We need to stop the tragedies
By Kelvin Wade
May 13, 2010
This week my brother Tony wrote about the awful day, Mother's Day, May 13, 1990, when our older brother Ken murdered his girlfriend and killed himself.
After that nightmarish day, I attended support groups with my mother. We sought out the Compassionate Friends locally, Friends for Survival in Sacramento and a group in Davis. Finally, I helped start the Bay Area Survivors of Suicide in Solano County.
I worked through my own pain and assisted others. In 1998 we folded the local group into the national Survivors of Suicide organization.
While I felt good about our group, there was always a part of me that felt like a fraud, like I shouldn't be there. It was as if my brother robbing two young kids of their mother on Mother's Day invalidated my own grief.
Ken's girlfriend had two beautiful children, 'Walter,' 8, and 'Jennifer,' 6, whom I babysat quite often before that tragic day. Through the years I couldn't help but wonder about them. One moment we were playing silly games and the next we were separated by my brother's senseless act. I had no way of knowing where they were or how they were doing.
Some years ago, my brother Orvis told me that he'd heard that the children's father had been killed in a car accident. How much could these kids take?
Last year, I searched for the kids on Facebook. When a profile picture of a handsome young man in a suit came up, I knew it was Walter.
I agonized over whether to contact him. I had a photo of him and his sister when they were kids to give him. More importantly, I had a photo of their mother that I was sure they didn't have. Would he want to hear from the brother of his mother's killer? Would I open brutal psychic wounds best left closed?
My biggest worry was that perhaps he and his sister didn't know his mother's fate. Families sometimes shield children from tragic events. My own parents had told us our grandfather died in a car accident, not wanting us to know that he'd committed suicide before we were born. What if I opened a nasty can of worms?
On Mother's Day last year, my hands quivering at the keyboard, I e-mailed Walter, told him who I was, told him about the photos and apologized to him. I felt the need.
Two days later, I received a response from him. He remembered me, told me that the past was difficult for both of us and explained that he didn't think it was right for me to apologize. He fondly remembered my mother. He had graduated from college, had a good job and told me that both he and his sister were doing well. I was humbled by his grace and spirit.
He was a funny kid way back when and as an adult, he has a wicked wit. He's obviously been well-cared for to be so incredibly resilient. The only drawback is that he's a staunch 49ers fan . . . but you can't have everything.
Let's nip these tragedies in the bud. If you need help escaping a violent relationship, you can reach Safequest Solano at 1-866 4 UR-SAFE (1-866-487-7233) or www.safequest.org. If you're feeling suicidal please call 1-800-273-TALK or visit http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org.
It's a blessing to see the kids have moved on and made the most of their lives. Life does go on. Peace.
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ADDITIONAL NOTES: It was like watching a slow motion train wreck. I knew the relationship was troubled but I didn't know it was going to end this way.
On that day, me, Orvis and his wife Patty were hanging out in the garage outside. Tony was in the house. Our mother was taking a nap. The coroner's investigator and Joel Mickens came up and pulled Orvis aside. I couldn't hear what they were saying but Patty could. Patty said, "Oh...Ken.." softly. Orvis turned abruptly and went into the house. Joel came over to me and, shaking his head slowly said, "Kenny's gone. He killed his girlfriend and then himself up at the lounge."
I went numb. I remember saying, "Okay." And Patty and I followed Orvis into the house where he'd gathered Tony and told him to come back to our mother's room.
What followed was heartrending. Orvis took forever telling the story. (Later in the week, we would joke that he was the "Master of Suspense.") It was awful standing there knowing what he was about to tell Tony and our mom.
The news was shattering to all of us, of course. But it really took a toll on our mother. They say that losing a child is the most painful loss one can experience. I saw it suck the life out of her over the years.
I went to get a newspaper in the early morning hours of May 14th. Went to the 7-Eleven on Phoenix Drive to get a newspaper. There was the story on the front page. As a stood there holding the paper, a customer walked by and glanced at the paper.
"There are so many crazies out there, huh?" he said, nonchalantly.
I turned to him and said, "That was my brother."
The guy stuttered and stammered, said he was sorry and left. I was very defensive and protective of Ken in the aftermath. I wasn't angry with him because I didn't know how to be angry at someone who was no longer here. But in time, the anger came.
Like an atomic bomb.
But this column is about hope. I can't adequately explain how hard it was to contact Walter. I agonized over it. I had looked for them online for years. I'd done Google searches. I'd searched any search engine I could to find out something...anything about them. And when I found them on Facebook, I was overjoyed but filled with trepidation at the same time.
How would they react to me? Would I be radioactive to them? I was conflicted because I wanted to apologize to them. I felt the need to say something. In my years working with survivors of suicide, only once did I meet someone whose loved ones also committed murder. And she couldn't open up. Our families had never been in contact after the events of that day. And of course, I wanted to know how they were doing.
When Walter responded, I was so humbled. I must've cried for an hour. He really has his head on straight. And he's funny as hell.
I look at the things that my brother has missed out on. His brothers' weddings. His nieces and nephews. He never got to read a single column from either of his brothers. There were people to meet. Experiences to have. Wade Christmases and Thanksgivings.
But his permanent solution to his temporary problems robbed kids of their mother, parents of their son, siblings of their brother and friends of a guy they really loved.
My parents named me after him. My mother told me that she wanted to give me the same initials as Ken. Kenneth James Wade. Kelvin Jon Wade. Despite his volcanic temper, he was a great guy. I always wanted to be him. I would never told him that while he was alive because he was so cocky.
He used to joke that at his funeral, he wanted someone to go up to the microphone and simply say, "He was an asshole."
Well today marks twenty years that he's been gone and the five Wade boys are now four Wade boys.
I love you, Ken.
Asshole.
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