Ken, my son who lived with me, killed himself the day after Christmas. I’m still in shock and disbelief. I’ll write more later..
I walked forty steps with my walker today. Breathless afterwards and had to rest, but it’s a beginning.
The past few weeks have been brutal, physically. Today was more of the same but I decided I can’t go on like this. I have to do something! So I pushed through discomfort and fear, clenched my teeth and just DID it! Jenny walking beside me. The sun is shining, the weather is mild. I’m alive again!
Yesterday was your birthday, Scott. You would have been 50. Thinking today was the 10th, I’ve thought of you all day, trying to picture what you would have looked like and what you would be doing.
I can’t believe you’ve been gone 14 years! It doesn’t seem nearly that long.
You once told me that if you killed yourself, I’d get over it and go on and live a happy life. You were wrong, Scott. I haven’t been happy since you did that unthinkable act. Yes, I’ve gone on with my life. What else could I do? And there have been some moments of joy, not in living, but in nature.
I have not felt happiness in a long time.
Last Thursday, Beulah, one of my closest friends died unexpectedly. I’m still in shock. Then Connie, another close friend, was admitted to the hospital with clots in her lungs. Wednesday, your brother, Ken, found out he has a hole in his heart. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg of what’s wrong with him.
I’m not so well myself.
All this makes me wonder about life, it’s purpose, and what happiness really means. And what difference any of it makes since it all ends and is repeated and ends again.
I resent it that we have to die, that we go through life with ambitions, dreams, desires, failures, accomplishments and then have to go and leave it all behind. We take it with us, as if we had not walked on this earth, breathed in the air, watched the grackle with the broken wing, read Mary Oliver or Thomas Merton, seen “Stop the World, I Want to Get Off” three times or eaten that piece of cherry pie. Two hundred years from now, none of it will have mattered. Sometimes I think of those who lived hundreds of years ago and I honor them in my heart.
This day is almost over. I’m relieved. Next month, we have to get through the anniversary of John’s death. And so on. It seems that every month, there’s a hurdle to get over.
I’m trying very hard to find pleasure in something. To experience faith, and hope, and love. To enjoy giving while losing so much. To find a reason for it all.
I’ve been a giver all my life. What happened? The well has run dry.
I thought I’d review my experience of 2012 tonight and maybe list some wishes for 2013, but my mind took me to another place. Earlier this evening I started a novel by Helen Garner, “The Spare Room,” and I started thinking about my son, John, johnshome.wordpress.com , who died of colon cancer in February, 2001. The book is about two friends, one of whom is dying of cancer. But when I thought of John, Cancer wasn’t what I thought of.
I remembered an experience John had at a new middle school he attended after we moved to Connecticut from Indiana. He was taken into a booth in the boy’s bathroom and beat up by a boy from a corrective institution. The boy was there on some kind of grant from the government, I believe, a trial program for delinquent boys. The boy took John’s watch, gave him a black eye, a busted lip and a messed up face. John was borderline autistic, a mild mannered, gentle soul who was trusting. Even though the other boy had no marks or injuries, the incident was treated as a “scuffle between boys.”
Even though John was hurting physically, he was mostly injured emotionally. He drew into himself, stayed up late at night teaching himself to play the guitar, picking out soft, haunting tunes. He checked a book out of the library called “Violence in America.” It broke my heart.
I was so angry, I took him to the principal’s office and insisted the principal explain to him why nothing was being done about the boy who hurt him. I don’t remember the explanation, but it was lame. It was obvious that something political was going on. I took John to the head of the education board, Again, sympathy, but no help. I called the local newspaper. A lot of sympathy but no help when the reporter learned where the other boy was from.
I think John and I both lost faith and respect at that time for people in high places. It’s been a long road trying to change my opinion.
Not a very pretty story. I’m sorry I can’t do better, especially today when I should be looking back at the positives in my life and thinking about going forward. But this is real; anything else I might write would be forced.
Tomorrow, perhaps, I’ll take stock and look ahead. For now, I’m sending John a hug and a prayer, and then I’ll get back to my novel.
Just want to wish everyone a healthy and happy new year. May 2013 bring peace and safety to all parts of the world. Thank you, my blogging friends, for your interest and support in me and my imperfect blog. I’m amazed by the warmth and caring I’ve found here. I can’t tell you how I’ve benefited from knowing you. I hope to have more to give to you in 2013. Love and hugs. XO Mary
Happy holidays to my fellow bloggers and other friends who stop by. I wish you peace and many blessings now and always.
- My Top (and Bottom) 10 Favorite Christmas Songs of All-Time (mommabethyname.com)
“It’s a Wonderful Life” is on the TV tonight. Scott loved that movie. He watched it every year. I’m surprised at how just knowing its on fills me with dread. It’s been 13 years since Scott killed himself and I still can’t watch his favorite programs, look at his photos, his handwriting, anything that reminds me of him. He loved sizzlers, Seinfeld, Star Wars, roast, rice and gravy.
I often wonder what he would look like now, if he’d be married, if he’d have children. I loved him so much. I still can’t believe he’s gone. And I miss him.
I’ll be glad when Christmas is over. Next, I have to get through his birthday, January 9th. He’d be 49. The hurt never goes away.