Mother's Words
Charlie Brice
​ 
I see us standing there, mom, dad, and me,
in front of our TV. We had been on our way
out the door but were stopped by Hemingway’s
photo on the screen. The announcer said he’d
had an accident while cleaning his gun. He
killed himself, my mother gasped. He was too
good with guns to have an accident.
 
I knew about suicide. Mr. Chatterman, our handy-
man, killed himself when I was 8. Lee Yarder,
proprietor of a local restaurant, had the same
“accident” as Hemingway when I was 9.
 
The coward’s way out, my mother said. There’s
 always a better way. A year after Hemingway’s
death, I’m in the back seat of our car. Dad’s
driving us to Yellowstone. I’m 11 years old.
A man on the radio says Marilyn Monroe is dead.
An accidental overdose, he says.
She killed herself, my mother said.
 
I read that Marilyn had been in psychoanalysis
for years. I thought to myself, never get involved
with psychoanalysis. When I grew up, Hemingway
became my favorite writer and I became a psychoanalyst.
 
My mother’s words about suicide carried me through
many sad times. Her idea that there’s always a better
way became a big help to my patients. All those books,
supervisors, seminars, years of expensive analysis—it
was my mother’s words that were most valuable of all.