Unfair and just plain wrong

Do you ever have moments in your life when you stop and think to yourself that something is just wrong? Just so completely not right that it registers as not only wrong but as unfair? Those moments when your mind stops behaving like the mature, adult person that you are and reverts to a childlike stubborn, foot-stomping tantrum of “NOT FAIR”?!
Yes, we all have…. My moment was today… I’ve had a few such times recently but today was a big one.

I went over to my ex-husbands house. My son, Willie, had moved in with him just a month before he committed suicide and all his belongings and such are there. It wasn’t the first time I had been there since he died. I’ve been over a number of times. Not only to his bedroom but to the room where he died. I do find peace there. I feel “him” and his presence it’s comforting to me to be in the space that he occupied. Even standing in the space where he chose to end his life is a connection to him and one that resonates with the searching I am doing to grasp some remnant of him.
Today was a journey over with my youngest son to go through Willie’s belongings. A chance for him to collect momentos or keepsakes of Willie to remember him by. Willie’s dad is moving at the end of the month and this needs to be done soon as he is packing up the room. I was prepared (I thought) for how difficult it might be for my youngest and was blissfully in denial of any impact it would have on me. I had been there before you see… I had sat on his bed, talked to him, stood and leaned and cried in the place where his life energy left his body. I would be fine.
I was wrong. So wrong that it hit me like a wall when I finally realized just how ignorant I was being to the situation.

I maintained composure while I was there; mainly for the sake of my youngest. And for my ex, Willie’s dad. He did not need to see my breakdown … again.

It struck me as I was driving away that it was so wrong. Holding Willie’s items, his treasured items that he so loved and held dear. Knowing that he would never look at them again or hold them or care what happened to them. I remember packing up his room in December when he was moving to his dad’s place and taking such care to ensure that nothing would get broken in transit. That the things that he loved would be safe and arrive unscathed because I knew what they meant to him.

Seeing those same items and knowing that they meant nothing now…absolutely NOTHING…was such a slap in the face that I can’t bear it.

His clothes in his drawers…smelling musty and old…they haven’t been disturbed for months now. They smell forgotten and discarded. A brutal reminder that the final clothes he chose to put on February 1st were the last clothes of his that would ever be worn by him. I asked his dad again what he had worn that day…I want to know but I don’t…I need to know whether he chose his clothes knowing that he was going to die in them. Did he wake that morning with his intention set, clear in his mind? Knowing that it was that day that he would end his life… or was it just another day that he thought “maybe” and then followed through when so many other times he hadn’t?

Did he think about the finality of what he was doing? Did he have regrets at the last second, after it was too late to turn back? I’ll never know…and these thoughts haunt me and torment my spirit.

Seeing his items today bringing front and centre the reality that he has left us, physically. His little trinkets and belongings all that is left of his brief stay here. Things that he cared so much about that now hold no significance because the person they meant so much to is now gone…

My only thoughts being that it’s not right. It’s not the way it should be. He should be here. Well or unwell. He shouldn’t be gone. Followed by the simple fact that he is gone. That nothing can change that. No amount of stubborn refusal to believe will change that fact of reality.

So, I gather a few items to physically hold him close. Knowing in my heart that they mean nothing. That they are not him and that try as I might, they won’t make me “feel” him more or bring his presence closer.

And I leave knowing in my heart that while it’s not fair or right – it is the truth, that he is gone.


It’s amazing how when something is right, the fear of the change to come is lessened. Instead of the stress and anxiety and torment of details and “what if” you have a calm sense that it will all work itself out because it’s meant to happen so therefore, it will….