Posted by Jill Whalen | Posted in Miscellaneous | Posted on 06-27-2014
Oh Frankie.
What have you done? Why did you not care? Why did you give up? Was your pain so great that it was the only way?
I wish I could have helped you, I really do. By the time I had any understanding that may have helped you, it was way too late. And it would have fallen on deaf ears anyway.
You were my friend. Possibly the one true friend I’ve met at our bar. Certainly the first one. I wish I had known you before it became your life. Or maybe not. It might have been too sad to see your downhill spiral. As it was, I only knew you with your need to forget, get numb and be soothed. No judgment, all of us who hang out there can relate.
You were different though, Frankie. I think our childlike psyches are what brought us together. I always gravitate to the children in the room, and in many ways that’s exactly what you were–to me at least. Not in a bad way, but in the same way that I too am also still a child. You and I often “played” together in a way that most grownups in the room wouldn’t or couldn’t. Just a week or two ago we were fighting over the coasters, with you trying to snatch them out of my hand!
Oh Frankie.
Who am I going to play with now?
You were one of the most openly loving people that I’ve ever met. While you definitely threw the L word around a lot and to many people, I do believe that you meant it (most of the time). I know you meant it when you said it to me, and although I’m sure I probably never said it back, I know you knew I loved you too. How could I not? You were a pretty loveable guy. In fact, everyone loved you, despite your sometimes paranoid delusions to the contrary.
Did you know that? Would it have made a difference?
Oh Frankie.
I can’t believe it’s come to this already, but I guess you really are dead to me now, my overgrown, older-than-I-am son.
But never forgotten.
Sad. I take it from your post that it was suicide?
Long-term suicide: alcoholism