Depths and Darkness

     I have tried the last month to put my thoughts down with clarity, succinctness, and depth.  I don't think there are words for the profound darkness that fills every pore. It flows like water between the sands. My perfect, intelligent, funny, handsome son has left the casino. He was handed a perfect bluff hand, and realized (in his wisdom) that it was not an honest hand.  A just hand. Instead is was the hand dealt by a blind, pitiless, indifferent dealer who gives not a whit about: winners and losers, courage and cowardice, kindness and savagery, fairness, and bias.  He stood up.  And left the table (his own words).  He just couldn't stand a game which gives not a whit about the gambler.   

    My son took his own life one month ago today.  I was there when the police came and told us they had found his deceased body.  It was a sucker-punch unlike any other.  I stood there as the lead officer approached my son's brother-in-law and asked for a quick "private" word. He told the officer that I was the father.  We then walked a few feet away.  "He is deceased," he said quietly.

    The words cut through me and I was dazed and struck.  My world just stopped spinning.  Time was frozen, but the pain subsumed me immediately.  As I reacted I heard his wife scream out "no!".  I heard her sobs.  My mind went to my wife, but my body walked quickly to his wife and her sister.  I held them both in my arms for a moment.

    The rest of the morning was spent weeping and trying to hold back the tsunami of pain. 

It seems like a day ago.  It is still fresh, and the pain, for me, has only gotten worse. I started drinking again a few days back.  I am hiding it from my dear wife.  Bad form.  But I am spiraling and don't want to stop.  I want to be out of consciousness, and out of pain.  With my boy.  My beautiful perfect boy.  

    But, my daughter, wife, and granddaughter pull me on.  I fake being normal.  I know my routine, and I do that.  All the while, my mind whirs with an ongoing conversation with my son and my own brain. 

From Poe: " a voice from out the future cries "on on", 
but o'er the past my spirit hovering lies, 
mute motionless aghast."  

I now understand why so many delude themselves into believing in an afterlife without the slightest justification for doing so.  The longing to hold my son again creates a physical ache.  To see his smiling face and hear one of his sarcastic but hilarious quips would fill me with joy and light. I am wounded in a way never experienced before. I will never see him again... hold him... express my love for him... bask in his presence. 

He left us final notes.  Many who commit suicide do not.  It was not an act of impulse or caprice for my boy.  He was, as he communicated it, committing a loving act.  He didn't have fear.  He wanted peace. 

Rest in peace my dear sweet boy.  You blessed my life for 32 years with pride, joy, happiness, and love.  I could not have begged for a better son. For that, I am ever grateful and pay tribute your glorious life.  We will bear the pain of losing you with honor and as much dignity as we can muster.