Eddie drove out to the beach and shot himself in the head
with a shotgun. He was Allison’s
brother, and was around every Sunday for Redskins games. We talked every week, at least during
football season, but didn’t talk much.
He seemed a nice guy. It is a
shame he died.
Turns out he tried to get treatment twice, but wasn’t
admitted into the psych facility because he smoked. That makes me angry. It made everyone who heard it angry.
The services were on Friday in Delaware. Kath and I drove out, and drove back. It was nearly all family, so I felt a little
like we were intruding.
Today was meant to be more low key, a small gathering at
Alison’s sister’s place. But it was more
conversational and that made it intimate.
Everyone said what they remembered about Eddie – from people who hardly
knew him, to his siblings and closest friends.
Some talked for ten seconds, some talked for fifteen minutes. It was very sad and it seems he was very
loved. Alison said she felt like she let
him down, Matt said it was doubly sad that people who deserved happiness didn’t
get it, I said there would be a hole on Sunday, Keith talked about how hard it
was to climb out of that hole.
So I guess people mostly talked about themselves, at least
in passing. Even people who told the
stories about Eddie were talking about themselves. Grieving is a personal, egocentric thing I
guess.
Anyhow, everyone talked and the event wore down.
I made a bit of an irish exit, talked to
Alison in the garage and drove home in the rain.
