What happened Scott? When did it happen? And why? It's so hard to live with these unanswered questions.
You explained to Tracy that you loved her but had difficulty saying it to her satisfaction because you had difficulty admitting and showing your feelings. You said you didn't want to buy a house until you had a job you could depend on. West Hartford was an expensive place to live and would she be willing to live somewhere else. You told her you were careful with money. You said with your own separate issues, should you be marrying at all? Reading the letter was like being in the presence of the son I knew. Sensible. Cautious. Reading your medical records of the past year was like reading about a stranger.
Scott, when did you become someone else? What happened?
Oh my, I am so tired.
March 25,2000
going backwards
This has been a day of weeping. Can't seem to stop. It's been coming on for a long time. The dam finally broke today. Just overcome with sadness, Scott. Sad for you that you lost about fifty years enjoyment of life . Sad for me for the large hole in my heart that will always be empty. Sad for the world because you had a lot to offer, whether you realized it or not.
Where do we go from here, Scott? It all seems so pointless. Pointless to live out a life that has been so roughed up by tragedy (self-inflicted and otherwise) that there is no such thing as joy.
Today is C & C's wedding anniversary. You were here last year. Remember how the day you were discharged from the Marion Center we drove over to the Renaissance Book & Gift Shop for a gift for them? You found an angel, about two feet tall, made of peweter or bronze. You liked that angel, you were going to get it until I pointed out a budda made of the same material and you decided to get it instead. And then, later, after you went back to KC, I got the angel and sent it to you. I told you she was to keep you safe.
Well, she didn't do her job. I hate her now. I included her in your memory table at the service and I stood her next to your box on the mantle for awhile. But I finally had to take her down and put her away because the sight of her made me sick.
My hatred of angels has even extended to my own collection. And I won't watch "Touched By An Angel" on TV any more. Do you see how freakish I've become?
Anyway, Scott, it's just been a really rough day. I needed to talk to you. Wanted to pick up the phone, but, of course, I couldn't. So, doing this, somehow I feel you are closer.
I'm in a self-protective mode, you know. I've been holding back feelings and memories and all kinds of reminders because the pain is just too great. But I know I must face the truth. In small doses. And I can't even say the truth to myself. That's how bad it is.
So, my precious son, I'll leave for now. Be back soon....
I love you.
March 24,2000
still the days are sad
I need to speak with you tonight, Scott. Chris called earlier. He told me about a dream he had about you two nights ago, March 22nd, your first day here a year ago and the night you were admitted to the hospital. He said you appeared in the doorway and said"It was a terrible mistake. I'm not dead." He was overjoyed and spent happy moments with you. As he gradually woke, he still thought you were alive, then, when fully awake, he realized it wasn't true. He was devestated.
Devestated, Scott. That's how we all still feel.
Your dad said he read in an article that seven months after a death, a person crashes. It looks as if we are right on schedule. I hope that's what it is. I am so weary with this grief. It is weighing me down. Making a coward of me. I'm afraid to think of you on purpose, Scott. I still haven't been able to bring your photos out or even look at them.
Well,I've got to go now. I still long for you to visit me in my dreams. Or feel your presence during the day. But it has been so quiet. So utterly quiet.
March 22, 2000
Sad, sad day
Sad day. I've been feeling blue. More than usual lately. Restless. Wanting to move.
After lunch, your dad and I got in the car and drove by some houses on University Street and other neighborhoods near Phelps Grove Park. I like that area. Want to get away from here. Away from all the memories. I was going to call Max, our agent, when we got home. Then I looked out the window of my study and saw the Christmas tree we planted two Christmases before you took your life. We got it for you, Scott. Planted it for the memories. When I saw the tree and realized I would be leaving it and others we planted in your honor behind, I got scared about leaving. Am I doomed to stay here in this suburban neighborhood where people never see or talk to each other, where the houses and the streets bring only painful memories?
This time last year you were alive and safe (I thought) getting ready to be admitted to the hospital. I am the mother. I am supposed to keep my children safe. I thought I had that power. I thought I had saved you last March 22. But it was only temporary. It was only until you could buy a gun and do it a surer way. Trying to overdose on drugs just wasn't working.
It's been seven and a half months. And I'm still a mess. How am I ever going to get through this? AM I ever going to get through this? The zest of life is gone. There is an edge to everything now. Getting through the day is one big chore.
Scott, Scott, where are you?
March 20, 2000
It Won't Go Away
The time of day between 5:15 PM and 5:40 PM haunts me. I'm not sure why but it relates to you, Scott. I sit in the TV room and look out the sunroom windows and I see the sun getting weaker, covering less of the fence and trees. Darkness begins to creep into the yard. And the pain starts creeping into my body. I especially feel it in my chest. And my throat. I feel as if I will explode. I want to shout your name. I want to shout it and shout it until you hear me, until you answer me. I want life as I know it now to end. I want to go back to August 3rd and change the way things happened. I want to talk to you. I want to have the chance to convince you that you are a special person, that you are loved, that life is worth the struggle. I want you to come back. I want this pain to end.
I'm still trying to understand, Scott. I'm trying to understand.
March 11, 2000
Staying Connected
A few lines tonight before going to bed. It's been awhile. I'm all talked out, Scott. I'm afraid you're slipping away. You're on my mind a lot. And I still cry almost every day at least once. And there are still things I won't do because they are painful reminders. Certain TV shows I won't watch. Restaurants I won't go to. Food I won't cook. And yet, sometimes I feel my depression lifting. Sunny days when I find hope.
I am alive, Scott. I want to do something useful with my life. I can't quit living because you are not here. I want to do something to honor you. Write a memoir, yes. But something more. I don't know what; I must think about it.
Until last night, it was like spring. The forsythias are blooming, the cornelian cherry. The robins have arrived. Then last night it snowed about four inches. Looked like winter all day.
Every change of season is hard. This March is hard because it is the month last year I thought I had saved you. The month I called and found you incoherent because you had tried to OD. The month we raced up to KC, brought you back to Springfield and admitted you to the Marion Center, the month we put down earnest money for a house for you & then lost half of it because you decided to stay in KC. You got away from me, Scott. You got away big time.
The what ifs still haunt me. What an impact our decisions, our choices have on our lives. I will certainly be more careful with mine from now on.
I have been reviewing my life and my eyes have been opened. I will talk to you about it another time. I am tired and sleepy and can't really think good.
Scott, I wish you would talk to me. I still don't feel your energy. Please visit me, at least in my dreams. I miss you.
Back to My Days
