The Rest Of The Story

Yesterday started out with a nicely defined schedule. Slept later than intended. wiped out from tennis, hot tub and little sleep the night before. By nine my laid back schedule would be tossed.

After "quiet time" and coffee I went to our local paper's website. Only do this about 3 to 4 times a year. Clicked the obit tag by mistake. Scanned the names. As I scrolled a familiar name peeked over the bottom of the page. I pulled up the entire obit. Couldn't believe it, hadn't seen the young man for over ten years. Had to rush get to the funeral home in time.

His father was a friend of mine. His son 47 y/o died in Texas. Alone. Parents, children and the rest of the family lives here in Tennessee. The obit was short, compact, it listed: next of kin; military service; Union membership; along with age and local schools attended. It added favorite activities and sports to round out his character.

When I mentioned "familiar" above I was referring not only to the name but to how similar the obits for my son and for for both (yes two) sons of another friend who was sitting next to me at the service and at the cemetery.

I think you know where I'm going with this. All the obits failed to mention the "rest of the story." The history of alcoholism in the family, the jails, accidents, broken relationships and overall destruction in their shortened lives.

My pew-sharing friend's boys were murdered on the same night in the same apartment a few years ago. One was in college and the other a father with a young daughter. The police were unable to establish a motive. They were in their twenties.

The young man today had been wounded while a marine in Beirut. He had broken his back in a fall in Texas a few years ago. He fell while entering a building through a third story window. From his wheelchair he called a few days ago. He was incoherent and had been drinking. Later the same morning the family received the call that he had died.

My son was shot and paralyzed in 1984. He lived through a constant hell of hospitals, morphine and brief periods of sobriety until his death in 2005. He died alone in a Tampa emergency room.

Yes all three of us cried and hugged. Me and my pew-friend held hands during the eulogy. We grieved not only because our sons had experienced the violence of alcoholism or as fathers: we grieved the deeper grief; that for a another alcoholic.

My wife had a dream a week after our son's funeral. Mike was running in the surf laughing, waving his hands and shouting "Look mom I'm free!I'm free!"

I like to think of this ending as truly "the rest of the story".

JF