and not the way they died, but even some of the other survivors don’t seem willing to extend this sentiment to my friend, and that to me, is the height of hypocrisy and entitlement.
