Mourning Someone Who Mattered

Some people you know immediately, even if you don't know them.

One such person was a grey-bearded, long-haired gentleman who testified frequently when I was a grand jury foreman. He worked for the Doña Ana County Sheriff's Department.  He frequently risked his life, but seemed kind and gentle.  

I think we were both amused that the guy administering the oath looked almost as scruffy as the witness. We always shared a smile. Sometimes made each other laugh. He always testified clearly and concisely. I never had to ask a follow-up question to make sure he covered some required detail. I think everyone liked him.

When he was leaving the building, he hugged the Assistant DA and the folks working there. Real hugs. He cared.

He also had one of the most infectious grins I'd ever seen.

I talked with him once about having coffee and writing a column on him. But he would have had to get permission from his superiors. And Sheriff Vigil wasn't real fond of my columns. So we didn't pursue it.

My grand-jury service ended. I never saw him again.

Tuesday I saw his picture in the paper. John Duffy. He killed himself.

Thursday, I went to his memorial. I felt the community's loss, and mine. I felt a need to be one more anonymous figure in the church, bearing witness. Show my respect and sadness.

It was at Mesilla Park Community Church, in the old K-Mart. The vast parking lot was full, a rare sight. Behind a dozen LCPD motorcycles and the funeral vehicles, a motorcycle hearse waited, followed by about two-dozen very clean machines.

Inside, the huge room was packed. People who knew him well, loved him. A lot of them. Family, friends, law enforcement folks.

Manion Long, a very senior DASO officer, recounted that the new sheriff, Kim Stewart, had said, “We'll celebrate his life, and honor his memory.”

Long mentioned Duff's “infectious smile and the most honest eyes I've ever seen.” Duff loved people but preferred animals. Long related some professional adventures he shared with Duff, and read a citizen's appreciative letter ending, “Now I know that angels sometimes wear black.” He added, “Most of us who are in need of rescue are the best at hiding it.” True, that. When I saw the Sun-News article, it struck me that from now on I'll worry most about the people who smile most.

When I got in my car to leave, the radio was airing my voice, reading last Sunday's column.  I sounded as if I knew something. I felt like I didn't know anything. Not when so many good people keep dying this way.

So please go hug someone. Or telephone someone to say you care. Maybe someone extremely cheerful and caring, because I'm beginning to wonder if they're the most vulnerable. But someone. Or, if you feel some temptation to do as Duff did, reach out instead. Remember, even when you doubt it, people love you. If Duff could have foreseen that huge roomful of love and pain in the old K-Mart, it might have helped.

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-TALK (8255). For more info, visit suicidepreventionlifeline.org.

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[The above column appeared this morning, Sunday, 3 February 2019, in the Las Cruces Sun-News, as well as on the newspaper's website and KRWG's website.  A spoken version will air periodically on KRWG and on KTAL, 101.5 FM (www.lccommunityradio.org ) during the week.]