I’ve just seen a photographic tribute for Chris, a twenty five year old who died by suicide on December 5, 2009.
“You walked out in the middle of your song,” were some of the lyrics. I found myself drenched in sadness.
Only a few minutes earlier I had replied to an email from a mother whose son died three years ago, and to her I had said:
“As hard as it is, we must try to lift our spirits up, if we are to “rejoin” our sons.”
I said that, because two or three weeks ago I dreamed of Andrew. He was clean shaven, dressed in his usual clothes and wearing his father’s Australian hat.
“Please don’t go,” I said to him in the dream. “Please stay and talk to me.”
“Not if you keep talking about my suicide,” he replied firmly and somewhat sternly. And he left or rather, he vanished.
I have taken that dream to be a message from my son, not to limit the twenty years of wonderful memories of his life, to how he died. And I try, it might not seem like it but I do try. Like last night, a friend I hadn’t seen for a while came over with cannoli, cream puffs and her sunny disposition. After a few minutes in her company I was laughing hard, even Robert stopped playing in his room to join us and he stayed until she left. For a while she had helped lift our spirits.
But being “up” is a work in progress, it requires commitment and sometime, like now, all I want to do is cry. Cry for Andrew, cry for this boy Chris and his family and all the many others who’ve left.
But I also know that the sun always comes out after the rain.
I love you Andrew wherever you are. Mummy