This week has been kind of strange to say the least. I’ve done a lot of thinking. It’s had me alone in a dark place. Not in a bad way. Just thinking about my whole thirty-two years on this planet and all the people I’ve met and places I’ve been. The blessings (and curses) I have endured and had.
I think back to the car accident I was in on Mill Street back in October 1997 where I flew from the car through the windshield and onto the street after hitting my head.
I think back to the death of my son, Anthony Daniel Lee Ducksworth, August 14th, 1997-August 17th, 1997.
I thought about my abuelo, Magoo that died on my son, Da’lin’s birthday seven years ago.
I think about how my mother gave me to my grandparents after three months because I wasn’t wanted. I’ve heard many stories as to how that came to be, but they are far too numerous to mention here and actually, too personal to mention.
I think about Bryan B., a friend of mine who committed suicide on Thanksgiving Eve in 1994 because he felt alone and had no one to talk to. I still have his obituary in my photo album. I look at it from time to time.
Let’s cover some of these and I’m sure I’ll hit some others.
One Day We’ll Be Together Again
Anthony Daniel Lee Ducksworth, my oldest son would be turning 14 this year. His mother and I were together for a while back when I was a senior in high school. We had a pretty good relationship, but it was shaky at times because I wanted different things than she did. We broke up after I cheated on her. She was one and a half month pregnant. I was young and stupid with no sense of morals and had no interest in a serious relationship period. All I wanted to do was to be there for this child. She and I tried to remain civil to one another throughout the pregnancy, but I met another woman. This girl was everything I wanted. My ex, was now five months along and I was leaving for a two week vacation with my new girlfriend and her family. My ex was needless to say… not happy. The vacation went well and I did call my ex during the first week to check in. However, the second week I did not. I came back August 19th and called her as soon as I got back… that’s when she proceeded to tell me that she went into premature labor and they had to take the baby. His heart was weak and he had a hole in it to boot. They would need a few weeks for his respiration to get stronger before they could operate. It was highly risky. She was alone and didn’t know what to do so she said okay. He died three days later. She tried to page me but I didn’t call her back. I was out of range. It was on me. I should have been there but wasn’t. That was the last conversation we would have for a year. On the one year anniversary of Anthony’s death, she told me he was a boy and his name… we agreed if it was a boy what his name would be. We met for lunch… well me and like six of her friends. It was awkward, but I made it through it. We would not speak for twelve long years until 2009. We are good friends now. I’ve found out some more information about Anthony. He was cremated and was taken away. She didn’t want the pictures taken or anything. She just wanted it over. I felt horrible. Fourteen years later there still isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about him. The day that he died I heard Together Again by Janet Jackson for the first time. I swear it's him talking to me even now. I can see him dancing in Heaven with his uncle. One day I'll get to throw the football with him just like I do with Da'lin. When Da'lin was four he started telling me about his brother visiting him in his room, and his name is Anthony. I never mentioned him until he asked me.
I never saw my oldest son. Kicker of this story? My mother used to tell me and my sisters about our older brother who died because of a hole in his heart when he was a baby. What was his name? My sons’ namesake… Anthony.
Speaking of my mother, we have gotten over the whole giving me away thing so that has no bearing on my life now. It just makes me think of how it has shaped my life. I was just not a part of her plan. Not to mention, I am so grateful to my grandparents for taking me in because they didn’t have to. They could have left me to foster care but they stepped up.
Hell On Wheels
I was hell on wheels as a teen. I knew it all and said it all. At eighteen (three months before Anthony died) I got into an argument with my grandfather over of all things… where to park in the driveway. Now, bear in mind… I had my senior concert that night (I played sax and tuba). We screamed all the way to the front door. He swung and hit me in the head. I didn’t want to hit him so instead… I hit the plate glass in the door. It cost me everything. Seventy-seven stitches in my right hand and three torn tendons. I had five hours of reconstructive surgery. They wanted to cut the whole hand of because gangrene had set in on the outside of my hand because I lost so much blood so fast. I was lifeflighted to Worcester from Leominster. They did one hell of a job in fixing my hand. Pain can’t describe the surgery. Six months of rehab and an air cast. I took my finals writing with my left hand and I played the tuba left handed at graduation. To this day, the outside of my right hand is numb.
Death is NOT the only way out.
Bryan B. is someone from my childhood that I met as a fourteen year old. We were introduced by a mutual friend over the summer of ’94. He liked our mutual friend a lot. She was a pretty girl, but she was kind of flighty. She never stuck to one guy for too long. She was a year younger than us. Bryan was a really nice guy. He came from a good family and he just needed… well, I really don’t know. We hung out some with our mutual friend over the summer and through the fall. Then, our mutual friend met someone. Bryan was a little upset. That was around Halloween. Thanksgiving came and Bryan called me. He asked me to ask my parents if he could sleep over. I asked if my parents if he could sleep over and they didn’t care. They met him a few times and they thought he was a nice kid. His parents told him to wait until after Thanksgiving dinner then he could stay over. He was mad about it and we talked on the phone for about an hour and I told him not to worry about it. He was really mad for some reason. All I told him was ‘we’ll talk about it tomorrow and his family just wants to spend time with him.’ I promised to talk the next day. He told me I was his closest friend and I understood him the most. I said that was kind of strange because we only had been friends for a few months. He and I hung up. I called the next day. Brian’s mom answered the phone and that’s when I found out he took his own life sometime in the middle of the night. My first experience with death. I was the last person he apparently talked to on this earth. That was seventeen years ago. He took a lot of pills and washed it down with some alcohol and that was it. He left a note… still no idea why. At the funeral, his mom said he talked about me a lot. All I ever did was offer an ear. That was it. In the few months I knew him, I just listened.
In the days of THE SOCIAL NETWORK
In these days, I see so many posts and news articles where people post cryptic things about suicide and such.
Facebook Suicide
Facebook Bullying
When did social networking become the substitution for friendship and actual counseling? I understand therapeutic, but writing that you want to kill yourself doesn’t solve much via Facebook. Pick up the phone and call someone who can help. Friendship is valued and should be cashed in at will. A true friend will be there, as long as it’s not abused. Reach out and call a friend. Even better call your mother, I call my 73 year old grandmother! I usually don’t like what she has to say, but that old wisdom has seen quite a few things. Instead of taking it to Facebook, head to a Face…LOOK! Family has got your back. If they don’t, then that’s all good too.
One thing is certain…uncertainty
Why does everyone have to speak different languages? It makes me so mad when I’m trying to tell someone something and they swear up and down that I’m saying something different. I know what I’m trying to say. If you don’t get it, ask me to explain it differently don’t just tell me what I’m saying.
The song in the link above You Don’t Know Me by Armand Van Helden has lyrics that mean something to me:
I don't ask for nothing
I'm always holding my own
Every time I turn around, there's something
People talking 'bout what they don't know
And when I try to move on up
They're always pullin' me down
I'm tired and I've had enough
It's my life, and i'm living it now
You don't even know me (ohh, you dont know me)
You say that I'm not livin' right (you don't understand the way
that I feel)
You don't understand me (you can't even see my pain)
So why do you judge my life (oohhh you don't know)
No one listens anymore. Well, most don’t that I know anyways. I only know what I am. I have no idea about anyone else. We all are certain about what we can do for ourselves.
Still No Grave
I think about last October and the conversations I had with my family. Ain’t No Grave was to be played as the pallbearers carried my coffin out. That was the plan. Come to find out, there is no brain tumor. There are so many times I was supposed to not make it. I planned on the worst. That ws how it was. Everyone was nice to me and supportive... once there was no tumor and just a migraine disorder, it was back to normal... for some people. Not for me. I now know that life is too short... there is no time for crap and disorder. Make the necessary changes and do something to enjoy the sunshine. Or live in the dark. Either way, know your surroundings and learn them. Get comfortable with them. Don't get stagnant. As we all know, life can't exist in stagnant water.
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| Click to learn the story of The Phoenix |
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