Making a choice about life.

There was a suicide yesterday. In my neighborhood. About 10 houses up the road.  It was the boy friend. Of a woman, a widow, living in a swank recently built house. Don’t know the details. Other than he did it. In her place.  I learned all this from a concerned neighbor. Who noticed a hearse parked in the driveway. She inquired.  Directly. People seem shocked. When they hear someone has taken his own life. More so than if he had a heart attack or stroke. But it happens every day.  My father was a suicide. It’ll be 65 years ago. In April 1949. Wow! How time flies. Anyway, back to yesterday’s suicide. There was curiosity. Over how the boy friend did it. But nobody dared ask. As for my father, he went down to the basement. And hung himself. Nowadays, it’s more convenient to shoot one’s self. But my dad didn’t own a gun. Guess he was sort of a pacifist. He didn’t hunt. Didn’t kill. Other than himself. Avoided war, too. Though he was eligible to serve in World War II. Some how, he evaded the draft. Maybe because he preferred living. At the time, that is. Then thought better of it. –Jim Broede