Sun sets on a melancholy memory

FLO MARTIN

Ah, the holidays -- a time of celebration, a time of shared joys, a

time for making new memories.

My husband and I celebrated this Thanksgiving and our wedding

anniversary by sharing a trip to Coronado Island. We walked Old Town

San Diego. We traveled by ferry, and we strolled along the Coronado

Bay. We marveled at the famous old hotel with the cupola domes, and

we sat, hand in hand, in awe of a stunning Coronado sunset.

The sunlight in front of us reflected on the windows of a

high-rise condo complex directly behind us. Old memories came

flooding back, memories of my childhood and beyond. Joe listened for

several hours as I recalled a certain young couple who had met,

fallen in love, married and set out on a lifetime of adventures --

adventures that ended in that high-rise.

The duo had meshed some 50 years ago with my family, both as

neighbors and as friends. We all shared a common Bulgarian heritage,

and we all were struggling, as immigrants, to succeed.

And succeed, they did! The husband, an engineer, had a razor-sharp

intellect and a solid business sense. The wife was

university-educated in Europe as a chemical engineer, then a science

foundation researcher and a member of a professional society of

graduate women in science. The two founded and operated an

international, multimillion-dollar-yearly corporation. A winter home

on Coronado, a summer home in St. Moritz, prestige, tons of money --

what more could one ask for? What?

Answer: the love and connection of family. Their relatives were

either an ocean away or estranged. Their daily life buzzed with

social contacts. They loved the regular holiday visits at our house,

since that involved kids. Their social calendar was full. But, as I

recalled to Joe on our bench, these two struggled with loneliness.

The eyes were often melancholy, even sad.

Some 13 years ago, the husband died of emphysema after a lifetime

of both his and his wife’s nonstop smoking. The wife and my mom, now

both widows, started to travel the world together. Every holiday,

either Thanksgiving or Christmas, the two ladies would be together.

If Mom wasn’t with us, she was with her longtime traveling pal in the

Coronado condo. The Costa Mesa relatives would also head in that

direction, to say hello.

On a more recent Thanksgiving weekend, the tradition ended. Mom

had said thanks, but no. “I’m getting older and want to stay home

this year.” The woman’s loneliness was too much to bear. The demons

-- her struggles with multiple nervous breakdowns and subsequent

hospitalizations -- became unbearable. She drove to the Coronado

Bridge, a five-minute trip at most. She passed the sign that offered

suicide counseling, got out of her car and jumped to her death.

On that horrible night, we were only a bit more than an hour’s

drive away. If only we had thought “outside the box” and had offered

some holiday hospitality to our friend. If only we could have walked

in her shoes. If only we had offered help.

Ah, the holidays -- for the lucky ones, a good time with family

and friends. For the lonely and the alone, not so good. Some folks

can’t stop the pain and can’t see a life without pain. Some need

attention, can’t sleep or eat, can’t see their way out or can’t seem

to get control. The sense of crisis becomes unbearable, and they

choose the permanent way out. Help is never close enough.

Back to the Coronado bench. The sunset began to fade, and my story

ended. I turned around and found the balcony where, in years past, my

family and our friends had all enjoyed similar sunsets. Now the

curtains were drawn and all seemed dark. No sign of life. My sense of

loss ached as a tight knot inside. If only ....

NOTE: If you or someone you know is thinking about suicide, call

for help. Call the national hotline, 1-800-SUICIDE, 1-800-784-2433.

* FLO MARTIN is a Costa Mesa resident and faculty member at Cal

State Fullerton.