Shortly after Paul took his life, I felt so much anger and rage that I had the urge to throw something all the time. I actully took a box of glass jars out to a farm with lots of rocks and crevices where where I smashed he jars against the rocks. It did actually get rid of the urge to throw something. But one has flashbacks. You can be driving peacefully down the road and a thought will cause the anger to return.
"Why did I almost cry in Killarney when looking at those fishing lures? The thoughts of all the things Paul and I will never do and never discuss are sometimes overwhelming. We were going to fish and golf , go to every major league ball park, and watch Notre Dame football. When I think of all the things we will miss, I just start cursing to myself with a string of every curse word I can recall then throw bottles into walls until I can throw no more. When sitting in the bars in Killarney listening to the young guys sing and watching clear-eyed young people having a good time, I wanted to throw my glass into the wall several times to vent my rage at whatever stole my son and his sons and daughters from me. The anger always returns, but not at Paul but at whatever afflicted his mind."
I went on in the diary to summarize all the great memories of Paul and myself fishing from the time he was five years old until just a few weeks before we discovered his illness. Thinking back on that last fishing trip, he was very troubled and perhaps we should have known then that something was terribly wrong in his mind. But we did not.
These feelings of anger return again and again. I recall the feelings of anger I had when the world series of 1992 rolled around. Paul and I had gone to the 1991 world series together and he seemed to try to enjoy himself. Later, when I look back on it, it seems like that was his gift to me before he ended his life. He even asked me once if he could not have gone, who would I go with? I remember telling him there was noone I would rather go with. I did not attend a game in person for about five years. Finally I did go but it seems everytime I go to any sporting event, the anger returns somewhat.
When Tiger Woods hugged his father after the final putt to win the Masters, I was overcome with tears of joy for them. But then the anger hit me. I get the same feeling seeing Jack Nicklaus' son behind him helping to line up his putts. Shots of Pete Rose watching his son's major league baseball debut did the same thing. I do not resent the joy they have of seeing their sons as adults, but I feel anger at the loss of my son. It is not as bad as on that plane ride back from Ireland, but it comes back just the same.
I mentioned in the page entitiled "Missing Person Picture" that it was like standing in the edge of a stormy sea. Sometimes when you least expect it, the anger will suddenly hit like a big wave. But at least now I recognize it for what it is and know that I will work through it.
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Page created Sept. 7, 1997.
Last updated Aug 31, 2007 @ 6:33 A.M..
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