When I was a teen, my favorite show was “I dream of Jeannie.” I just loved the fantasy of blinking and making things happen, smoking in and out of a bottle, having a bouncy blond pony tail and wearing harem clothing.
Years later when my kids were in elementary school, I wrote for the school newsletter. I wrote a column about technology and magic fairy dust, laundry fairies and paper eating dragons.
You are wondering what on earth that had to do with technology? Nothing. It was pure drivel. I made most of it up to entertain myself and get people to read it. Charles, too, loved magic and fantasy stories. He was a dreamer always.
We really were a happy family. Normal really. We ate meals together, we played games, had sleepovers and bonfires. I made brownies, had birthday parties with Piñatas.
Those of us who’ve lost a child to suicide want to analyze what we missed. But in all honesty, the signs that were there were so subtle–not really indicators of what was to come.
He was so funny. So cute. And bubbling over with energy, ideas and fantasies. Sometimes I wish I could wave my magic wand, sprinkle some magic fairy dust, go back in time and relive me and Charles at that age again.