Magnificent Desolation_ The Long Journey Home From the Moon - Buzz Aldrin [55]
Dr. Sparks and I reviewed every aspect of my life, from early childhood to the present. We talked a lot about my father, his influence in my life, and his lofty expectations of me. Over the years my dad had developed a reputation as being an overbearing tyrant in my life. That simply was not the case, and I attempted to explain as much to Dr. Sparks. My dad was a military man, and yes, he did have high expectations for me. Moreover, he was not good at giving praise and encouragement. But he did not rule me with an iron fist. For instance, he had wanted me to attend the Naval Academy; instead I’d attended West Point. My father had wanted me to fly bombers stateside as part of our national air defense; I had opted for a tour of duty as a fighter pilot in Korea. Nor was my father intent on my becoming an astronaut, but I chose my own way once again. My father’s opinion of what I ought to be doing with my life was not always in sync with my own, but I believe he was nonetheless supportive. Like many parents, my father may have tried to live vicariously through me, hoping to see his own dreams fulfilled through his son, but to this day I am convinced he wanted only the best for me. He never quite understood that what I needed most was his smile of approval. Even years later, when I legally changed my name from Edwin Eugene Aldrin Jr. to Buzz Aldrin, it was not an affront to my father. It was more a matter of convenience, since I’d been known as “Buzz” from childhood.
Over the days and weeks that Dr. Sparks and I talked, we probed my deepest fears, fears so strong that I had never mentioned them to anyone. I told him about my maternal grandfather, a military chaplain, who, after a long period of melancholy, chose to end his life by putting a gun to his mouth. I told him about my mother, Marion Moon Aldrin, who in the last years of her life had been morose and unhappy most of the time, except when her grandchildren visited during family gatherings. My mother once took too many sleeping pills, and my father had to rush her to the hospital. We all pretended that her overdosing was accidental, but I think we knew that wasn’t the case. In May 1968, Mother’s second attempt at an overdose proved fatal. Even then, my family and I preferred living in denial and never openly spoke of how she had died. We asked the coroner to list her cause of death as cardiac arrest, and the coroner graciously complied. Part of what I revealed to the doctor was information passed on to me from my oldest sister, who told me that our mother had great difficulty dealing with the fame that came along with my successful 1966 Gemini 12 space mission. When I returned to my hometown for a celebration, the enormous attention heaped on my family made my mother extremely uncomfortable. To conceal her feelings, she wore dark glasses in public, including at our Gemini 12 “welcome home” event, held during the evening. My sister confided that our mother did not think she could handle the acclaim that was sure to accompany a son who had landed on the moon. She took her life instead, and I carried that extra burden of responsibility in my heart and mind.
Coming to grips with the truth about my mother’s death brought me to the crux of my concern: My grandfather had committed suicide; my mother had committed suicide. Several close relatives in our family had ended their own lives. I looked at Dr. Sparks imploringly. “Am I next?”
Dr. Sparks couldn’t say. “Do you think you are suicidal now?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“How can you tell?”
“I couldn’t possibly kill myself because I couldn’t possibly make up my mind how to do it!”
Dr. Sparks and I both laughed. We became friends that day, and the doctor promised to delve into my concerns about inherited suicidal tendencies or other predispositions toward suicidal behavior.
I SPENT NEARLY four