Friday, January 28, 2011

fear

you guys may recall that i used to drive a shuttle bus at night in winter park colorado. our dispatcher was lori, a catholic girl who got pregnant with triplets. the father, who loved her, worked on the grounds crew grooming the slopes. they were not married when lori got pregnant. shotgun wedding. but they managed, and thrived. well, one of the triplets i just found out came home from school, set down his books, picked up a gun, and blew his head off. dead. he would have been about 17 years old as i do the math.

oh well, i'll just be glad when i can run out of things to sob about.

rest in peace, kyle.

13 comments:

Cindy said...

Oh switters.

switters said...

hey cindy. 20 years ago, during the family gettogethers, i remember my red-faced nieces crying because they had to leave their grandparents. such sweet kids. they still are. such good young men and women.

rundeep said...

switters, my dear boy, shit happens. Of all horrible sorts -- mutiliations and depressions and, inevitably, death. Often to people who you would have wished had more time -- 20 years, 80 years, 10 years. It's not our call, it's not our fault and our job is to keep the good memories alive, remembering sweetly and lovingly, without drowning in them. The bad parts we bury with the dead. It's hard to do, for sure, and it takes time to do it -- a different length for every person and every loss. Your parents sound wonderful. Keep telling us about them.

topazz said...

Agree, your entire family sounds very cool. And speaking of your nephews and nieces - are you their Uncle Buck? You sound like one of those uncles that the kids actually look forward to sitting next to at the holiday dinners. One of my brothers is hands down the favorite uncle of my kids as well as their 22 assorted cousins, (maybe because as soon as they could talk he'd have them making crank calls) You ought to find out if any of them would be interested in spending a few days or even a week with you as an unpaid (but well-fed) intern this summer to help out on your farm. It could end up being an experience they never forget, something special in it for all of you.

Cindy said...

I've got a boatload of nephews and nieces, and it is very cool to see them grow up.

My oldest nephew is the proud father of three kids under the age of two. Maybe I should say the tired, proud father.

My youngest niece is 5 and she is incredibly smart and funny.

I love to be involved in their lives, and Facebook helps a lot for us to stay in touch.

I'm writing a book, and it centers around a suicide. It's incredibly hard to write. I get so sad I have to stop.

You know, I'm becoming aware that there is a calling to companionship...those called to sit with those who suffer the tragedies. I feel that in my own life.

I think you do too.

It doesn't innocculate us from suffering our own losses. But it seems to strengthens the life bonds.

Penal-Colony said...

Always give vent. There's nothing sadder than complacency and nothing more damnable than indifference.

After family, everything else is a plus.

twif said...

bitter, the cold surrounds
and swallows whole
the very air in silence.
snow seems grief shaken
from a fallen sky.

and yet clouds still
follow the winds.

quiet is the night
in winter and always,
sapphire frozen
in cold moonlight.
but beneath the blanketed
earth sleeps a secret
green, warm and waiting;
a dream that knows
of morning.

switters said...

i picked the wrong night to quit drinking.

bright said...

Dude, seriously.

switters said...

sorry, bright. i've been watching this video of ellen dancing with the various guests she's had on her show over the years. it's oddly touching.

DragonTat2 said...

There's never a wrong night to quit drinking.
Sad about the boy. I follow a group, twloha. (towriteloveonherarm) Deals with this type of thing. Just typing here...

Blessings&Peace~

switters said...

tosca from the met; end of act ii gets me everytime.

Cindy said...

Tosca is amazing. Every time.

Heading into a production I often think it is going to be schlock, same-old same-old. Somewhere around the middle of Act I I'm all in.

Act II, I'm never leaving.