The Domino Effect
How Death, A Suicide Attempt, & Back Pain Led to Happiness at the End of the Rainbow
By
Clyde L. Rice, Jr.
Prologue
As a child, I loved playing with dominoes. When I say that I played with dominoes, I mean I would carefully line them all up just so and then gently tip over the first one which would lead to the second one falling which would lead to the third one falling and so on and so on. To me, it was amazing to see the connection between the dominoes, the chain reaction that occurred due to a single event – the tipping over of that first domino.
Just like with the dominoes, I am convinced that there is an interconnectedness between all the things that happen in our lives. This includes the people we meet, the things that happen to us, the events that we choose to do or not to do. At the time they are happening, we may not be able to see how seemingly unrelated events have anything to do with one another. With a bit of distance and perhaps time, however, a picture begins to emerge and we can see how one thing has influenced another.
When thinking of interconnectedness, I think of one of my favorite movies, Latter Days, in which one of the main characters, Aaron, is talking to another character who is agonizing over a decision involving a dear friend. He asks her if she reads the Sunday comics and then makes the following observation:
Well, when I was a little kid, I used to put my nose right up to them. And I was just amazed because it looked like this mass of dots, and none of it made sense until I pulled back. Life looks like that mass of dots to me sometimes. None of it makes any sense, but I like to think that, from God's perspective, life, everything - even this - makes sense. It's not just dots. Instead we're all connected, and it's beautiful and funny and good. This close we can't expect it to make sense, not right now.
Even Mitch Albom in his book The Five People You Meet in Heaven speaks of how people and events are interconnected with one another in ways that may not be visible at the current time. We have all heard the expression about the butterfly flapping its wings in Texas which ultimately causes a monsoon in India. Some people call this the butterfly effect. Some people call it the ripple effect. Others say that God works in mysterious ways.
When I looked back at one of the major events in my life and all the seemingly random things that occurred to bring me to that pivotal moment, I had to go with another name – the domino effect. Not only did this phrase get across the idea of interconnectedness, but I also felt it demonstrated the weight, force, and forward momentum that occurred during this portion of my life. When the final domino had fallen, I could hear the clink as it hit the table and then there was silence. Finally, there was peace.
CLR
There’s a Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On!
It was Easter Sunday 2005. I had had an emotional morning. Hell, it had been an emotional weekend!
The pastor had preached a sermon entitled “Easter as an Earthquake,” commenting on how the events of that day thousands of years ago had forever changed the course of life on Earth. I had sat through the sermon quietly sobbing, knowing that my plan would certainly shake up my world and possibly that of my family. I was going to create my own earthquake this holiday.
My mother and I were sitting at her kitchen table, quietly engaged in chit-chat. We spoke of the weather, who was sick in the community, and how my mom’s boyfriend was doing. We talked of Pope John Paul II having died a few days earlier and we talked of Terri Schiavo whose life, or lack thereof, was causing a media frenzy because her husband, over the objections of her parents, wanted to pull out her feeding tube and finally let her die in peace. We both commented on how hard it must be for something so difficult and private to be turned into such a public affair.
It was at that moment that I saw my “in.”
“What would you say has been the hardest thing you’ve ever had to deal with in your life?” I asked.
After thinking a minute, my mom answered, “It’s hard to say. It would either be your daddy dying or Alesia dying. Both of those were hard, but I don’t know if I can say one was harder than the other.”
I nodded. Inside, I knew those would be the things she would say.
“What about you?” she asked me.
I agreed with her that losing my father and my sister had been difficult. After taking a breath, I then said, “But there’s something else that I’ve had to deal with my entire life that has been even more difficult than those two things.”
With a new sense of attention and concern in her eyes, my mother said, “Honey, what is it?”
As tears welled up in my eyes and my voice began to shake, I knew the time had come. It was finally time for me to tell the truth. It was time for the final domino to fall.
Setting Up the Dominoes in a STRAIGHT Line
The year is 1982 and I am 12. My eyes are riveted to the newspaper article describing how there is some kind of new disease that is showing up in places like New York and San Francisco. This disease, however, doesn’t seem to be attacking at random. Those who are contracting the disease are gay – “men who had sex with other men,” as the article so matter-of-factly states.
Oh, I think. That’s what I am. I’m gay.
I had known from an early age that I was different somehow, but I never had a name for what I was feeling. I knew I didn’t like many of the things other boys my age liked. I knew I would much rather hang out with girls. I found Wonder Woman and the Bionic Woman to be much more fascinating than Superman and the Six-Million-Dollar Man, although I must admit that I thought Spider-Man looked awfully good in those tights.
Was this why I felt different?
Was this why I had all these funny feelings around boys I thought were cute?
What would my family think? I knew how they made fun of Bobby, an older guy from church, because he “did hair” and lived with my aunt’s brother-in-law. Would they do the same to me?
What would Alesia think if she found out that the “Jamey” whose name I had written surrounded by a heart was actually a cute boy from school and not a girl like she thought? I could only imagine what she’d say, especially after the merciless teasing she’d given me after finding the words “I love Jamey Walker” scrawled on the school newsletter next to a poem he had written.
I couldn’t let anyone find out the truth. It was too risky. Now that I knew a name for what made me different, I felt I had to put up a wall so no one would stumble across this newfound knowledge.
You know how kids will sometimes line up a bunch of dominoes with just a little bit of space in between each one? That’s what I felt like I was doing. I was slowly putting up a fence of precariously-placed dominoes. Putting up the dominoes was easy, but what I was worried about was accidentally knocking down a domino, thus starting a chain reaction and causing the entire structure to fall down.
A Domino Teeters . . .
The year is 1987 and I have the first close male friend of my entire life. His name is Vernon and he is the son of my preacher. He and his family have moved to my neighborhood near the end of the spring. He’s fun to be around and he’s pretty easy on the eyes as well. He’s a year and a half younger than I am, meaning that I have my driver’s license and he doesn’t. He relies on me for transportation purposes. It’s nice to feel needed and appreciated, especially by someone you like. Since he’s new to town, he doesn’t have many friends. I am glad to fill that role.
As summer ends and the school year begins, I am totally “in love” with Vernon, although I know he is straight. We do practically everything together. I spend the night at his house on Friday nights. He spends the night at my house on Saturday nights. We are practically inseparable at this point, but things are beginning to change because Vernon meets new friends at school and gets his driver’s license. New possibilities begin to exist for him, ones that don’t necessarily include me.
As Christmas nears, Vernon and I are both invited to a party being held at the local Ruritan club. It’s on a Friday night so I make plans to stay at Vernon’s house after the party. During the course of the evening, I begin to sulk because Vernon is paying much more attention to other people than to me. To his credit, he does come over a couple of times during the evening and ask what is wrong, but I am not about to tell him I am jealous. I can’t let my line of dominoes come crashing down by letting that little piece of information slip!
When we arrive back at his house, there is tension in the air. Vernon and I really don’t say a lot to one another. We both pretty much just go to bed, but not necessarily to sleep. After thirty minutes or so, Vernon gets up and goes into the living room. I soon follow and ask him what’s wrong. He stares at me and asks me the question I’ve feared – “Bug, are you gay?”
My immediate reply is a vehement “No,” although I can tell he has his doubts about whether I’m telling the truth.
He lies on the couch, closes his eyes, and ignores me. I walk, in a daze, back to the bedroom and spend the rest of the night wondering how I am going to avoid a potential disaster.
The next morning, Vernon is still asleep on the couch or at least he appears to be. I want to get out of there before he does wake up because I am not in the mood for a confrontation. His dad offers to take me home and I readily agree.
Once in the car, I tell him some of what happened the night before. I tell him about Vernon asking if I were gay. His dad brushes it off and says that Vernon’s been in a foul mood lately and that he’ll come around. Somehow, I have my doubts, but I appreciate his kind words.
When I get back home, my mom can tell I’m in a funk. She asks what’s wrong. I tell her about Vernon asking if I am gay. Instead of brushing it off like Vernon’s dad, however, my mom says, “Well, are you?”
For the second time in less than ten hours, that first domino in a line of many is beginning to teeter. It is on the brink of causing a collapse of the identity I have worked so hard to build.
I am not about to admit the truth, so, again, I deny it.
There are no more questions from my mom.
The domino’s wobbling slows and the entire line remains standing.
Put a Little More Distance Between Them or You’ll Be Sorry!
The year is 1990 and I am a junior in college. Even though I am at UNCG and only a 45-minute drive away from my family, I feel like I’m in another world. Far enough away to be my own person, but close enough in case I need a little family TLC.
Vernon has entered the picture again. After a period of going our separate ways, we have once again established a friendship. After finishing high school and spending a year at NC State, he has decided to change his major to music, an area for which UNCG is known. Once again, he is in an unfamiliar environment and I am his guide. Once again, I can feel those old feelings for him returning. Once again, he develops other friends and I become jealous. Once again, things begin to deteriorate between us. Once again, I feel like I’m the one to suffer.
On November 22nd of that year, which just happened to be Thanksgiving Day, something devastating occurs. Alesia, one of my older sisters, is killed in an automobile accident on her way to our oldest sister’s house for dinner. I had tried calling her the night before to see if I could ride with her, but I had no luck in getting in touch with her. If I had gotten in touch with her, she would have been taking a different route and the accident that killed her wouldn’t have happened. For this reason, in my mind, her death is partially my fault. I also have a feeling I know why it happened. She was my favorite sister and God took her away from me to punish me.
Why would He punish me?
Because I am gay.
After Alesia’s funeral, I slowly begin to get back into the routines of my everyday life while also slowly beginning to withdraw from my family. I know how much my heart ached when Alesia died and I don’t want to feel that again with someone else that I was close to. To me, the safest option is to put some distance between those I care about and myself. In that way, I can live my life and not worry what effect my dominoes might have on someone else’s. I don’t want to risk another one of my dominoes causing a loved one’s entire line of dominoes to come crashing down with a thud of finality.
Warning! Lines of Dominoes Criss-Crossing Ahead!
The year is 2002 and I have just been informed that my dad’s prostate cancer has spread. The doctors think he has six to eight months to live. Despite all I have done over the past 12 years to distance myself somewhat from those in my family, I know that I must do what I can to help them during this difficult time.
Over the summer, I make use of my extra free time and take my dad to some of his doctor’s appointments. I find myself visiting every week or two, instead of every three or four months as had been the norm before. I can see that my line of dominoes is starting to once again criss-cross with the lines represented by other members of my family. I am able to maintain enough distance, however, that I don’t have to worry about inadvertently divulging too much information that could give away my secret. The focus is on my dad and what we can do to make him as comfortable as possible. As a result, my dominoes are in no danger of falling right now, but their close proximity to so many others’ dominoes makes me nervous.
My dad dies on October 21, 2002.
I have survived with all my dominoes still standing.
I can start placing my dominoes in a different direction once again.
Little did I know how soon my dominoes would soon merge with those of my family!
A Not-So-Gentle Nudge and One Finally Falls
The year is 2003. It is November. My dad has been dead for over a year. My mom is living by herself and my oldest sister, who lives just three houses away, is checking in on her from time to time.
November 16th rolls around. It is a Sunday morning and I am at home working on an assignment for school. The phone rings. It is my oldest sister. She should be at church at this time. Why is she calling?
“Bug,” she says, trying to be strong, “The ambulance just took Mama to the hospital. She wasn’t at church this morning, so I sent Davie to check on her. He found her in the bathtub. She tried to commit suicide by cutting herself. Meet us at the hospital in Burlington.”
“Okay,” I say, too stunned to say anything more.
The doctors tell us that Mama is lucky to be alive. The psychiatrist tells us that once she is released from the hospital, she will not be able to stay by herself. Somebody will have to be with her 24/7.
The family works out a schedule for staying with her. Because I live 45 minutes away, it works better for me to do the weekend shift. I will come to her house on Friday evenings, after school, and stay until sometime Sunday afternoon. I will also stay with her during breaks from school.
If I thought the previous year had been bad, this period of time is hell. I spend my Friday evenings and Saturdays watching TV, playing Scrabble or Phase 10, and dreading every minute I am there. What if she tries to kill herself again while I’m asleep or in another room? I am afraid to leave her alone for even a minute.
Sundays are even worse because it means I have to go back to the same Southern Baptist church I attended while growing up. Everyone there is nice and they are glad to see me after so many years. Needless to say, I am not happy to be there because I know that many of the beliefs and attitudes held by those in that particular church no longer mesh with my own.
Things come to a head in February 2004. I am sitting in that church next to my mother and the elderly preacher starts on a tirade about the flurry of activity happening in the nation regarding gays and lesbians getting married. It’s happening in California, it’s happening in Massachusetts! Reverend Simpson shouts at the top of his lungs, “If I see another man kissing a man or a woman kissing a woman on TV, I think I’m going to vomit!”