Aug 05, 2004 20:39
My son just called me from Missouri, in tears. In sobs. “I’ll call you tomorrow, I’m going to get shit faced” were his last words before hanging up. A lifelong friend is dead, thrown out of a car -- a car driven by yet another friend. A friend he now wants to see go to jail, or whom he would like to extract retribution. I suspect that they were a couple and that drugs were surely involved. He drove away from the seen of the accident after his girlfriend was thrown out the window and into a wall. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
I am afraid for my son and sorry for my son. He says I know the girl, but I don’t particularly remember her - Christy. What happened Christy? How did you put yourself in this situation? Why does it tear my son up so? I can’t reach him, he is a couple of thousand miles away.
I am afraid that he will want to come home to the funeral and if he does that I am afraid he will not find his way back. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!
I don’t know how to tell him that I am sure that these episodes of great loss are the result of the life he has lived. He knows, but I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear it from me.
I love you son! I send this thought into the cosmos in the hope that they find you and comfort you. I pray that you find peace in your drink tonight and that you care for yourself.
r.slime
loss,
children