After Charles’ addiction and suicide, I looked back with all the wisdom and all the facts of “after” and told myself I should have done something this way or that. I tortured myself with it. The coulda, woulda, shoulda consumed me for months and years.
I blamed myself for something I did, something I said, things I didn’t say or do. People tried to talk me out of it. They’d swear up and down that it wasn’t my fault. But that guilt baggage is part of the process of accepting the unfair end I’d been given.
But it’s not just … Read more...
I know in Charles’ final hour, he felt abandoned.
Heroin is not a party drug. It’s a loner drug. The solitary nature of the drug is so counterintuitive to Charles’ outgoing personality. It does not make you a fun person or one that everyone wants to be around. Just the opposite.
When Charles called me, I was his last shred of hope in an effort to save himself. His mother. I can still hear the despair in his voice. I think he left this earth thinking we abandoned him because he was addicted to heroin. I hope he knew we … Read more...
My coulda woulda shoulda is that last phone call I had with Charles. Here’s how it goes.
Alter Ego: You missed that last conversation, the one where he texted you, “Please pick up the f@#$%& phone, there is something I need to tell you.”
(my mind usually whines here)
Me: We had already been on the phone for two hours. He was shouting, incoherent and argumentative. I didn’t know where he was. I couldn’t understand him. I said, “I have to go. Bye, bye, I love you.” Then he called again and we talked again.
Alter Ego: But that third phone call, the one that … Read more...