Four weeks ago, on Sunday, October 6th of 2024, my younger son, the fourth of four children, took his own life. We all knew that he was having problems, that he was suffering, and we all wanted to help, but he pushed away all those who loved him. He did not just push us, he drove us, hatefully and angrily he drove us, and not just his friends and family; he also antagonized local law enforcement, not through physical threats, but by demeaning calls to emergency dispatch. We were told there was nothing that could be done, unless he caused physical harm to himself or others. We have not yet received the death certificate, nor the police report, yet we are receiving debt collection notices. All this, while his family mourns, trying to understand how we each individually grieve.
In the long distant past, I was complimented by my teachers on my essays; this is not one of those essays, this is rambling and incoherent, it is the weeping of a father, the dry tears as I wondering about my son’s eternal fate. No sooner than the ink had dried at the funeral home, we received a collection notice from the credit card company, expressing their condolences and informing us that they would be initiating legal attempts to recoup their $2,300 within 21 days. His mother and I do not yet know what property he has, and we do not yet even have the legal right to begin settling his obligations, until we have a death certificate.
We have also received notices against his pick-up and travel trailer, and my wife is actually concerned about his taxes. His federal income taxes. Those bottom feeders can kiss my a** and collect from a ghost, I am not worried about them, and my wife shouldn’t be either, however, these issues are causing her undue heartache, when she should be collecting her emotions. Men and women process these things differently; my wife talks to her two brothers and our daughters constantly, while my son and I seldom talk, we simply want to be alone. Jimmy and I do talk to one another, but never about Josh. I think Jim talks more, I talk to my folks and my brother, but not about Josh. I talk to Josh when I am alone — I ask him why he didn’t talk to me, why he pushed us all away, knowing I will get no response, because God does not lose track of souls.
I have good days and I have bad days, all days start the same.
Dark.
It takes awhile for light to start seeping in, depending on how evil my dreams are; I never used to have memorable dreams. Last week, I dreamed there was a house next door (there’s not, I have 18 acres), it was Josh’s house, and he was driving around it, turning off the lights. The day never did get very bright.
Perhaps tomorrow will.
I love you son, I wish you had talked to me.
Perhaps I should have said “I love you” more in life.
Pixabay” src=”https://images.americanthinker.com/a0/a0eqbvdtyepss11buosu_640.jpg” />
Image: Free image, Pixabay license.
This article was originally published at www.americanthinker.com
