Tags
death, despair, desperation, emotion, fear, forever, grandfather, gun, lifetimes, loss, love, mystery, revolver, suicide
I’ve always wondered
what my 62 year old grandfather
was thinking
that Friday
at 1:30 in the afternoon,
when he decided to leave his office
in the court house,
where he was County Court Clerk,
to drive out of town,
park on a by-road,
walk to a nearby bush,
pull out his revolver
and shoot himself
through the head.
I’ve always wondered……why?
Perhaps,
one day
he’ll tell me.
Dennis Cardiff 
Hi Melanie,
You’ve made my day. 26 feels much younger than 66.
Thanks for the fascinating information on one of my favorite authors, and my two favorite books: “The Old Man and the Sea” and “For Whom the BellTolls”. Another favorite is “The Sun Also Rises”.
It’s interesting to note that Hemingway despised his father’s cowardice for committing suicide. My father wished he had his father’s courage for committing suicide. He always kept a Remington 45 caliber pistol in the bedroom.
I have no problem with my age. I feel I’ve earned every wrinkle, every grey and white hair.
Cheers,
Dennis
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Hi Melanie,
Thanks for your concern. This ‘young man’ has been around for sixty-six years. My attempt at suicide was at age seventeen. I agree with your comments, my father was scarred for life by the suicide of his father.
LIke you I believe that everything is relative and temporary.
Again, I thank you for your concern. In our society concern is often lacking.
Cheers,
Dennis
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Thanx for your kind words, Dennis! I don’t believe in passivity, resignation and
fatality… The French say that life starts at 40… so you’re just 26! 🙂 Btw, I have NO problem with my age, no plastic surgery, no botox, etc… quelle horreur! 😀 My very best, cheers back, Mélanie
– – –
P.S. I lost a ladyfriend 3 weeks ago, cancer, she was 59… and I recalled Hemingway’s words here:
http://incaunipocrit.wordpress.com/2013/05/04/there-is-nothing-else-than-now-ernest-hemingway/
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speaking of Hemingway, last year I visited his house in Key West, Florida and I did mention about his death here – if you have a few minutes off, of course:
http://incaunipocrit.wordpress.com/2012/06/10/hemingway-home-907-whitehead-street-key-west/
Hemingway returned from Europe to the USA in September 1960 because he felt ill, physically and mentally. Diabetes, heavy smoking, alcohol… he had become impotent at 58 and he was obsessed with vision loss caused by diabetes. He was depressed and bipolar, with mental disorders, considered to be “crazy”. He was treated at US Mayo Clinic for 3 months. He went back to Ketchum, Idaho and 2 days later he committed suicide! Irony and paradox: Ernest blamed and despised his father’s suicide, perceived as an act of cowardice! Hemingway’s medical record was publicly accessible in 1991 and it did confirm that he had suffered from hemochromatosis, an incurable genetic disease that causes physical, neurological and psychological damage which explains – in part – all the suicides in the Hemingway family: father, brother, sister…
“A man can be destroyed but not defeated …”(The Old Man and the sea) – Ernest Hemingway is unique and his works remain eternal…
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Thanks Melanie, you are right. I have also attempted suicide (obviously unsuccessful). There was a time when going to sleep, and never waking up, seemed preferable to the pain I felt in my heart.
I no longer feel that way, but with suicide there is no opportunity to change ones mind.
Cheers,
Dennis
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Dennis, thanx-merci for your sincerity! Happy to have met you, young man! 🙂
We all have ups and downs… Suicide has always been considered a cry for help to stop the existential pain, not necessarily a desire to die… But it has never “healed” any pain or “solved any problem(s), instead all the people we love and who love us are scarred for life by such a “selfish gesture”…
N.B. I do not criticize, I do not judge or condemn anyone! Our mind is the most complicated “maze”!
Friendly thoughts, stay optimistic and try “to relativize”, because you do know that everything is relative, temporary… 🙂
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He’s the only one to know the right and true answer… maybe what we call “le mal de vivre”?… there are times when certain “soul pains” become unbearable…
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