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The test of a man

By GARY SHELTON
Published December 22, 2005

Man of strength, Tony Dungy. At a time when a man feels powerless, he is going to need all of it he can gather.

Man of faith, Dungy. Considering how severely it has been tested, he is going to need a lot of that, too.

In the days to come, Dungy will need all of his virtues. All that character people have told him he possesses, all of that substance, is going to be important. Given the wreckage of a father losing a son, he will need to summon whatever merit he has.

It is the hardest lesson in life. Even at the best of times, even with the best of men, heartache is a half-step away. A telephone rings in the middle of the night, and everything changes. James is dead at 18, and a family never will feel complete again.

Sometimes, the news knocks you backward, and the sorrow tears the air from your lungs. The grief of James Dungy's death rippled through Tampa Bay Thursday, touching everyone who has been touched by Tony Dungy over the years. That was always Dungy's greatest gift; no matter how pointed the criticism of the day, he always had the ability to make those around him feel like part of his family.

And so, in some fraction of his family's pain, we share in the grieving over the passing of James, the quiet son with the good heart, the tall kid with the wide smile. As for Dungy's anguish? Only those parents who have lost a child can imagine it.

Man of vision, Dungy. But as a man's eyes fill with tears, there are things that can never be foreseen.

Man of knowledge, Dungy. And yet, he is left to struggle with questions without answers and with wounds that will never heal.

Was it really a suicide, as a Sheriff's spokesman said signs indicated? Why? How? And what might have been done to prevent it? How can a parent ever test the depth of a teenager's struggles? There are a million empty questions to be asked of a silent heaven, and none of them offers any relief. Could a conversation have changed things? A different location for the son? A different occupation by the father? Could anyone have done anything to help? And how is a family to cope? Death leaves the rest of us with questions; suicide makes them more difficult.

Man of perspective, Dungy. How is a man supposed to regain that when a loss is so overwhelming?

Man of direction, Dungy. But where does he go from here?

Those who know Dungy well believe there is a struggle going on inside of him today. Part of him would like to walk away now, to leave the Colts and the game they play and embrace his loved ones as tightly as he can. Another part of him feels responsible to bare his grief and to return to his locker room out of loyalty for those who depend upon him.

For Dungy, it will not be an easy decision. He never has been one of those coach-for-life sorts who is defined by the way the spotlight bounces off of his team's colors. Some coaches ache for a sideline long after it is taken away from them; not Dungy. He is one of those rare coaches who can immerse himself in the game without being seduced by it.

Does Dungy return to the Colts this season? Yeah, eventually, I think he does. Parents who have lost children will tell you they never completely recover, but there is something to be said for keeping busy to keep the pain at bay.

Does Dungy return for next season? Your guess is as good as mine. As involved as Dungy has been with certain causes, however, it is easy to see him getting involved with one as important as teenage suicide.

Tomorrow, maybe the day after, perhaps Dungy's career will seem more important.

Today, what matters is the hole inside of a man, and the realization of how many people around here still would like to fill it for him. Look around. There are thousands of people who would love to deliver thousands of messages designed to console Dungy and his family. Oh, none of them would lessen his pain, because words never do, but that doesn't change the intent.

In a way, this is the ultimate testament to Dungy. It has been a long time since Tony was in charge here, a longer time since James was the kid walking in his footsteps. Everyone liked James, the kid who picked up the jerseys and pushed the equipment bin around the locker room. Everyone liked Tony, too. They still do.

Because of the calm of his bearing and his quiet of his voice, it was always easy to portray Dungy as lacking emotion. That wasn't true. Did you ever hear him talk about his own father? About his family? About his faith? Emotions run deep inside the man, there along with loyalty and faith and commitment. As it turns out, his pain runs deep, too.

Man of resilience, Dungy. At a time such as this, with grief such as this, he will need to be.

Man of fortitude, Dungy. In his struggle to make sense of this, at least Dungy should know that a community shares his burden.

[Last modified December 22, 2005, 19:20:49]