My Days

Scott, Sue's sister,Maria, called twice today. The first time she called, your dad answered, talked briefly to her and hung up without telling me she was on the line. When I found out about it, I went bananas. I ranted and raved and cried and paced around the house like a mad woman. I have been trying to get in touch with Sue for months. I want so badly to talk to someone in England to find out what was going on there when the two of you were married. I want to talk to her children. Maria would have been my link to them. I was SO angry with your dad! He called the phone company to see if they had a record of the incoming call but they didn't. I was writing Sue another letter when the phone rang again. And it was Maria! I couldn't believe it! Why she called again so soon I'll never know. Made me think there must be a God somewhere watching and directing.

Anyway, she told me how sorry she was to learn about you. She said she had always liked you and she and Sharon were trying to get in touch with you just to talk. You would have been so happy to hear from them. You loved those children. I didn't know how much until I found an unsent letter you wrote among your things. I felt sad for you, not being here to receive such a gift. I think you couldn't have loved them more if they were your own kids. I told Maria I wanted to talk to them. She said she would give them my address. If I hear from them I will send each a bit of your estate. I know you would like that. But how awful, Scott, that it will be me talking to them and not you, as you longed to do. I can hardly give myself permission to do it. And how sad that i will be giving them your gifts instead of you.

Maria said Sue has remarried and her maternal grandparents have both died as well as her fraternal grandparent. She, herself, is divorced and doesn't want to marry again.

It was good to talk with Maria. She said she has pictures of your dad and me that were taken when we flew over for your wedding.

My poor son, you made so many bad decisions in your life. You had so much to bear. I can't remember any long stretch of time when you seemed happy. How I wish I had known all along how very depressed you were.

Maria's phone call brought back memories and stirred me up. I am filled with sorrow tonight. How wonderful it would be if I could pick up the phone and call you, hear your voice, that deep low chuckle. How I wish. Oh, how I wish..........

April 19, 2000

stormy weather

Springfield is on tornado watch until 9:45 PM. This kind of weather, I always thought of you, Scott, wondering if you were having the same. It seems strange not to be worrying about you. But a part of me still does. Then I stop and realize there is no need to worry. The very worst has happened. Nothing more CAN happen. But there is no relief in knowing that. There is just disbelief...still! And horror.

I have thought about you all day. Some days I get near acceptance. Then there are days like today when my mind fights the idea of what you did, of your not being alive and functioning in the world. And then my insides feel all jumbled. My mind is confused, my body unanchored. I almost feel like I'm dreaming. I start having silent conversations with you. I try to convince you that killing yourself is not a good idea. I have all the words. But you are not here to hear them.

The world is empty tonight, Scott. And so very silent.

It's 5:00 PM. The time of day the sun weakens and sinks lower in the sky. Shadows begin to cover the houses, the trees, the yards and streets. Something about this time of day. It's when I feel the saddest and miss you the most.

I've been writing about when Mimi was killed. Still can't write about you. But I find that writing about Mimi brings up the feelings about your tragedy that I'm trying to cover up.

Every grief is a grief about you. Every loss in my entire life has been a dress rehersal for this monumental loss, the most heart-break a human must endure. You, then Mimi, were the losses that have hurt the most. I don't think you could have imagined the turmoil your hasty decision would cause. I don't think you could have imagined how far reaching it would be, how many lives it would change forever.

I know you were hurting, you were so desperately despondent, that's all you could think about or care about. You just wanted it to go away. I know. But sometimes, Scott, I think it isn't fair that someone else is able to make a decision like you did that is going to affect someone else so harshly. Sometimes I am angry with you for doing that. I want to call you up and tell you all the reasons why you shouldn't do it. I want to tell you all the reasons why it's good to be alive.

And I want to believe that life is worthwhile. I want to believe, Scott.

April 17, 2000

It's All About You, Scott

Wherever I go, whatever I do, you're not far away. It's about what happened last August, about trying to survive, about not being sure I will, about fearing I'm about to lose my mind. It's about grieving and trying to avoid feeling the grief. It's about confusion and indecision, trying to climb out of shock and find a new way to go on with life. It's about feeling so badly for you and missing you so much, I sometimes wonder how I can go on.

The months since last August are still unreal. I'm trying to figure out who I am now that you're gone. It's so hard to think about you. I still can't talk about you or look at your pictures or say your name or put words to your present state. Or see your name in print, including your folder in my email box. You're still getting mail, Scott. Every time I see an envelope with your name on it, my heart halts for a second. Your empty captain's chair - I can almost see you sitting there. The small angel ornament for the top of your tree standing on a box at the foot of the stairs. Other things of yours filling the rooms, causing pain. But how do I let them go?

It just occurs to me, you are much more in my life now than you ever were when you were alive. You are SO in my mind, Scott. Not a picture of you, or words that describe or explain. It's a cell memory. It's like the air that fills my lungs, the food that nourishes me, the blood that runs through my veins and keeps me alive.

Still, a part of me wants to forget you, wants to pretend I always had only three sons, wants not to have memories of you.

People say, "He is in a better place. He is at peace." Do they really believe that? I don't think you're in a better place. As far as I'm concerned, the perfect place for you is here, alive. And I don't think you're at peace. Your last waking moment was filled with chaos and violence. To me, that's your forever. Peace? No, I don't think so. Not for you. And not for me.

People say I should be grateful for the memories. No one seems to understand that the memories are painful reminders that you aren't here. If you aren't here to share them, they lose their meaning for me.

I wear the American Indian necklace you gave me one Christmas. It is beautiful! But I wonder if it's good to wear it. Good for my mental health? Before, it was a pleasure to wear, a constant reminder of the time and effort you took to find a gift you knew I would love. It represented your love. Now, your love means nothing. You are not here to be aware of it, to remember it. So what meaning can it possible have now?