By Neena Strichart
They say Long Beach’s Kevin Russell was a heck of a great guy. He was the over-the-top type of personality that turned heads when he entered a room. And his sense of humor— well, it was beyond funny. His friends could tell you stories about how he kept them entertained with his quick wit and zany antics. I hope his friends will continue the stories and not stop talking about the man they loved so much. I hope they will keep talking and reminiscing and sharing their feelings about dear Kevin— their loved one who recently took his own life and left them wondering why.
I didn’t know Kevin or had even heard tell of the man, yet, when I read stories about his passing in our local daily paper, I couldn’t help but connect with those who loved him. I know that close friends and family knew his humor and entertaining ways, but they also saw his mood swings and dark days. They did their best to cheer him up and comfort him when his dream of publishing novels seemed just that- a dream. They came to his rescue when he needed a place to live and someone to talk to. They were there for him in so many ways, yet they couldn’t read his mind or feel his pain. They couldn’t believe that this once vibrant man could or would feel so hopeless, so lost, that he would actually follow through after talk of ending his own life. It seemed to them that he would snap out of it and move on to the next chapter in his life. Now they agonize, grieve, wonder and speculate.
How do I know what they are feeling? After all, I don’t even know these people, and I never met Kevin. Who the heck do I think I am to project their thoughts and feelings? Oh, my friends, I know all too well what they are going through. I live it every day.
My half brother took his life in 1971. I was just 16, and very confused. Robert was decades older than I and we had spent very little time together because he lived in New England. At that tender age, I didn’t understand much about the situation, but I saw the agony my father went through in dealing with the death of his youngest son. My parents didn’t talk to me about it much, but I heard lots of whispering and watched my dad grieve. Little did I know that four years later my father, Alfred Posner, would himself commit suicide.
Just like Kevin Russell’s friends and family, Mom and I grieved ourselves into pools of tears. We knew Dad was depressed, but we didn’t want to believe that he would find life so unbearable that he would leave us— voluntarily— by his own hand.
The worst part for Kevin’s loved ones will be the quiet after the funeral, after the gatherings and get-togethers dwindle and eventually stop. After is the hard part. After is when people stop telling the funny stories and instead remain silent because they don’t know what to say or if they should bring up Kevin’s name. They don’t want to upset those who still feel the pain of the loss. My advice is to keep talking about Kevin, keep talking about those who have chosen to leave us. It is the silence that grieves us the most.
For those who knew Kevin— a celebration of life will be held at 2 p.m. this Sunday at the Long Beach Yacht Club.
