Never Forget Travis

I always enjoy looking back at old family photos. They trigger memories of events and shared history that is sometimes forgotten only to be refreshed by the image.

This image is from Travis’ high school graduation party. Travis is standing with my mom, and I remember the first time he discovered he was taller than her. He would always joke with her about it, and it was a bond of love between the two of them. Travis always had a way of making you feel better when he was around, whether it was through jokes or just being himself.

In the background is Travis’ girlfriend. They weren’t together anymore when he died, but I know she was as filled with sorrow as the rest of us were. I haven’t seen her since the funeral, but I hope that she is doing well.

So today I received news that the ex of a friend of mine committed suicide. He was a soldier wounded in Iraq that was back in the states, dealing with his injuries and the price he gave in the service of his country.

Whenever I hear of someone killing themself, I always think about Travis. I actually think about him pretty much every day, but it’s more involved when there’s a fresh trigger. I wonder what the person was thinking, what their motivation was. I wonder if they had made peace with their deity, if they believe in one. I wonder how it will impact their family, and especially the person who found them. I wonder if they left a note with some kind of explanation, or if they didn’t (like Travis).

We’re coming up on 12 years now. The effects of suicide never go away.

Today Travis would’ve been 38. I remember when he turned 18. I was in college, but happened to be home for the weekend around his birthday. He had come out to see Grandma and Grandpa, and then came next door to see us. He and I went up to my bedroom and chatted about all different things, recalling childhood adventures and reliving good memories. I didn’t have a card for him as I hadn’t expected to see him, but the time spent together was gift enough.

I dreamt about him last week and we were reminiscing old times in the dream. I’m never sad when I dream about him, as the dreams keep him fresh in my memory.

The picture is one of the last I have of him, just over a month before his suicide. We were at his father’s house celebrating his half-brother’s birthday. Also in the picture is our grandma and grandpa.

It was the winter of ‘78 or ‘79 and I would’ve been 10-12, while Travis would’ve been 7-9 as I don’t recall the exact year or month. Travis was staying at Grandma and Grandpa’s for the weekend, and he and I went out together in our snow suits to play in the snow. There was a pond in the field below my grandparents’ house, and we knew it froze over in the winter. We’d take snow shovels down and clear off the snow, then go skating on the ice. Sometimes the ice wasn’t solid enough on the edges, but we’d go out onto it anyway, our boots getting wet but our feet were still dry.

This one time it was just me and Trav on the pond. There was snow up to our waists in the field, but it was a bright sunny day with blue skies. We were on the ice, and I remember seeing cracks, but it always had cracks. The ice broke way and Travis was on an ice flow, holding onto it to keep from going into the pond. I laid down on the ice and used the snow shovel to pull him toward me, but then the ice below me broke also. I don’t remember how, but I got us both out and we were completely soaked.

We had to work our way through the snow, which was very hard due to our soaked snow suits and boots. It was less than a quarter mile, but we were both pretty frozen solid by the time we got to grandmas. She got our wet stuff off and put it in the dryer, and bundled us up. We got home made hot cocoa to help warm us up as we sat bundled in our blankets.

We were lucky. We both survived and lived to play other days. I spent this morning recovering a child that wasn’t as lucky. I wonder if he had had a cousin with him if his cousin would have been able to get him out.

Eleven years ago around this time I was driving past my cousin Travis’ apartment. I had been talking to my parents about stopping to see him, but I had stopped and seen my great aunt at the nursing home and was running later than I wanted. So I drove right past his apartment on my way to Erie to see some friends from Toronto before driving home to Coudersport. Sometime later in the day Travis took his own life.

Not stopping is one of my biggest regrets in my life. I know that if I had stopped I would not have changed his mind. (My dad said he was glad I hadn’t stopped because he would not have wanted Travis to shoot me too.) I wish I had stopped so I would’ve had one more memory of Travis.

We’d had some good times that month. Our last couple of times together were filled with love and laughter, during Labor Day and my birthday party. I just wish I had made him a priority this day eleven years ago. I hope those of you reading this will always make the people you care about priority in your life.

I just learned that another cousin of mine killed himself last week. Gerry was a year older than me but he actually was in my class in high school. I didn’t really associate with him or his three brothers because they were from that branch of the family that we didn’t interact with or want to interact with. It was really no fault of the kids, but more a statement on their father and his condition.

After his grandmother died, the family lost touch with Gerry and his brothers even though they still lived in the same town. His father was found dead four years ago on Independence Day, and that finished severing the ties between the main family and that branch.

I remember Gerry’s ex-wife Beth from school and always wondered what she saw in him. Together they had five kids, though they divorced and he was living with another woman at the time of his death.

I wonder if his life would have been different if the family had made more of an effort in helping out him and his brothers over the years. But then I think of Travis and how we did do so much for him and yet he chose to take his life too.

I can’t really mourn for Gerry, but I can empathize with his children and brothers. I know the sorrow they have because it’s the same sorrow I still feel today for Travis coming up on 11 years.

Today is Travis’ birthday. This is a picture of him with our Great Uncle Jim who has also passed away and Jim’s daughter Karen.

Travis always made the time to come to the family gatherings. He enjoyed spending time with the family, and also volunteered at the county home where he would spend time talking to the elderly residents.

Travis’ birthday is coming up on February 27. If he was still alive he would be turning 37. His last year of life we didn’t have a party for him, though we did have a party for his half-brother in August and then one for me in September. I’ve always wondered if that bothered him. I know that being called grandson number two bothered him as he viewed it as meaning he wasn’t as loved as I was as grandson number one. My grandparents meant it though in order of birth and never realized how Travis was interpretting it until he told them. They never called him that again.

Tomorrow afternoon will be the ten year anniversary of my cousin’s suicide. He wasn’t found until the next morning so his recorded date of death is the 30th, but he did it on the 29th. I’ve talked about him before on here, but with it being 10 years I find myself opening old wounds that I’ve never let fully heal. I feel the guilt as though it were just yesterday. I feel the sorrow. I feel the loss. But I also remember the love and the good times. I sent his mom a card today letting her know I’m thinking of her. I mentioned it to my grandmother when I called her today. I don’t think she had recognized it until I pointed it out. She shared that she remembers that day because 33 years ago on that day she accepted Christ as her savior and started her new life. She said that Travis started his new life that day too. She was so calm and at peace during those days afterwards. I was strong for the family, holding my grief in while supporting my family until I could hold it in no longer. As soon as the service started I broke down and wailed, letting it out for the duration of the service and the tears continued to flow while I was a pallbearer, introducing the other pallbearers to each other between sobs. I cried through the commital and interment. I cried during the meal afterwards. And now I’m crying again.