Bang Goes the Gun, Out Goes My Light

Twelve years ago my dad committed suicide, which initially was so shocking and unimaginable as most suicides are, and yet after time, and reflection made perfect sense.

He came into my life officially just before I turned four years old. I remember sitting in the car with him waiting for my mom, and he talked with me explaining how he and my mom were going to be getting married, and how we were all going to be living together. I was in the front seat fidgeting around and being surly and pouting, and I remember telling him something to the effect that I wouldn't be calling him Daddy. I remember him saying that he hoped I would someday, but it was all up to me and he loved me no matter what. I *think* I called him Daddy before my mom came back, and I never once regretted it. (Just as a bit of background, once my mother and biological father got divorced, he never made any effort to see me so it was an easy transition for me.)

Right from the beginning he was my light and love in an otherwise dark, scary and essentially loveless household. When my parents first got married he was a bartender and I remember going to the bar (wow times have changed!) and he would make me Shirley Temples or cherry Cokes and he would always make a big deal about sneaking me extra cherries. Then, he would get the dance floor set up with some powder of some sort that would really let me get my 4 year old dance on. It was cool and fun. THAT, I remember.

My parents never really played with us, as Dave and I play with our children, but I do remember a few tea parties with my daddy as a special guest, and we would occasionally be able to talk him into a rousing game of Sorry! (which is probably why I love to play it with Jacob) or when were at my grandparents' house we would always play "marbles" which was very similar to Trouble. Luck was always on his side, and it was a running joke, that no one really wanted to play against him, because he always won, and when he did win, it was just as much fun to give him grief about it.

I credit my taste in music to him. I remember being 3 or 4 (and older) sitting in what should have been a formal dining room, but instead was the "stereo room" that was only illuminated with black lights, listening to Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, and numerous other groups that I feel have shaped my musical tastes and really define me as a person in so many ways. It used to give me such perverse pleasure, that whenever he was really mad at my mom he would put on The Wall, or anything by George Thorogood and just blare it because she hated those albums. How's that for passive aggressive? Needless to say, I LOVE both.

He would try to be a buffer between my mom and I. He knew he could only do so much before he would get himself into trouble, but I knew he was usually on my side. Take the time I snuck out of the house one night, and my Yorkie busted me by yapping non-stop when he heard me outside with my friends. I immediately ran back inside but it was too late. He was standing there waiting. My mom was working that night, and he told me to go to bed and we would talk about it in the morning. Instead of telling my mom, which would have blown the entire house up, he gave me a days worth of manual labor.....mowing the lawn, washing and waxing the cars, ironing, etc., and then it was done and over with. Never to be talked about again. Funny how I remember that punishment and why it was given, and none of my mother's irrational ones.

There were times during my teenage years where he would take my mother's side, and I took that personally. That was when I felt like I had nobody. Looking back, it was self preservation on his part I'm sure.....but I was no angel all the time either. I remember I was in a very heated argument, and I had finally started standing up for myself. This didn't go over very well to say the least. I don't remember what the argument was about, nor do I remember what caused me to say what I did, but I lashed out, and said the one thing that I knew would hurt him to the core. "blah blah blah, You're not even my REAL Dad!" It had the desired effect, and I immediately regretted saying it. I still do. I wish those words had NEVER come out of my mouth.

He was everything a REAL dad could be and more. He accepted me into his life and as his daughter without reservation. He worked miserable hours with the post office(initially nights, then 4:30 am-1:30pm) to provide for us, even when he was in pain from throwing his back out time and time again. I honestly wonder if my fate would not have been the same as his, if he had not been a part of my life. He was my calm within the storm. As the years went by, and I got older we would have long talks late into the night about life, love, his hopes and expectations for me. Once I was in college, we would even talk about things that had happened while I was growing up, and I would talk to him about my concern regarding his increased drinking, his disappointments and general unhappiness....

Multiple things had finally come to a head, and life was taking it's toll. I knew that he wanted out one way or the other...he was trying to drink it all away, which only made things worse. Due to some things that had happened between my mother and I over the previous summer, I only came home briefly over Christmas break of my senior year, and barely saw him. I should have known. I had several phone conversations with him, but it didn't click. He almost didn't come to my graduation, thankfully he did. That was the last time I saw him alive. I didn't come home for Father's Day. My car was acting up, and it was a four hour drive home, but honestly it was because my boyfriend was going to be in town.....I called him instead, and he was crying on the other line. I knew it was bad, but I never thought......and I still live with that regret.

Not the regret of thinking that I could have stopped him, or made him feel any better, but the regret of not seeing him just one more time. I regret not having one more late night talk over a couple of drinks while listening to his newest music interest. I regret not being able to take one more drive in his car with him. I regret not being able to give him one more hug and kiss goodbye and smelling the gin and tonic on his breath and seeing it on his mustache. That is what I regret.

Just over a week later, he and my mother got into their final argument. He took the gun that they had in the house, left and never came back. He was found under a tree, in a park the next morning. He shot himself through the eye. He wanted to make sure that this was not "one more thing that he failed at".

I'm sad that he thought of his life as a failure. Life wasn't perfect and aspects of it for him were downright hard and in someways hopeless, but he didn't stick around long enough to reap the benefits of the things that were good.....I often wonder what kind of Grandpa he would have been to my children. I know that he would have loved Dave. They are so similar in many ways. How surprised and happy would he be that my sister and I are now so close and can honestly say that we love each other? Of course I wonder how different would all of our lives be if he hadn't done what he did? Would I be estranged from my mother? Would my sister and I be so close? Would I even have the family that I have? I don't know. But I do know, that I still miss him with all my heart even after all this time, and I wish that he was here sharing in our lives today. I love you and miss you Daddy.