Tag Archives: suicide

Nitrogen-uptake

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I bury comfrey leaves in the dusty soil under the holly and next to a hellebore. It is an act of faith, but also a ritual informed by grief for look how dry and pale the soil is, even after a weekend of rain.

And, as if such a calculation mattered, I wonder which is bigger, my grief at all the injuries to the natural world or my grief at the passing of my younger son.

Does one grief nest inside the other like two Russian dolls? It can’t possibly be that neat. More like the two griefs permeate the air, the yard, and my body in undulating waves that cannot be measured or even separated one from the other.

I listened earlier to the parents of a young man stolen on October 7 and murdered some 300 days later and though the circumstances of our boys’ deaths have nothing in common, our sorrow is the same.

“I am broken,” says the mother. “And I will be broken for the rest of my life.” They feel their son near. The father says he thinks of him every minute of every day.

I too am broken. I too think of my son constantly – more, in fact, than when he was alive, which is some contorted form of irony.

I have regrets they will never have. That is one of my burdens. The regrets come and go like the sadness: unbidden, unwelcome, excruciating,

Why didn’t I talk to you more in those last two weeks? Why didn’t I ask you to tell me why you thought life wasn’t worth living anymore? I picture myself patting the couch saying sit for a minute and putting my arm around him for what could’ve been the last time.

The nitrogen–uptake capacity of the comfrey makes it ideal for composting. You can make salves and teas and poultices as well, but this year I plan only to bury its leaves in the garden beds.

Is there anything I can bury near the barren patch of my being that might at some later date afford growth?

Today, I doubt it.

But I will gather chive, thyme, and rosemary from their pots and chop them up to make herb butter. Lemon zest, salt, and garlic for extra flavor. The act signals belief in sustenance ahead. There will be tasty dinners down the road and some above average snacks. That there is a reason to harvest aromatic herbs even when swimming in grief offers me a droplet of satisfaction. No more. No less.

Eric, Danny, and Jake

Obituary for Dan

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I posted this on FB this morning (revised on April 3, 2026).

Our beloved Danny took his own life on his 30th birthday, March 16, 2026.

He was despondent after his long-time girlfriend (and roommate) broke up with him at the end of February. Dan was also a couple of months into a job search after graduating from CU/Boulder with a BA in Communications in December — an inherently depressing process.

Either Ken and/or I have been out here in Colorado since the end of February when Danny made the first serious attempt on his life. He needed a job, a place to live, effective interventions, and a reason to live.

We knew he was still suicidal but lacked the skill or forcefulness to get him appropriate care. We certainly tried. In retrospect, he was beyond determined to end things.

Dan’s note to us said in part, “incessant overthinking, worrying, restlessness, and doubt have plagued me my entire life. I just don’t want to do it anymore.”

In addition to being tormented, Danny was funny, sensitive, and compassionate. He had an abiding love of the wilderness which shows up in his extraordinary photos of Western landscapes (insta: @solodolodan).

Danny grew up in Newton, Mass. and graduated from Newton South in 2014. Though incredibly bright, Danny struggled academically and unfortunately internalized a sense of failure which is part of why he was thrilled to be admitted to CU/Boulder. Once in Colorado, it was clear that Danny belonged out West. He traveled and camped extensively and I believe felt at home there in a way he never had in New England.

After an initial rough start to college, Dan took five years off and worked full time as a security guard. He resumed his coursework somewhat recently and excelled. He made the Dean’s list and impressed many of his teachers with the clarity of his thinking and his skillful writing. We were so proud of him.

No matter what was going on with classes, Danny always had a vibrant circle of friends. People were drawn to him. He was known to be loyal, down to earth, at times hilarious, and thoughtful.

During the Brady years, Dan was a die-hard Patriots fan. He enjoyed the Colorado Buffs too.

Dan was off-the-charts coordinated from the get-go. Just one example: he skipped crawling and was running like a little demon at nine months. His natural athleticism showed up first in skateboarding, which he really loved, and later in snowboarding. In the last several years, he’d become an avid fly fisherman.

He was a certified EMT and though never officially employed as one, carried around medical gear in his car, just in case. He read extensively about accidents in the wilderness, particularly in the national parks.

Danny loved Stephen King and may own copies of every book he ever wrote. He ended his note to us with a Stephen King quote. “Monsters are real. Ghosts are too. They live inside of us and sometimes, they win.”

To say that he will be missed is to feel the inadequacy of language.

Dan is survived by his parents, Dee Mallon and Ken Potochnik, by his brother, Cary, and by his Aunts Kathy Bartone and Mary McKillop, Uncles Steve Potochnik, Bruce Bartone, and Billy Mallon, by his cousins Patrick, Julian, and Em, and by his former girlfriend, Ella Bronaugh.
💔

In a few days I’ll post a link to the funeral chapel that is handling his cremation.

Please know that I appreciate all of the love and care that is sure to be posted here but it may take me a bit to respond.

Where Danny killed himself

Sorry to lose a bright light in Elsbeth Thompson

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resilience:  1 : the capability of a strained body to recover its size and shape after deformation caused especially by compressive stress
2 : an ability to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change

I am thinking about resilience this afternoon, having just learned that the talented writer, gardener, and blogger, Elsbeth Thompson, committed suicide last week.  She wrote books, columns, and a blog about gardening, and seemed to have a particular knack for turning wastelands into lush gardens.  Her blog chronicled the restoration of two railroad cars on the coast of Sussex, and to this reader, seemed an adventure in vision and optimism.  Though I am a mere fan of her blog, I am sorry for her surviving husband and daughter.

The news brings up questions:  What makes a person resilient?  Why are we more resilient at some times, and less at others?  How do we inculcate resilience in others, particularly our children?  Can we?

Her death also raises the issue of inscrutability.  Even people we think we know well can be shouldering enormous unseen burdens.  What looks, from the outside, like an ideal life, can be anything but.  Reading about her efforts, I often found myself jealous of her resources, as well as of her sure hand in making spaces intimate and lovely.

I don’t hunt for events like this to provide perspective, but this sad news certainly makes a flooded basement seem incredibly minor in the scheme of things.

Although my response seems overblown (even to me) based on a mere reading of a blog, I nevertheless am sending love to England, especially to her young daughter.