When they said, “I have some sad news. Your son, Charles was found dead this morning in an apartment on Monument Avenue,” my world collapsed. At the same time, I was confused by Monument Avenue.
In Richmond, Virginia, this area is the most prestigious residential avenue, a picturesque neighborhood with million dollar row houses lined along cobblestone streets. It looks like something straight out of a movie.
For a long time, I thought he must’ve been further down that avenue in perhaps a seedier part of that street, although I’m not aware of where that might be. I just assumed if he was at an apartment where a lot of kids were using, it had to be in some seedy section.
As it turns out, it’s in the urban area right past elegant row houses. The building itself, looks pretty regal from the outside and it’s got some historical significance having been built in 1924, not long after cars started to become the norm. But apparently, it’s a nightmare inside with miserable reviews once you scroll down past the paid ads. And what I hear matches the one star reviews. It’s an old building that has not been properly maintained over the years.
So three years after Charles died, I got the nerve to go by there and just stand on the outside. I actually took this picture as I stood on the sidewalk on 1600 Monument Avenue.
I don’t know what floor he was on, which apartment is THE ONE. All I know is that he hated it and it was nasty. He expresses how much he hated it in a rap song, Mr. Dopeman— the last song he wrote just days before he killed himself.
I have no idea if I’ll ever get the urge to go inside. Quite frankly I don’t really want to. Not now anyway.
Jared lived in those apartments one year when he was at VCU. He moved every year and this was definitely not one of the nicer stops.
It looks nice from the outside and a stone’s throw from million dollar residences.
I did. 4 months after Daniel’s death I had an irresistible desire to go to the house in LA. Markiplier and Ryan were still living there. Amazing view of downtown LA. They had since removed the closet door on which he looped the belt on its outward corner. I sat underneath the closet doorway where his feet would have been dangling. I needed to feel the pain.
I understand that. I have not been able to find out the floor, the apartment number or mich else. And I wonder if it’s still a trap house. If that’s the case, I would need someone to go with me.
I will go with you.
OK. I found out the room. 407. I am in NY the weekend after labor day. I have a writer’s conference. And then my trip to Alabama after that. But I’m home Labor Day weekend.
I’ll go with you too. Lost my brother to suicide in 2003. I went to his place and glad I went to see it.
I might just take you up on that. I am sorry you lost your brother. I think sibling suicide is hard too because you feel you have to be good for the parents. So many siblings deny their grief due to a feeling their hurt can’t measure up to the parents.