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Carol H Tucker
Passionate about knowledge management and organizational development, expert in loan servicing, virtual world denizen and community facilitator, and a DISNEY fan
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beladona Memorial
Be warned:in this very rich environment where you can immerse yourself so completely, your emotions will become engaged -- and not everyone is cognizant of that. Among the many excellent features of SL, there is no auto-return on hearts, so be wary of where your's wanders...
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Frank's son
On Tuesday night, January 24th, I received a phone call telling me that Billy had shot himself that afternoon.
When Frank and I became involved, I knew that he had older children – Billy was the oldest and 10 years younger than I. I was very nervous about meeting the two of them, but both of them were friendly and tolerant even in the face of their mother’s understandable animosity Billy in particular was around a great deal – we would swing by the house in Arbutus on a regular basis, just dropping in to say hi. We went on vacations together, we would visit Billy at work when he was at Ritz Camera in the mall. When Frank had his second stroke, Billy was with us and I remember him curled up on the floor of the emergency room crying as Frank convulsed and the staff worked frantically around him.
When someone dies, particularly when it is a violent and unexpected death, you tend to go back in time, remembering the good things about them, dwelling on happier times. I will remember the slender young man who believed in ghosts, who was an excellent photographer, who greeted me into the family with easy acceptance, who looked like Frank and acted much like him – but lacked his strengths even while embracing his weaknesses. Billy adored his father and wanted to be like him. When Frank died, Billy’s eulogy was partially about how strongly he identified with him, to the point of claiming the nickname of “little Frankie” – which had all of us shifting and glancing at each other. Later when I drily commented in the car that was the first time I had heard the nickname in the 20 years I had been in the family, Billy snapped back at me that if I was really family, I would’ve known. Then his sister piped up that it was the first time she had heard of it too and there was silence. Afterwards he was very forceful and not very considerate about collecting things of Frank’s that he considered family property that should not remain with me but I assumed that was part of his grieving process. To me, it appeared that he never quite recovered from the loss of his father, who had supported and guided him. When Frank was moved to his final resting place in 2009, Billy had complete control over a ceremony he arranged -- it was the last time that I saw him. As time wore on, he made it quite clear that I and my kids were not his family, stating we had only been incidentally in his life because of Frank. I accepted this as I had already withdrawn from active contact with him for a completely different reason, even while strengthening ties to his sister. Cheryl is family and so is her son, no matter what the technical and legalities say.
Billy was 56 and his birthday was in three weeks. There was no note, no warning, no sign of depression. He had just finished renovating his house, was out of debt, had a steady job, and didn’t have any medical or relationship issues that were known. We’ll never know why he decided not to renew his lease or why he couldn’t face another trip around the sun, we just have to bid him farewell and live with his final choice.
And our family adds to the statistics
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