The Day Timothy McVeigh Bottomed Out:
Tumbling Into Emotional Oblivion
A small, slight boy of about twelve walked quickly so he'd be able to catch up with his father. He adored the man--almost worshipped him. But nobody could take the place of his beloved grandfather. Although they were two generations apart, little Timmy felt closer to the older relative, not to mention something he got nowhere else: He loved the child unconditionally. Timmy had a voracious need to be adored without any strings attached. Emotional connections had all but disappeared and, as the boy struggled to catch his breath, he knew he dared not ask his father to slow down. Everything had to be perfect. Everything had to be just so. Timmy was expected to shine above anyone else--anything less would result in a reeling in of the conditional love that both his dad and his mother exacted over him. Timmy knew that if he slipped up, if he missed a day of school or got into any scrapes with other kids, he'd be met with a stern-faced, disapproving stare from both parents. This family was being buffeted by the storms of battles and heated arguments. There was no time to just sit and feel safe and warm. Only his grandfather could make him feel those things. What if he died soon? What if his beloved grandfather had a debilitating stroke or a heart attack?
One afternoon, following a severe storm which had left ten inches of wet, slushy snow everywhere, as far as the eye could see. Timmy was doing his homework in the dining room of his parents house, silently reading, taking notes and waiting for the next round of his mother and father's nearly continuous fighting. Timmy carefully closed his school books and began walking quietly upstairs, when his father's voice blared, "Tim! Sit down here and finish your homework."
Timmy obeyed, but as he tried desperately to concentrate on his math and geography, a sudden and dramatic wave of pure, uncut anxiety, an attack worse than any he'd experienced in the past. He was finding it difficult to breathe and started hyperventillating.
"Hey, knock off that sissy stuff!" his father hollered, slamming his half-finished drink hard on the dining room table. "You're just doing that for attention."
The harsh words just made matters worse. Timmy felt rivulets of sweat rolling down his back under his shirt and sweater. His hands shook and felt cold and for a moment, Timmy thought he might be dying. Not heeding his father's words, the boy, clad in socks but no shoes or boots, ran as fast as he could out of the house and across a particularly deep blanket of heavy, wet snow. Oblivious to the intense cold that attacked his feet with a vengeance, Timmy kept running, all the way to his adored grandfather's home, several miles away. He vowed never to return to the war zone at home. Maybe Grandpa would let me live with him, Timmy thought, feeling a brief oasis in that hopeful idea.
With his grandfather, Tim could relax in the reality that this adored and desperately love was the one person he didn't have to go out of his way to please. I know all about wonderful grandfathers. My maternal grandpa was my salvation, what with my parents' divorce and her subsequent second husband, who, without slagging him too much on this site, was adament that I move out of my mother's place. I'll leave it at this: He was not a kind and caring husband or stepfather, just one more excuse to act out. That's enough about that man.
However, Grandpa always welcomed me to his and Grandma's home---I didn't have to call first, so I spent a great deal of time with both of them. He was the person I knew I could tell anything and when I was caught shoplifting two packages of gum. I was hysterical. Grandpa was just relieved that I, at seventeen, wasn't pregnant. Oh how I loved him so much and when he died of emphysema at age eighty, I was devastated. I look forward to seeing those dear souls in the afterlife. What a glorious day that will be.
After running desperately over to his grandfather's home, Timmy crawled into his beloved relative's arms in the fetal position. Life had become so difficult. He was told by classmates that the bad parts of life happened after high school. I can just picture Timmy asking, with desperation lacing his voice, "You mean it gets worse?" This young boy, risking frostbite in order that he get to his grandpa as soon as possible. Timmy wrapped his very thin arms around this pillar of strengh, who'd seen his grandson going through pure hell.
After an hour or so, Timmy let go his grip on the man's shoulders and dried his tears. If only someone had seen the early signs of an extremely unhappy boy and subsequently had him put on antidepressants, he'd have had a different life. Timmy suffered in silence and retreated even further into a world of fantasy and "Star Trek."
Life had the quintessential chokehold on young Timmy, which made it extremely difficult for him to lead any semblance of a normal and happy life. Without venturing into "the abuse excuse" territory, it must be known that there were so very many factors of Timmy's private and painful life, that all of them together, provided the young with enogh rage that he'd ultimately self-destruct.
"Grandpa, I'm so mixed up. Sometimes I want to hit this one kid at school until I make his nose all blooded. Other times, I think of Dad's pistols and shotguns and if I ever could shoot anyone. I'm tired of being the kid everyone hates, but is killing the best answer?"
Timmy's kind and gentle grandfather looked right into the eyes of his troubled grandson. What he saw nearly caused him to fall off his chair. "My God, what's to happen to this kid? He's such a good kid, never missing a day of school. He loves animals, but has nothing short of disdain for members of the human race. What did my daughter give birth to?"
Do you know where your children are at this moment?
