MY SON

I’m trying to remember why I started this blog. I know a friend had urged to do it and in my early days of living in The Home I really thought must of what occurred her was rather funny. I was surprised at how juvenile 60+ years old could act. It is beginning to seem all so normal.

CW has moved out. People are upset that our own residents are stealing items from a collection box of warm clothes for the homeless. And we get an onsite manager beginning Monday. The Ivory Tower, in their infinite wisdom, is sending over one of their own to work in this office to look after us and do some head office type of work as well. So, life goes on as normal and little I see seems out of the ordinary any longer.

I do write to express myself because I like writing. But I also know I say little of importance and talk about issues in only the lightest of terms. This may only be a brief departure from frivolity, but I want to write (as least for a few blogs) about my journey from being a “have” to a “have not.” The economy is going south and many are struggling just to keep their heads above water, I have been doing this for over ten years. I’ve adjusted to living on less, but I blow it at times. I have blown it this month already and it is only the fifth day.

I left, resigned and/or was fired from a church in 1999. I will not go into all the details, but the accusations were emotionally true, but not actually true. I had rented rooms to young adult men since shortly after my daughters wedding. It was a good arrangement. In 1995 I took in a young man who was a diamond in the rough. He was everything I had wanted my own son to be, but was not. My son committed suicide in December of 1993. It has taken years to accept that I did not cause his death. He was 24 at the time. Needless to say, I did not cause it. But parents feel like they are responsible for the actions of their children when their choices are dramatically different from that of the parents. His were. We ask where did we go wrong, what did we do, how did we fail. It is easy to forget free will and the church will not let us forget “train up a child in the way he should go.”

I began working in my last church three months after the death of my wife. Everything was new and I was definitely different. I grieved for my wife for five years in a slow and agonizing release. I doubt I knew how much I loved her until she was gone. I was adjusting to that loss and 18 months later within one day of being to the day, I lost my son. December 20, 1993. Christmas!

I had to deal with the awful feeling of relief that he was gone. I had lived with the constant fear that he would die without us ever knowing. Much of the last 6 years of his life was an unknown. We did know where he was or what he was doing. He returned home only to recover from illness or detox himself. We had lost him at 18 years of age. We just didn’t know it.

My wife died, not from anything I did, but of disease that came in the flow of life. My son’s death was anything but natural. I was still denying my need for emotional help to cope and adjust when into my life came the son of my dreams. He was emotionally young for his 20 years, but he was loving, kind, considerate, and helpful and a joy to be around. I loved him.

To be continued.