I want to talk about this:
This is the best gift my cousin Patrick ever gave to me. Not this specific copy, but still. He probably wouldn't remember it. I remember vividly the evening that we went to visit Uncle Benny, Aunt Shirley and Pat. Being about six years apart, as kids we didn't have much in common. That changed a little bit later on, but when I was in grade school and he was a teen, well, he may as well have been thirty.
Anyway, we wound up hanging out in his room and he started playing records. This would have been roughly 1978-79ish. That night cousin Patrick was the first person to ever play me Rush.
That may sound insignificant to some, but it's not. I remember listening to side 2 and 4. I did not understand this music but I knew it was important. I knew I needed to investigate it further. And I knew that, at least for a moment my cousin was amazingly cool. I didn't know it then but Rush would become one of my favorite bands. I have followed them for many years, through many styles, and been challenged and inspired by their music and lyrical themes. Patrick started me on the path to a life long love of Rush. It has enriched my life, and I really should thank him for it.
But I can't. Earlier this week, Patrick committed suicide.
I got the phone call Tuesday night. I didn't feel it until Wednesday morning. I was about ten minutes from work and lost it completely. I thought I got myself composed enough to continue on with my day, but instead of "good morning" I was greeted with "what's wrong?". What's wrong? I'm angry and sad and confused and everything is terrible. That's what.
Pat and I were never close, but as we got older I discovered that I truly liked him. We had the same sense of humor and a similar outlook on many things. He was funny, in a slightly sarcastic way. and he always seemed to be cool as a cucumber. He was private, and I can't say I really knew him well. But he was family and I loved him.
But right now I am angry with him. Because I love the rest of the family too. And apart from being in various states of shock, many of them are devastated. Aunt Shirley died a year ago, natural causes, and now this happens. Pat, what did you do? How could you do that to your father? And what is he supposed to do now?
And what about the rest of us? Your uncles and aunts who loved you and treated you like their own? Your cousins, the younger ones who looked up to you, and those who grew up with you? And what about your family? I won't go into any more details here, it's not my place to do so, but things could have worked out differently, and the sun could have shined again. You just didn't let it happen.
So what's the deal? This wasn't like you, man. The Patrick I knew was not weak, or selfish, or this broken. I don't know how you got this way, but you could have fixed it. Maybe you didn't know you could. Maybe you just didn't want to.
Look, I can forgive you, Pat, for what you've done. I can make peace with it, and cherish the memories I have. But not yet. Every memory of you is now tainted, and that won't go away, but my anger will. Because we're family. We accept one another, warts and all, and we love each other, no matter what. I just wish you could have held on to that, if nothing else. Then maybe...well, you know.
Anyway, with all this in my head, yesterday I went to grab "All The World's A Stage" by Rush and play it as a tribute. I was shocked to find that I didn't have it. I still have my vinyl copy from years ago but I didn't have the CD. It suddenly became vitally important that I obtain a copy. In view of what happened it just didn't seem right that I did not own a copy. This problem has been fixed. I have played as I drive, loudly and without apology. I played it for what used to be, for what will never be, and for what is. I played it for life.
Life is big, beautiful, scary, sad and funny. Sometimes all at once. It's not something we can do on our own. If you've indulged me thus far, then do me a favor. Reach out to somebody who's hurting or going through a rough patch. If you don't know anyone who is, then reach out anyway...there's someone who isn't showing their pain who needs a kind word or deed desperately. You truly might save a life. And, if you are the one who needs help, get help.
Tomorrow is Patrick's funeral. Going to it will be the single most depressing thing I have ever had to do. But I will go to show my love for the family, and to try and get a little closure, and try to put this anger to rest. Also to let the healing process and the forgiveness begin. I will be there for you too Patrick. Because I love you. And after the Rush thing, it's the least I can do.
