I know my son has a gentle heart. Others figured this out too. He is funny and caring. He had great eyes that exhumed joy and invited you in. He is a looker, and you could not help but smile back when he walked into the room. I don’t have an adequate vocabulary to describe him to you, but in simple words, he is a gentleman.
He is giving and gracious; a gentle soul, who sparkled, casting love, happiness, goodness, into the hearts of everyone who had the pleasure of knowing him.
My son was inclusive. His friend group was very diverse. They were from five continents, of varying religions, races, sexes, and sexual orientations. He didn’t care if you believed in things that were the polar opposite of him. He always had a way to make you feel welcomed. His friends, who I never met before, sent me stories about him. Though continents apart, I can connect with his friends through these stories and social media conversations. We can share a piece of my son with each other. Their descriptions of his personality were consistent.
“Your son was so generous and put himself before others always. He was our knight in shining armor.”
“He was loved by everyone at camp and was very popular with the girls. I can speak for everyone at camp when I say that he was the nicest guy there, never had a bad word to say about anyone, and he was just great to be around.”
“He was always laughing, joking or smiling; he was such a positive soul that radiated his happiness onto those around him.”
“He as being a joker was always laughing and smiling. He was full of enthusiasm for whatever trip or activity we had planned next. Spending time with him was guaranteed to be fun because he had a great sense of humor and excellent comic timing, always making a witty comment or putting on a face! But he was also kind, and generous and sweet. He was an all-around wonderful guy.”
He only had one girlfriend, and she broke his heart. Heartache may have caused him to be more guarded, so romantic relationships were few. He did, build many deep platonic relationships, and I hope he knows how much people love him. He was consistent and true to his personality showing kindness and chivalry.
My son was a counselor for two summers at a camp in Pennsylvania. There, he received the honor of “Best to Take Home to Mom and Dad.”
Camp friends called him JT, short for Justin Timberlake, because he looked like the famous singer, and my son loved to dance.
He became good friends with many of the camp counselors. It would fit one was a dance instructor. They confided in each other, as trusted friends do, and they danced. Right after my son arrived at camp for the second year, he ran up to her, excitedly recruiting her to co-choreograph the talent show dance for the “non-bunk” staff.
My son was a romantic. I call him a romantic because of the writings and presents he gave his girlfriend. He meticulously chose each present, and his letters were truthful coming from deep within his heart and soul. For every gift he gave, to each person, he thought them through, so it was personal and meaningful. His sister and I were fortunate to shop along with him as he sought out the perfect gifts.
As an adult, he still loved Disney movies and music. He also loved the sultry voice of crooner Michael Bublé (Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby are the most famous crooners) and had a musical playlist titled the same. He would join his father, sister, and me in holiday movie marathons while we wrapped Christmas presents. He carried one of them into a comedic skit while having a video conversation with college friends. His friend from Barcelona shared this story with me.
“We met at Montana State University (MSU). The 6th floor of the dorm was mostly comprised of international students and few stragglers from the States. We all became good friends. After the end of the school year, in May 2014, your son went back home. One other of our friends, from the UK, and I stayed at MSU for a bit longer. Your son called via Skype (a spoken conversation with someone over the Internet using the software application Skype, typically also viewing by webcam, Dictionary.com).
Your son was recreating part of a scene from the movie The Holiday, to make us laugh (as you can tell from our faces at the bottom right of the picture). The love-stricken protagonist becomes Mr. Napkin Head at the plea of his two young girls.
When I think of your son, these are the kind of things that come to my mind. He was always ready to make everyone laugh. He always wanted to do activities, engage with outdoors, taketrips to the mountains or goskiing. If we had a bad day, he was the first one ready to watch Disney movies with popcorn. He would sing to us. Songs from “Frozen” (Walt Disney Studios, 2013), were his best performances.”
A person who loves the movie Frozen has to be a romantic. In the secondary storyline, the hero helps the heroine save the town, and they fall in love. The music is fantastically beautiful, playful, and free.
He was the best friend, romantic companion, brother, and son, anyone could have.
His sister recently told me “He was blessed with the best personal traits, beyond what his family had.” He was funny and sensitive. He had a great style and was incredibly handsome. He was not pretentious, and he put others before himself. He was smart and loved to learn. He was the best friend, romantic companion, brother, and son, anyone could have. We miss him every day, beyond whatever you could try to imagine or feel.
If you knew my son, please share your story with us. You may share them through the Contact Page, or comment at the end of the blog post. You can also contact me through Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. I build off each little conversation or correspondence you have with me when you tell me about my son.
REFERENCES
Timberlake, Justin. TROLLS (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack). RCA Records, 2016, Spotify, Spotify Link
Walt Disney Animation Studios; directed by Chris Buck, Jennifer Lee; produced by Peter Del Vecho; screenplay by Jennifer Lee; story by Chris Buck, Jennifer Lee, Shane Morris. (2013). Frozen. Burbank, Calif. : Walt Disney Pictures
Meyers, Nancy. Block Bruce A. (Producer), & Meyers, Nancy. (Director). (2006). The Holiday [Motion Picture]. Distributed by Columbia Pictures domestically and by Universal Pictures overseas
While my son pursued other professions, teaching children may be his calling. I recently had a dream about my son. He was crouching down to children. He said, “I’m doing my work, teaching with the little kids, helping them find their way. I found my purpose.” He is helping young kids, there, in the afterlife.
Our house is on an acre lot with a barrier of woods between the neighbors and us, set back on the top of a hill, with a long, curved driveway. Large oak trees fill the lot.
In the front yard, there are boulder retaining walls, scalloped into the hill. In the backyard, there is a boulder retaining wall the length of the yard, with steps leading down into the woods. These walls and large trees were perfect shields for pretend war games. On the weekends, thirteen and fourteen-year-old boys invaded our house to play versions of Capture the Flag. Parents would drop off their boys donned in camouflage with gear in large duffle bags. Their equipment became more sophisticated with each event such as cooler toy guns and the addition of face guards and shields. They would lay it out on picnic tables in the backyard, then identify their teams, rules, and strategies. His dad and I loved helping my son be a host to all of those boys. Years later, I still would find pebbles in the gardens from their airsoft guns. After my son died, one of the friends’ shared a memory about how great those middle-school times where.
“Roboyto! He would greet me this way every morning through our middle school and high school years. I always looked forward to meeting up with our group of friends before class in the morning, and he never failed at making me feel even more welcome in such a tight-knit group of friends.
I will truly cherish the memories we all made being together at his house for football draft parties, the massive air-soft wars spanning an entire weekend in the summer, and casual get-togethers with plenty of junk food and games. There was always some great guy-food his parents fed us like chicken wings, brats, or burgers. And brownies, these hot gooey chocolate brownies.”
I was honored to be a host for all of his friends.
My nephew, a year older than my son, was married the summer before my son died. We hosted at our house, a brunch for the bride and groom’s families the following day. It was a lovely summer day to sit out on the patio, relax, and play yard games. The youngest cousin, in his middle-school years, brought over his Nerf guns. The Nerf guns are so much more sophisticated than the ones my son had when he was little. The Nerf rapid fire, and shoot far. The cousins, now most young men, picked up where they left off as boys, running through the yard, playing a strategic game of tag. In the game that day, it did not matter the age, young adult or child, they all could connect.
This summer, working in the woods, I found left-over brightly colored foam pellets. I returned the first batch to my nephew. The ones I discovered later, I kept for myself, putting them in a memory box, which is my son’s top dresser drawer.
Shortly after my son’s death, I sent out a request for friends and families to share written stories about him. From the stories, I learned he had a gift to connect with children, of all ages. The first is from his younger cousin who is eleven, thirteen years my son’s junior.
“When I was around six years old, and in the first grade, I thought my cousin looked really cool. He always had a smile on his face and was always interested in what people had to say. I thought he was too cool to approach with, “Hi.” Later, I was growing out of the little kid’s stuff, but too young to even understand what the grown-ups were talking about in their conversations. Mom and Dad suggested I bring my Wii-U Console to my cousin’s house and try to get all of my cousins to play. When it was set-up, I started asking some of my cousins, but none of them were interested… except for one cousin. He came down and challenged me to a round of Super Smash Bros, and crushed me. We both laughed as he destroyed me multiple times, and I realized that I had finally found someone to connect with at family parties. My cousin was willing to spend time with a seven-year-old kid, who didn’t know anything about being in high school or stuff like that. That’s the kind of guy that he is, a funny, kind, and all around cool guy. He is a light that shown brightly it so many ways.”
My son taught alpine skiing and was a camp counselor and water sports instructor. In hindsight, maybe this was his calling because according to a fellow ski school instructor, my son was a Kid Magnet.
“I met him while chaperoning the ski school bus. I was immediately impressed with his positive attitude and ability to connect with the children. The kids gravitated to him, and he could get them smiling and laughing with ease. I would often find him giving a piggy back ride or giving good advice to those in need. One of his students was a child of a friend. The two had a lot of fun together in class and on the bus. I will always remember our time working together keeping the kids safe and happy.”
He was able to connect with older kids as well. At a camp in the woods of Pennsylvania, a co-counselor shared a story of a team building activity for their group of teenagers, led by my son, to choreograph a dance routine, and assemble a soundtrack, all in one night. His co-counselor shared, “It was such a great activity and a great night. We won the competition, and it was a great team bonding night for us all.”
While my son pursued other professions, teaching children may be his calling. I recently had a dream about my son. He was crouching down to children. He said, “I’m doing my work, teaching with the little kids, helping them find their way. I found my purpose.” He is helping young kids, there, in the afterlife.
He was not alone. He was with his great uncle, who is a grandfather figure. They had a connection with each other while living, sailing, playing cards, talking, and joking. His uncle is cerebral, and my son loves being philosophical, exploring and inventing. They are now are enjoying each other’s company, being entrepreneurial. While my son is taking care of the young children, his great uncle is looking after him.
I have some comfort that he is with those who love him in the afterlife. They are so lucky to be with him. Parents who have children in Heaven should too be comforted knowing my son is there, taking care of their children.
He did not intend to die that day. I believe that in my heart, brain, and every part of my being.
“I did not mean it. I did not mean it. I did not mean it.”
“I am really sorry. I do not know why this happened.”
“I felt like there was a shift in my brain, like an opioid experience. Like there was something more in the drugs (street marijuana). It should not have happened like that. There had to have been something else in the drugs. There was a chemistry change in my brain. It was like an out of body experience, like a dream state; I was watching myself, going through the motions, but I had no emotion tied to it.”
“I was really tired. It was not an intentional suicide. I was not in the correct state of mind, but like in a catatonic dream. I do not know how this happened.”
In researching about marijuana, I also came across information where it can lead to a psychosis state. I think this is what my son was in, not knowing what he was doing was real.
He did not intend to die that day. I believe that in my heart, brain, and every part of my being. He had made plans with a friend, earlier on the phone, to meet the following week. He was making other long-term plans for attending an upcoming wedding and finding a new place to live. His apartment was clean. There were fresh towels in the bathroom. He had eaten the groceries we bought the week before together. He was watching YouTube videos earlier in the day. He had spoken to another friend, earlier, stating he felt anxious and thought it was the brownie (laced with street marijuana).
In researching about marijuana, I also came across information where it can lead to a psychosis state. I think this is what my son was in, not knowing what he was doing was real.
[Psychosis state is a condition that affects the mind, where there has been some loss of contact with reality. A person’s thoughts and perceptions are disturbed and the individual may have difficulty understanding what is real and what is not. Symptoms of psychosis include delusions (false beliefs) and hallucinations (seeing or hearing things that others do not see or hear). Other symptoms include incoherent or nonsense speech, and behavior that is inappropriate for the situation. A person in a psychotic episode may also experience depression, anxiety, sleep problems, social withdrawal, lack of motivation and difficulty functioning overall (National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), n.d.)].
"I've done a lot of drugs in my life. The most negative drug experiences I've ever had in my life are from weed edibles."
I have heard about these psychosis stories, reading them on Youtube posts and second hand, from those who experienced them. The actor Seth Rogan, shared in an interview with Howard Stern, the risks with edibles. Rogan said, “They are a crapshoot.” Snoop Dogg told him he does not use edibles as there is not an off button. Rogen further said, “I’ve done a lot of drugs in my life. The most negative drug experiences I’ve ever had in my life are from weed edibles.” He shared the risks of taking one bite too many from a gummy bear. Drug manufacturers continue to test the drug dosage in their manufacturing process so no dose is too strong. This controlled environment is not present in the home kitchen, causing a risk of the higher dosage. I have attached a link to the Seth Rogan interview posted on YouTube (Howard Stern Show, Jun 23, 2017).
I do not think these experiences are myths. Research tells us these are real. Psychosis may be a symptom of a mentalillness, most commonly schizophrenia, but can occur from other causes, which I think was applicable to my son, “…Such as sleep deprivation, certain prescription medications, and the abuse of alcohol or other drugs, such as marijuana, can cause psychotic symptoms (NIMD, n.d.).”
I also found through research that certain people are more vulnerable to psychotic states from marijuana, not tied to a mentalillness, especially at high doses. From viewing his phone, I know he bought 2 ounces of marijuana (which is a gallon size zip lock bag). I have read 2 ounces is much more than an average casual smoker will possess at any given time. They baked a large amount of it into the brownies.
[Marijuana can produce an acute psychotic reaction in non-schizophrenic people who use marijuana, especially at high doses, which fades as the drug wears off. (National Institute of Drug Abuse (NIDA), 2018, June 25).
One of his friends said that marijuana was only a social thing for them. For this time too, the intent was social. They divided up the brownies the night before. They said he was in good spirits. He seemed no different.
One of his friends said that marijuana was only a social thing for them. For this time too, the intent was social. They divided up the brownies the night before. They said he was in good spirits. He seemed no different.
His friends shared, they did not experience side effects from the brownies, but I have read that the effects can be different, and it depends on the frequency of use. One friend shared my son was smoking marijuana more frequently. He might have smoked and ingested the day leading up. We will not know how much was in his system because the corner does not test for marijuana, as it stays in the system for weeks, so they cannot tell if it was a contributing factor.
[The strongest evidence to date concerns links between marijuana use and substance use disorders and between marijuana use and psychiatric disorders in those with a preexisting genetic or other vulnerability. Recent research has found that people who use marijuana and carry a specific variant of the AKT1 gene, which codes for an enzyme that affects dopamine signaling in the striatum, are at increased risk of developing psychosis. The striatum is an area of the brain that becomes activated and flooded with dopamine when certain stimuli are present. One study found that the risk of psychosis among those with this variant was seven times higher for those who used marijuana daily compared with those who used it infrequently or used none at all. (NIDA, 2018, June 25).
Dr. Jennifer Ashton, ABC News Chief Medical Correspondent (Twitter @DrJAshton), spoke today on the morning news, about a spike in marijuana use for college age, young adults, the highest use in three decades. In my son’s case, I know street marijuana is not a safe drug. There can be unknown additives to the drugs and by ingesting it, you can not control the high. It is just dangerous. I lost my son from it.
I know he loves me, his dad, and his sister. I know he is sorry, and I know this was out of his control and therefore, not his fault. We will figure it out; how to get through this, for him to be with us on earth, while he is in his after-life. I just want him to be happy.
Postscript
If you are a naysayer to the belief that marijuana can be addictive, I have attached a reference for you, which states that it can be addictive, and there is a risk of overdose, from the National Institute of Drug Abuse (NIDA), (2018, June 25, Marijuana. Retrieved from <https://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/research-reports/marijuana/marijuana-addictive> on 2018, September 5).
Post Postscript
A year past his death, new findings are coming out the about marijuana and psychosis.
Eighteen months, past my son’s death I found new conversations on social media about the risks of mixing marijuana with chocolate, causing a greater high, which is a risk for psychosis.
REFERENCES
National Institute of Mental Health, n.d., RAISE Questions and Answers, viewed 05 September 2018, Retrieved from <https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/schizophrenia/raise/raise-questions-and-answers.shtml>.
NIDA. (2016, January 11). Hallucinogens. What are hallucinogens?, Retrieved from <https://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/drugfacts/hallucinogens> on 2018, September 5.
NIDA. (2018, June 25). Marijuana. What are marijuana effects?, Retrieved from <https://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/research-reports/marijuana/what-are-marijuana-effects> on 2018, September 5.
NIDA. (2018, June 25). Marijuana. Is there a link between marijuana use and psychiatric disorders?. Retrieved from <https://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/research-reports/marijuana/there-link-between-marijuana-use-psychiatric-disorders> on 2018, September 5
My son has a playlist titled “Disney”. I had to look this up, but yes, Disney is a music genre. His playlist has 18 songs, and if played continuously through, it provides one hour of fond childhood memories, or in my case, fond memories with my children.
He felt comfortable in his own shoes, enough to share those childhood whimsical memories, as an adult, with his friends, driving in his car, on road trips, to get ice cream, or just listening, while sitting on the couch.
This playlist tells me a lot about my son; such as, he had good memories of his childhood. He felt comfortable in his own shoes, enough to share those childhood whimsical memories, as an adult, with his friends, driving in his car, on road trips, to get ice cream, or just listening, while sitting on the couch. Now, when my daughter and I are together in the car, we listen to this playlist.
One of the songs is from Toy Story, “You’ve Got A Friend In Me” (Newman, Randy, 1995). I remember when Toy Story came out in the theaters the summer of 2010. My son was sixteen at the time. He told me he and one of his guy friends went to see it. There might have been more friends who went, but I distinctly remember one person in particular. My son told me, of course, they would go, as that movie was so much of their childhood, this being the third edition. Toy Story 2 was released in theaters in 1999 when he was five. My son had a Buzz Lightyear talking action figure. The wings would eject open when my son made Buzz play “To Infinity and Beyond.” It was one of his favorite toys when he was little. I still have it, tucked away in a wooden toy box. I saved many of his toys, thinking it would be meaningful for his children to have some of his original toys. Even though that now will not be possible, I still keep them, as I cannot let go of any of his belongings.
Every friend he brought into our home was worthy of his friendship. They were so fun, friendly, and gracious, and we were and are so fortunate he has such great friends, and that he shared a small portion of their lives with us, in such an intimate setting, as our home.
As adults, he and his friends continued to see Disney movies when they were released in the theaters. Another song on his playlist is from the movie, Frozen, “Let It Go” (Anderson-Lopez, Kristen, Robert Lopez, 2013). Two of my son’s friends have shared different memories about him and this song with me.
The first is from a college friend who lives in the United Kingdom (UK). After my son’s second year at Montana State University, he invited several groups of college friends to stay with us at different times over the summer. She was one of them. Every friend he brought into our home was worthy of his friendship. They were so fun, friendly, and gracious, and we were and are so fortunate he has such great friends, and that he shared a small portion of their lives with us, in such an intimate setting, as our home.
Time passes very slowly for me since my son died. It has almost been six months, but it seems just like a month since he left us. Several months ago, this friend sent me a message. She was writing her master’s thesis and was listening to the soundtrack from the movie Frozen, to motivate her. She thought of my son and shared this story about him with me.
“Yesterday for the first time in a long time, I listened to the soundtrack from the film Frozen, to try to motivate me while I was working. The whole thing reminded me so strongly of your son; we watched it together a few times, and he used to send me memes about the “Let It Go” song.”
She said they probably connected to Frozen because it came out while they were in Montana together, and surrounded by snow. There is a picture she sent me of his Toyota 4-Runner, from the back end, engulfed by the deep snow, the Montana mountains, and tall evergreens. I think this was one of my son’s happy places.
My friend played us his Disney playlist so many times in the car. We sang to pass time, while on our road trips.
For the summers of 2015 and 2016, my son worked at a camp in the backwoods of Pennsylvania. He made friends where ever he went, and one of his co-counselors from camp shared another story about my son’s Disney playlist.
He told me my son was always there to lend a hand at camp, as they mentored a bunkhouse of young boys. He could make him smile and whenever possible, said, “Let’s get out of here and go for a drive,” when they had free-time, in my son’s beloved car. That car was a huge part of their summers at camp. This is his story.
“One day off, we chose to go to Syracuse, a city 2 hours away, where we went for a few drinks and then stayed over in a hotel (me, your son, and another counselor also from the UK). The drive didn’t start off great as we got stuck in the thick fog and we got lost. We didn’t let that dampen our spirits, and for the remaining hours we sang to our heart’s content; whether they were Disney songs, rap songs, country, or whatever genre it was, we had a blast singing, to make the journey fly by. He played us the Disney playlist so many times in the car. That and his country playlist. Other journeys (in his car) were down to the local ice cream place, or to the local town and on our days off. We spent most of my summer in that car. One time, on the way back from the ice cream place, he fit nine, or even ten of us, in the car, just so everyone could get back in time before curfew.”
Attached is a video, singing on the way to Syracuse, where you can hear my son, and the other friend on the trip, singing “Let it Go.”
Each story about my son, sentences or paragraphs, is a gem to be treasured. Please keep sharing them with me.
You see, each of these stories about my son is a gem to be treasured. Please keep sharing them with me, no matter how much they will make my heart ache.
If you want to know when I publish new posts you can follow me on Twitter @Peggy_Cran. I would like to hear from you as well. You can reach me on Twitter or via the contact page on my blog.
REFERENCES
Anderson, Darla, K. (Producers), & Unkrich, Lee (Director). (2010). Toy Story 3 [Motion Picture]. USA: Pixar Animation Studios for Walt Disney Pictures.
Anderson-Lopez, Kristin, Robert Lopez, “Let It Go” – From Frozen, Soundtrack, 2013, performed by Idina Menzel, Walt Disney Records.
Del Vecho, Peter (Producers), Buck, Chris, Jennifer Lee (Director). (2013). Frozen [Motion Picture]. USA: Walt Disney Animation Studios.
Guggenheim, Ralph, Bonnie Arnold (Producers), & Lasseter, John (Director). (1995). Toy Story [Motion Picture]. USA: Pixar Animation Studios for Walt Disney Pictures.
Newman, Randy, “You’ve Got a Friend In Me” – From Toy Story Soundtrack, 1995, written and performed by Randy Newman, Walt Disney Records.
Plotkin, Helene, Karen Robert Jackson (Producers), & Lasseter, John (Director). (1999). [Motion Picture]. USA: Pixar Animation Studios for Walt Disney Pictures.
He made friends from all over the world, in Montana, where he went to a university for two years, in Pennsylvania, where he worked at a camp for two summers, and in the state where he lived growing up.
After my son left us, I went through his computer, notebook, and phone, looking for answers or any connection to him. I found writing he did for a communications class. I think the assignment was around a personal reflection on communication behaviors and techniques to improve upon them, reflecting on the assigned class material. His writing is very personal. He only had one serious girlfriend. After she broke up with him, he shared with me a journal the two of them sent back and forth to each other. That is when I learned he was a good writer. He was in-tune with his deep feelings and was able to articulate those into words.
He made friends from all over the world, in Montana, where he went to a university for two years, in Pennsylvania, where he worked at a camp for two summers, and in the state where he lived growing up.
I am so angry with myself for not creating an environment for him to share them with me. I have read that this is common: for parents to go through the “could have, would have, should have” and regrets.
As I write this, I wish I could hear his voice again, sharing with me what he wrote in his paper about himself. I missed those chances, and I am so angry with myself for not creating an environment for him to share them with me. I have read that this is common: for parents to go through the “could have, would have, should have” and regrets.
In an excerpt from one of his paper’s, four years before, he shares this reflection of himself.
“There is one time this summer that sticks out. Two of my friends and I worked together painting residential exteriors through a college staffed painting business. We spent a lot of time together and became closer as friends. To pass the time while painting, and to distract us from the heat, one of my friends shared a personal relationship struggle that left him distraught.
[My son wrote what caused his friend’s struggle. I am excluding that piece because there are details that I think should remain private.]
“My other friend responds, comforting him perfectly. He asks great questions, being sensitive, empathetic, and is not quick to give advice. I, on the other hand, didn’t know how to react. This was the first time someone was opening up to me, and I didn’t know how to respond. I had never been in that situation before, listening or disclosing. I just stood there and painted. This was my chance to connect on a deeper level with a friend, and I couldn’t. I was so uncomfortable I didn’t even really make eye contact. If anything, I came off as judgmental because I didn’t acknowledge him through this process. If I opened up to someone, and they didn’t say anything, I would think they didn’t care how I felt. It would come off as very rude in my opinion. I didn’t mean to be rude at all. I didn’t know how to react because I had never been in that situation before.
” I have trouble relating to my friends on a deeper level. I don’t know how to go about it because I never disclosed anything as a kid and no one disclosed anything to me. …to create closer relationships with my friends I think the first step is to start opening up to them. I can tell them how I struggle in school, and I’m really worried about my future. It keeps me up some nights, and I am honestly scared. I could tell them how happy I am to have them as friends because they have pulled me out of a depression state before.
“A dear friend has cancer right now and is one of the nicest people I know. In these upcoming weeks, I would like to open up to him. If I disclose some of my “secrets” to him, I know he will make me feel comfortable and not embarrassed. He is going to want to hear the whole story and make sure I am okay. I know this will make me more open to the idea of self- disclosure, and then I won’t be awkward or uncomfortable when I am put in this position again. I will feel more comfortable when a friend is opening up to me or if I need to open up to a friend. This will help lead to a closer relationship with my friends.
“I need to take into consideration the impact self-disclosing will have on myself, the person listening, and the relationship. Reflecting, when I have self-disclosed, I talk and vent and wind myself up. I don’t care about anything besides me and my pain. That is not the point. The point is to fix the problem, whatever it may be.”
What he did not know, at the time of writing the reflection paper, is that he already excelled where he thought he was inadequate. He was consistent in his personality and drew people in.
What he did not know, at the time of writing the reflection paper, is that he already excelled where he thought he was inadequate. He was consistent in his personality and drew people in.
After his death, I asked family and friends to share stories of him. Each paragraph is an excerpt from a different author. And, these writers are not the same persons whose reflections appeared in a prior blog.
“What seems to rise to the surface when I think of my friend, are his traits. His gentle nature. His huge heart. His goofball sense of humor. His genuine interest in people. His kindness… that unconditional, contagious, unique ‘only he can have’ type kind of kindness. Just being around him made me strive to be a better person. I’m a firm believer that If everyone could be just a little bit more like him, the world would be a much better place. I’m thankful to have had someone to talk with about things like feelings and emotions during a period of my life where I wasn’t particularly open about that stuff. He would come over, and we would have long conversations about important subjects: our self-esteem, our values, and our general outlooks on life. That was one of the first times I’ve experienced vulnerability with someone. I’m thankful that I was exposed to his kindness on a daily basis.”
“I loved my friend for his lovely soul. I considered him as my brother as he was helping me with many things in my life as an international student.”
“Of all the people I know, my friend is honestly one the most down to earth and genuine people out there. I have sometimes struggled with stress and depression, and my friend was always happy to talk. As a person who had likewise struggled with mental health in the past, my friend was never judgmental or uncaring. He was always so able to relate and empathize with what I, and others, were struggling with, and that is such a valuable skill. He had a keen eye for how others were feeling and wouldn’t hesitate to check in and see what was up. It could be something as simple as a friendly text message or going out of his way to make you feel included at a party when everyone else would be okay just passing you by.”
“He was a sincere listener, always interested in hearing about you than talking about himself.”
He was everything he wanted to be.
There is more, but this conveys he was everything he wanted to be. One of his friends that he painted with that summer wrote about it. His reflection is one of the fond memories.
“The summer of 2014, the three of us found jobs painting houses in the neighboring metro areas. These were 10 hour days, 5 to 6 days a week out in the heat, climbing up and down ladders with 30 pounds of paint strapped to your side, and questionable safety standards. Not to mention we were all almost entirely covered with paint, head to toe; we weren’t the neatest crew. The reasons to not have fun were seemingly endless, but now when I look back at that summer, I remember it for how much fun it was. For every heavy ladder lifted there was a laugh shared, and for every hot day survived there was a bonfire to attend or a lake to jump into. My friend was there for all of those memories, and infinitely more outside of the summer of 2014.”
I want him to know how great he was and so impactful in our lives. He was a fantastic person, and I want to share all of what made him fantastic with you. Maybe by writing this all down, it somehow will get to him through us ingesting it into our minds, hearts, and souls.
All of those in the friend group suffered heartache, when their dear childhood friend, who had cancer, left this earth in 2015. Their suffering was added to when my son died. They lay to rest next to each other. When I visit my son, I visit with his friend. I hope they are dancing together.
I know there should be a conclusion here, a way to summarize and reflect this post’s content. I am struggling to do that. I want him to know how great he was and so impactful in our lives. He was a fantastic person, and I want to share all of what made him fantastic with you. Maybe by writing this all down, it somehow will get to him through us ingesting it into our minds, hearts, and souls.
I will keep writing, and you should continue to tell me about him. Writing can come in many social forms: text me, reply at the end of a blog post, send a message via Facebook, or use the contact page of this blog. Write so we can keep him present in our lives.
Share with me, with all of us, what you remember and miss about my son. You will connect with his friends from around the world, bringing us together to laugh, cry, and keep him current in our lives.
Write about your feelings, your longings, why this [suicide] is not fair. Write about what is broken. Write about change, awareness, and how to make it better. You can post in the comments section below, or send me a note through the contact page of this blog.
To honor my son, his sister, father, and I will be walking to raise money for NAMI, Team Willpower! We would are honored if you joined us in whatever way you feel comfortable.
My son was tender with his sister, born almost five years after him. He let her have the attention, and he was very patient with her.
For months after my son died, I would open the refrigerator, look, and then close the door, without taking anything out. I was too tired to eat. Now when I eat, I cannot stop, trying to fill something missing inside. I still open and close the refrigerator, but my “go-to” is anything chocolate, ice cream, and wine. A bonus is when I combine ice cream and chocolate in one bowl.
I have noticed clothes are back to fitting the way they used to, before my son died, meaning I am gaining weight. I know something will need to change, but as Scarlet O’Hara said, “After all, tomorrow is another day.” Meaning, I will deal with the weight gain later.
My daughter, and her friend, who was visiting for a long weekend, had not seen the movie, Gone With The Wind (1939 Academy Award, best picture, adapted from the novel by Margaret Mitchell,1936, set in the Confederate South during the Civil War). I saw it when I was in grade school and loved it. My older sister took me to see it in the small-town theater located in NE, where we lived. At intermission, while waiting in line at the concession counter, an older gentleman said he was impressed I could last through such a long movie. I was thinking, “It is awesome.” My daughter, who loves old movies, shared she did not like how Scarlett was portrayed nor that her relationship with Rhett Butler ended unresolved, leaving us unknowing if they will live happily ever after. She said it was a waste of three-and-a-half hours. My love for Gone With The Wind is something I will not be able to share and enjoy with my daughter, but I think I am okay with it.
My son’s friends told me that he loved his sister, always talking so highly about her. He proudly displayed her artwork in his apartment.
My son’s friends told me that he loved his sister, always talking so highly about her. He proudly displayed her artwork in his apartment. She told him he could take whichever pieces he wanted. He first took three canvases that she painted of one scene (technically defined as a triptych, which is a work of art that is divided into three sections). The subject is the “Tunnel View,” perhaps the most famous view in Yosemite National Park. The four of us, he, his dad, sister, and me, went there in August of 2016. It was a fantastic trip even amidst our arguing. He and his dad wanted to hike in, to the top of a rock dome before dawn, to be on top before the sun rose. As a mom, I thought it was unsafe, and it would delay our next stop, which in hindsight, was so not worth what they gave up. It was a once in a lifetime chance to do something exciting. It is one of my regrets.
He later took another painting, this one an abstract. His sister had done several abstracts for a high school art class. The three of us went through her artwork together. I pointed out one I loved for the colors, but I could not bring myself to hang it in the central part of the house. I said it reminded me of the female genitalia. They both laughed because they were thinking the same thing, and I think I shocked them because I said it out loud. It is still in the back closet.
One of his friends kept the Yosemite paintings, and they now hang in the house where four of them live. My son was looking for homes for all of them to live in the right before his death. After his death, he would continue to receive daily email messages of rental availabilities. I let the emails keep coming for a while, thinking there would be some deeply embedded connection to him, but now, I have unsubscribed to them.
He wished he could have spent more time with her.
We took videos of our children growing up, discontinuing sometime when they were in grade school. Perhaps it was when the camera stopped working, or when phones with cameras became available, or they started to protest being videotaped. After my son’s death, I had them transferred into a medium that we can watch with the latest technology.
Watching this pictorial history is painful right now, but what I did notice was how much tenderness my son had with his sister, born almost five years after him. He let her have the attention, and he was very patient with her. One of his friends told me my son once expressed a wish for more closeness in age to his sister’s, so they could have spent more time together.. When our children were in grade school together, my daughter would call out to him when they passed in the hall. I think this made him embarrassed and fearful of being teased by his classmates. What brother wouldn’t be embarrassed?
After we got home from the bookstore, I found my daughter later that day, up in the attic reading her collection of books from childhood.
My daughter and I recently went children’s book shopping for a baby shower gift. She loves buying books because she has fond memories of my reading to her. I read books to both of my children. I love children’s books, and I enjoyed taking my children to the library, going through the bins of books with them. For a while, it became an obsession. On Friday evenings, with a glass of wine, I would read through the library catalog online, reserving books. She has kept her favorite books in boxes in the attic.
In our video library, I found pictures of my son in her crib reading a book to her. The next day we were going to the state fair, and he was reading to her to encourage slowing down, so she could go to sleep. He read, The Monster at the End of This Book(Jon Stone, 1971, Golden Books). It was one of my favorite books to read to them because the content encourages the reader to do voices. My son was a slow reader, but she did not care.
Both of my children were slow readers, but that is not an indication of intelligence. My sister was a slower reader, and she is now an attorney, having passed the bar exam the first time. My daughter went on to become a member of the National Collegiate Honors Society, studying to be an architect. He never knew she got into the architect program. Hopefully, he does now, where ever he is at; maybe he had a hand in giving her the strength to meet the university’s requirements for acceptance into the architecture program.
After we got home from the bookstore, I found my daughter later that day, up in the attic reading her collection of books from childhood.
If it were not for my son, our family would not have many of our friends.
I am honored to be the mother of my son. I had him with me, present in the flesh, on earth, for almost twenty-four years. I gave birth to him when I was twenty-nine. I am thankful that I was a bit older, so I have less time to live without his physical presence.
If it were not for my son, our family would not have many of our friends. He had a way of connecting with adults. He was always mature for his age, and his fun, high-spirited, respectful, and just darn-cute personality. Even though our son was an introvert, he would introduce himself and always strike up a conversation. When he got older, he became self-conscious about not attaining a college degree, so he shied away from events where he had to answer questions like, “So, what are you doing now?”
His dark brown eyes truly conveyed his spirit. His looks resembled his personality. Such a genuine and respectful person, going out of his way to being inclusive and inviting.
My son was good-looking. As his mother, I always thought so. He was such a cute kid, and he became more handsome as he aged. His friends shared, when they went out, that young women would stare at him. His Tinder account had many “swipe rights.” [On touchscreens, a quick way of indicating acceptance or interest is to “swipe right”; “swipe left” means dismiss.] The co-camp counselor friends loving called him, “Hot Will.” The young girls he chaperoned in a ski program, would vie for his attention on the bus. His sister’s friends would talk about how good-looking he was.
His dark hair was thick and wavy. He varied the cut according to the side he chose to part his hair. I never noticed this before, but my daughter told me this; being an artist, she pays attention to visual details. My son and I went to the same hairstylist. She shared that it is rare for someone to be able to style the part on either side of the face. He kept it long enough to accentuate the waves by styling them up and off to the side, using a styling gel or clay [A new class of hairstyling product made from volcanic ash.] Later he wore a beard and mustache trimmed close to his face. Sometimes he would surprise us, coming into the house having shaved them off. He would wait to see how long it took for us to notice. His sister usually was the first, laughing with him about the tease.
His dark brown eyes truly conveyed his spirit. His looks resembled his personality. Such a genuine and respectful person, going out of his way to being inclusive and inviting. I once asked him if he wanted to be a model. He was not interested, in the least bit, so I did not pursue it. I think he did not like attention.
He was always the best-looking guy in the room.
He loved clothes and being stylish. I enjoyed taking him shopping because he looked good in anything, and he let me participate in the selection. He preferred khaki pants over blue jeans. He liked shoes and wore a variety of styles: suede boots and shoes, including navy blue. Being a sailor, he had several pairs of Sperry Topsiders. He liked the look of sweaters, filled several drawers with them. Sometimes we would browse the Tommie Bahama shop, which was his style. I enjoyed watching him select clothes, trying on a few for fun, but never buying as this store was over what he would allow me to spend on his clothes. He loved sunglasses, and, boy, did he look good in them. He wore accent scarves with his winter pea coat and stylish socks with his dress pants.
My son was frugal; both of our children are. He did not like us buying him things. His computer and phone were old and out of warranty, but he did not want new ones. He never asked for much and was appreciative of the expenses we covered.
He worked for Eddie Bauer while in high school and the first summer back from college. He did his laundry; I watched him fold his clothes. His folding was an art form. He would fold each piece in a way that would display them in their storage place, with the creases in the right places. When his dad and I moved his things back home from the apartment in which he was living, I found his clothes perfectly organized in his closets and drawers.
He gave everything his all. At each of his jobs, in his adventures, building friendships, playing organized sports, being a scholar.
He gave everything his all. At each of his jobs, in his adventures, building friendships, playing organized sports, being a scholar.
While in college, he made lots of friends, took advantage of outdoor adventures, and tried new sports. He alpine skied ever since he was eight- or nine years old. He took his race skis out with him to the mountains of Montana when he went to college but quickly realized he needed snow skis and bought a used pair while out there. He wrote about the time he went ice climbing during his second year in college. He said it was the scariest thing he had ever done, having not done any rock climbing before. He loved the outdoors and took advantage of this in Montana, hiking in and around Bozeman and Yellowstone.
He later took his Minnesota friends on a road trip back to visit. It was such a memorable experience for him and his friends. I went through all of his pictures and videos on his computer, and from friends, from his time in Montana. He and his friends did polar plunges in the rivers flowing through the Montana mountains, taking long treks through the snow, then undressing in the cold to enjoy the hot springs more fully.
In his second year, he lived on the same floor as some international students. They took a road trip to Vancouver for spring break on a shoestring budget. We did not even know about the trip until I got a text from the phone company that they disconnected his cell phone because they thought it was stolen. He only used it one time when they were lost to get directions. We had to work with the phone company to get service reinstated (with international), so he could use it, if necessary. I remember him saying something like, “Oh Mom, I would have been fine.” He usually was.
He demonstrated to the rest of his teammates that even the smallest kid could tackle the bigger guys.
My son liked to stay active. While in high school, he raced on the alpine ski team. His senior year, he joined the lacrosse team. He played intramural baseball in the summer and football in the fall. When he was young, he was always one of the smaller kids in his class, but mentally, he was just as big. His dad, and his father’s dear friend (mine too), coached their sons in football together until high school. My son could make the perfect tackle, even against the largest kids.
Once when the coach asked for a volunteer to demonstrate how to tackle a larger opponent, our son volunteered, walked out on the field, despite both the coaches’ reluctance and obvious size difference. He successfully showed the strength of his power (mostly mental, but augmented by some physical maneuvering): the lineman went down. He demonstrated to the rest of his teammates that even the smallest kid could tackle the bigger guys. He got up from the drill with a huge smile. At our son’s funeral, his coach, our friend, shared this story. He said, “I think his performance that day at practice allowed us to be undefeated that year.”
His first year of high school lacrosse was his only year, but he made it count. He joined the team because his friends played. You would have never known it was his first year, scoring two points in the first game, showing up his friends who had yet to score in any season. He went on to score in other games. (I hope I remember this correctly, so friends, please send me a revised version if I have it wrong).
I realized he listened to the music I shared with him growing up, when he was at our house, at our parties, during dinners, and so on.
My son loved music. He purposefully crafted his playlists to fit each occasion: boat rides, road trips, parties at his apartment with friends, or just having them over to play video games. He had a playlist for cleaning and one for working out, one for singing along. Some were by genres: rap, electric, country, rock, Latino, Oldies, and Disney (I am not for sure if the latter two are official genre designations, but they were to my son). There was one for staying up late, and then there was jazz.
We figured out how to follow him on Spotify (a music streaming service). Shortly after he let us, I went through his playlists. That is when I realized he listened to the music I shared with him growing up, when he was at our house, at our parties, dinners, and so on. He incorporated my music into his playlists. The jazz playlist is what got me. What I mean is crying. Crying and crying. I never knew he liked it too, that I influenced him. I want to hug him and say, “I love you, too.”
A friend shared, "He was truly unattainable.”
He loved to dance. We would see him dance at home and at weddings. One of my aunts said he was the best dance partner she ever had. His friends talk about his dancing. They wrote stories about it, and there were videos. Several of his friends spoke at his funeral. His friend, speaking directly to him, said,
“Man, did you love to dance. No matter where we were, at your apartment, in a bar, on a boat, at the beach, in the car, or just walking around; if there was music playing, you were dancing. You were always the first to start and the last to stop. On top of that, you were a good dancer too. I will proudly admit that from knowing you, my dancing has improved tremendously and no longer embarrasses those around me.”
Another friend said, “He put us all to shame when he danced, being weirdly good at it.” There were good dancers in my family, aunts, and uncles who glided across the floor at my cousins’ weddings and anniversary celebrations. Once he said he would be willing to take ballroom dance lessons with me. That is how much he loved dancing; to take lessons with his mom. Please, if you have a video of my son dancing, send it to me.
His dancing drew attention to him, but so did his looks. A friend shared a conversation he had with him, “While we were out, I would always notice girls looking over at you. But you were oblivious, even when it was pointed out.” His friend went on to tell us, “You should have seen this kid’s Tinder [an online dating site]. He matched with so many attractive girls, and what’s more, is that you could scroll through his messages and see that most had even tried to start a conversation with him. He never reciprocated. It never made sense to me, but every time I asked if he were going to message any of them back, he’d respond with ‘Nah man, the match [itself alone] is good enough for me.’ He was truly unattainable.”
He is best known for how great a friend he was. He would want to be known for that; it was so important to him. I remember him saying he would do anything to spend more time with them.
I will share what others wrote about him, as he is best known for how great a friend he was. He would want to be known for that; it was so important to him. I remember him saying he would do anything to spend more time with them. He was very conscientious about being a good friend and wrote about being a better listener, communicator, and compassionate friend. Some friends have shared descriptions and stories about my son. I need to figure out how to share them with you, but for now, these are a few:
I learned many things from my friend. If you spent any time talking to him about his plans you would recognize his wanderer’s heart. He was a journeyman. His vision was filled with travel plans. Plans to teach skiing in France, plans to join a sailing crew on the Mediterranean, plans to find something greater than himself. Maybe on the slopes or at the whim of the winds he would find that indelible certainty that would make him wise. Although he didn’t think it and although I wish I would have called him every day to tell him, he already was.
Wise because it was from him that I learned to understand the irony. That the worst and greatest creation of man was simply the question, a student truth, he spent hours listening to podcasts and watching videos on philosophy endeavoring to be equipped with the tools of a good life. Our conversations were filled with what answers he had discovered, what truth he had crystallized.
To know my friend was to know commitment. Without question and for any need he would be available. It’s easy to show up for others in the warm breeze and the painless times. But what about in the bitter chill of circumstance or the shredding winds? It was in those times that he stepped up. Always at the tear of our seams, my friend was there, a reinforcing thread. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow we will remember him. Remember him not for all the things he could have done, but for all that he was, companion, adventurer, and philosopher.
Around my friend, it didn’t matter what you were doing; you were enjoying yourself. He was generous, kind, and adventurous, always preferring to be out on the water with his friends or skiing in Montana than doing nearly anything else. He seemed to find a way to bond with everyone. He was always more interested in hearing about you than talking about himself, but at the same time, he also loved to share his interests with others – a podcast he was listening to, new music he had heard, or even a dance move he’d learned.
It’s still hard for me to accept that he’s gone, but looking back on all of the memories that we made, I feel so fortunate to have had a friend as genuine as him. He was incredible, and his spirit of adventure, kindness, and generosity will be deep, deeply missed.
You may be gone now, but you will never be forgotten. I will cherish the time we spent together, and you will live on in my memories. I will continue to strive to be like you, always willing to learn and to show kindness to others, even surprising people with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of the blue just as you did. You ARE one of my best friends, and I will always think of you as such. To paraphrase Winnie the Pooh, “How lucky I am to have had something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
I wonder, does he know how much his friends love him and what a great person they think he is.
I have filled picture albums with every picture I have of him, all of those posted on Facebook and forwarded to me. Those from growing up, vacations, and holidays
We moved all his things back into his room. It looks like he had just washed the bathroom towels; they were still fresh and fluffy, neatly hanging on the towel racks. Dishes were done, laid out on a drying towel. His laundry basket was full, and I brought it back into our house, in his bedroom, and left it unwashed. I laid out his pillows and blankets on top of his bed at home, unwashed too, so when I walked into his room, it still smelled like him.
I have filled picture albums with every picture I have of him; all of those posted on Facebook and forwarded to me. Those from growing up, vacations, and holidays. I still cannot comprehend that this is it. That he is no longer here. Oh God, he is no longer here. Tears, many tears falling down my face and on to this keyboard. A normal day in my new life.
I want to hear from you.
I purposefully kept the identity of the friends whose writing I included in this blog post anonymous, but I will share that they came from three of his close friends. He has many more friends and stories of his life. Some of you I have heard from, but there are more; surely, there are more remembrances, stories, thoughts, and conversations you had with him. Would you please share them with me?
I mainly write for myself, as my relief valve for all the pent-up thoughts and emotions trapped inside me, but I think there are readers beyond my daughter, who sometimes contributes, and me and my editor, who is my aunt. I want to hear from you too. Please post your thoughts below or contact me through the Contact page of my blog.
I will never know for sure why my son chose to leave us because he is the only one who can tell me. Even so, I still want to try to understand. For those who knew him, they may find understanding helpful in their healing process. I do not know what it provides for me to write down what I think I know and understand. Perhaps writing it down stops my brain from continually spinning.
He did not share his diagnosis widely with his friends. I assume he did not want to be different, or maybe guys do not share that kind of personal information.
My son was diagnosed with attention deficit disorder (ADD)/attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) when he was in the second grade. ADD/ADHD is a neurodevelopment disorder that comes with inattention, distractibility, and can be accompanied by hyperactivity and impulsivity. It affects 2%-12% of all children, and for 40%-60% of those affected children, it continues into adulthood. It can be linked to addictive behavior, greater use of alcohol and marijuana, anti-social personality disorder, and high risk of self-injury behaviors (Balazs, J. and A. Kereszteny, 2017). He did not share his diagnosis widely with his friends. I assume he did not want to be different, or maybe guys do not share that kind of personal information.
Two symptoms of ADD are the inability to follow through and avoidance of tasks that require mental effort, so he rarely would follow-through on seeking mental health services.
My son’s second-grade teacher suggested he be evaluated for ADD/ADHD because of the symptoms he displayed in class. He was such a happy boy, full of interests, talkative, caring, but he could not focus. Looking back, my husband and I see there were signs while he was in the first grade. He and his best friend were in the same classroom together. His friend was a lot like him, happy, full of energy, bouncing off the walls. They played hockey together, snowboarded, played T-ball. Every day a note came home from his teacher that he had been given a strike for misbehaving. Five strikes in a week brought us the luxury of talking to his teacher. At first, we just thought the notes were the consequence of young boys being boys. We are thankful for his second-grade teacher who figured out the cause of this behavior.
Our son went through a series of medications for ADD/ADHD. He did not like how they made him feel. He could not sleep. He would lay in bed, awake for hours, thinking of stories. He would sometimes draw them out in cartoons while under the glow of a flashlight. The medication made him more emotional. When he reached high school, we never forced him to take his medication because he hated how it made him feel, less in control. As a secondary illness, he would get migraines. I think stress was the cause. He would need a day of sleeping to overcome a migraine once he could get the migraine medication to stay down. At its worst, the occurrence of migraines was weekly. Later, when he was finishing up high school, he educated himself on ADD and wished we would have forced him to take medication.
When our son turned eighteen, his pediatrician moved to a hospital position, and we needed to find a new primary care doctor. His pediatrician never referred us to other mental health professionals, and I did not think to ask. We were on our own to find one. When he started college, we needed to locate a psychiatrist near the out-of-state university he was attending. Even though I found one, I could not schedule appointments on his behalf for privacy reasons. Two symptoms of ADD are the inability to follow through and avoidance of tasks that require mental effort, so he rarely would follow-through on seeking mental health services.
He had these bursts of greatness, and he enjoyed learning, but his ADD made it hard to manage everything required of a high school and college student.
My son was smart. He was good at math, completing high school math up through Advanced Placement (AP) calculus. He started college with credits for AP macro-economics. In his second year in college, he took an architecture class. Each person in the class had to design and build a hanging bridge out of popsicle sticks. He spent many late nights making the bridge in his dorm room. I remember him telling me it was an engineering effort to carry it across the campus in one piece. The judging was both on style and weight-bearing. The professor tested it based on how many books it could hold. His bridge held the second most number of books in the class. He excelled in his college microeconomics class, receiving accolades from his professor for his ability to grasp the concepts, propelling him into leadership roles on group assignments. My son also was a good writer. He was a sensitive person, thought a lot, and was able to channel his depth of thought into papers for school.
He had these bursts of greatness, and he enjoyed learning, but his ADD made it hard to manage everything required of a high school and college student. We created a 504 Plan (Section 504 of the Vocational Rehabilitation Act of 1973) with his high school and college, but he was on his own to ask each teacher/professor for accommodations, for example, asking for a mentor to help his manage deadlines. The 504 Plan does not require the teachers to be proactive in helping the student. One teacher told me, “I just cannot offer one to one help with over 100 students in my classes.” My son had to do it on his own. Young adults want to be like everyone else. They do not want to bring attention to themselves in a peer environment, so he rarely would stand up for himself to obtain needed accommodations. Earlier, I mentioned a symptom of ADD is difficulty following through, so that reality was already stacked up against him, undermining attempts on his part to follow through on using a 504 Plan.
He loved school, he loved learning and was a good writer. He wanted to be an economist, work in the banking industry, move to the British Virgin Islands, and sail. He just struggled to get through college with the symptoms of his ADD/ADHD.
Relationships
I read in research materials that those with ADD/ADHD will have difficulty with relationships, both at home and with friends. My son struggled with this in high school. He was self-aware and articulately wrote in college about how depressed and desperate the lack of friends made him feel when he was sixteen. He wrote about the importance of building relationships with friends. He wrote about his focus on trying to be a good listener and not complaining about his life, his parents, and his obstacles; he understood that complaining made his friends uncomfortable. He focused on how to be a good friend, to go the extra mile for them, and built genuine friendships across the globe. I know this because of the outpouring we have received and the beautiful stories his friends have shared with me.
I discovered he was a good writer, perhaps because he was sensitive and was aware of his feelings.
He never dated much even though he would receive pages and pages of requests each week on Tinder, a social search mobile app enabling users to chat if both are agreeable. Many of his friends are females. He was such a nice guy and good- looking. He just did not like casual dating and the pressure that comes with it. He had one serious girlfriend who broke his heart. I found a journal of letters in his room after they broke up. Reading these letters is when I discovered he was a good writer. I think it is because he was sensitive. We talked about his writing. I am thankful I had a chance to tell him he had a gift for writing. As his mother, it was hard to see him go through that heartache.
He had a his tendency to avoid things that were difficult, like finding a job and dating. He told her he smoked marijuana socially, but it did not impact his executive functioning.
My son’s close friend died two-and-a-half years before him. This friend was wise, non-judgmental, a confidant with whom to share his “secrets.” My son shared his struggles with his friend who dealt with cancer most of his life, practicing to maintain composure. It is hard for a young person to lose a friend at such a young age. It impacted him, and I do not think his friend’s death is anything he ever got over, having spent so many of his developmental years with him in his life.
As an adult in his twenties, he was happier living with friends than at home. In the last year, after moving in with a friend, the parental deal was he had to seek mental health care. He saw a therapist for six months, went to the psychiatrist once, but was not interested in medication. He stopped seeing his therapist once he found a job, and he seemed happy. After my son’s death, his therapist was willing to share some things with me about my son. As with all people who had known my son, she was outwardly upset because he was such a wonderful person. She shared that their discussions center on how to cope with his ADD. They talked about his tendency to avoid things that were difficult, like finding a job and dating. He told her he smoked marijuana socially, but it did not impact his executive functioning. They talked about suicide. He said he never had a plan, never thought about it seriously.
I spoke with his employers. They too were outwardly upset. His last boss cried on the phone when we talked. They each shared beautiful things about my son. “He took his job seriously.” “He went above and beyond,” they told me. “He was so well liked.” “Such a happy person.” He stopped working at his last job, four months before, to look for something he liked better. He was making progress. He was working on his resume, looking for jobs. The week after his death he received notification that he, having passed the exams, had been granted his bartender’s license. He kept his apartment clean. We went grocery shopping. He did social things with friends.
My son was never diagnosed with other correlated mental disorders such as depression, anxiety, or substance abuse.
My therapist directed me to a national resource on mental illness, National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI). Through Twitter I connected with the Minnesota chapter; they have been a useful resource for me to understand what my son had to face. At my request, they have shared relevant information from medical publications.
A high correlation exists between those with ADD/ADHD and other psychiatric disorders. A high correlation, 33%-38%, exists between ADD/ADHD and cannabis abuse/dependence (DeMaria, Peter A. Jr, 2016).
My son was never diagnosed with other correlated mental disorders such as depression, anxiety, or substance abuse, which have well-known risk factors for suicide. He told me he was not that bad off, not like others seeking institutional and outpatient mental health services. I believed him. He did not want to take medicine to function with his ADD/ADHD; he did not like the side effects such as insomnia and anxiety.
I now have learned that young adults with ADD/ADHD and other related disorders may use marijuana as self-medication to relieve their symptoms (DeMaria, Peter A. Jr, 2016). Several friends told me he was smoking marijuana every day (some say it was only social). His dad and I never knew.
I will never know for sure the cause.......
I know everyone from whom he bought (the street marijuana). I know the originator of each of his sources. I know how much he purchased each time.
From what his friends shared with me after his death, he displayed signs of withdrawal and despair that they each individually noticed. It is hard to say if other undiagnosed mental disorders were the primary cause or if the substance abuse reduced his executive functioning and caring, which triggered the despair, and heightened the impulsive tendency that comes with ADD/ADHD.
We are not better off with out him.
I have read stories about those who attempted suicide and survived. Some of the survivors thought, at the time of the attempt, the people in their lives would be better off without them. If my son felt that, I hope where ever he is now, with his friend, my mom, and his aunt and uncle, he can see we are not better off. I wonder if God shields those in their new spiritual place from seeing us grieve because it would be so painful for them to see their loved ones hurting.
I miss him, as do his friends and family. I miss the future life I wanted with my son. His death did not need to happen. His life could have been saved that day. I will forever live with this.
Cited References
Balazs, Judit and A. Kereszteny, Attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder and suicide: A systematic review, World J Psychiatry. 2017 Mar 22; 7(1): 44–59.
Published online 2017 Mar 22. doi: 10.5498/wjp.v7.i1.44
<https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5371172/>
DeMaria, Peter A. Jr, Cannabis Use Disorders and ADHD, Journal of Addiction Medicine: January/February 2016 – Volume 10 – Issue 1 – p 70; doi: 10.1097/ADM.0000000000000184
Letters to the Editor <https://journals.lww.com/journaladdictionmedicine/Citation/2016/02000/Cannabis_Use_Disorders_and_ADHD.12.aspx>
Other References
https://namimn.org/education-public-awareness/health-library/
<http://www.chadd.org/Understanding-ADHD/For-Parents-Caregivers/Education/Section-504.aspx>
My daughter told me this is her favorite holiday, better than Christmas. Pictures on the walls and shelves of our house capture the memories.
Holidays and other life events are hard now without my son. I know this kind of “hardness” having to experience it when my mom died; I was twenty-three. Now, without my son, the ”hardness” feels ten-times more difficult to bare. The milestones we have celebrated without him so far: his twenty-fourth birthday, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and my husband’s birthday. Mine is coming up. For now, the only reason we “celebrate” these milestones is for my daughter.
The Fourth of July holiday is nearing. My daughter told me this is her favorite holiday, better than Christmas. One year we went out of town over the holiday, and my daughter sternly informed me I was never to do that again. There are so many good memories celebrating the Fourth of July as our children grew up. Pictures on the walls and shelves of our house capture the memories. Each year I would tactfully decorate the house in the spirit of the holiday to put my family in the mood for the celebration.
The township on the lake celebrates the holiday in picturesque small-town fashion.
We are fortunate to live near a large lake in a suburb of a large city and have family who even lives closer, giving us access to all that comes with a lake in the summertime. The township on the lake celebrates the holiday in picturesque small-town fashion. The front porches on the cottage style homes sport American flag buntings and banners. Flags adorn the streets and sidewalks. World War II-era cars are brought out and bear flags erected on the hoods and rear bumpers.
When my children were in grade school, the preparations started early. A couple of days before, my husband and son, and later my daughter, would build model rockets from a kit. We always went out on the lake the day before with friends, first on a sailboat, and when the kids got older, a speedboat. When my son was younger, he would just be finishing the summer baseball season.
Their Dad and I would get up early to decorate the bikes for the parade and make the food we were bringing to share. Each of us would wear patriotic attire selected in advance. The truck would be packed up with the bikes, cooler full of food and beverages, and head to our cousin’s house for the 10:00 A.M. parade. I created a Fourth of July music playlist we listened to during the morning preparations. The parade consisted of the children on their decorated bikes, strollers, or scooters. Our aunt and uncle would come into town for the week trailering my Uncle’s golf cart for the older second cousins to drive in the parade.
We would walk along with our two children on the parade route, pushing my daughter’s stroller, and later walking alongside as she rode her bike. My son was independent on his bike riding with his older cousin’s. The parade watchers consisted of the homeowners along the route and residents of the neighborhood.
My husband became resourceful bringing my son into the planning. there were 25 plus adults and children all vying to get water from the only outside source, one coveted water spicket.
After the parade, there was a carnival at the township park. The dunking tank was a highlight for my son. One of our cousin’s and his family lived right up from the park and would host a backyard cookout with the extended family, their friends, and neighbors. It was a tradition after everyone was fed, a water fight would ensue. The funny thing about it was there were 25 plus adults and children all vying to get water from the only outside source, one coveted water spicket. Parents and kids, usually composed and well-behaved, became sneaky and ruthless. As the years passed, the adults become more resourceful. Large Tupperware and mixing bowls full of water would come out of the house, carried by the moms who waited inside for the right moment to ambush their targeted victim. Adults on the sidelines used small children as shields (reasons for not being a target).
My husband became resourceful bringing my son into the planning. One year the two of them brought their own water source, large 5-gallon buckets hiding in the back of the truck pre-filled with water from home. He armed my son with a water blaster that would hold the most substantial amount of water he could carry and still have the precision to create a good soaking.
The children and their fathers approached the launching pad when it was their turn, like astronauts walking to the Space Shuttle.
After everyone was sufficiently soaked, we changed our clothes and then headed to a different neighborhood park to shoot off model rockets. The tradition started as a school project for one of the older second cousins, and it continued and grew from there. The children and their fathers approached the launching pad when it was their turn, like astronauts walking to the Space Shuttle. We did it every year until the older second cousins moved on to backyard sand volleyball.
My son was a terrific croquet player, and my daughter was right there with him. They would play in our backyard, him being her coach
Around 3:00 P.M. we headed to my husband’s other cousin’s home for a serious tournament of croquet, dinner, and fireworks over the lake. White was the attire for the occasion or something along those lines. Ralph Lauren style would be fitting; J. Crew for the younger participants. My son was a terrific croquet player, and my daughter was right there with him. They would play in our backyard, him being her coach. She made it to the final round the last two years and tied for second place in the most recent one. The evening would end around midnight. Our aunt and uncle both have passed now; our aunt just last November, the same day of the month my mom died. Each of us missed their presence as well.
The next day, when my son dropped off the boat keys, we had the pleasure of exchanging stories about our days.
When my son got older, he did his own thing. A couple of summers he worked away from home at a summer camp. Last year he took the boat out on the lake, during the day, packed with friends up to the limit the boat could legally hold. Facebook records happy times with his friends on the boat beginning back when he was in high school. He brought a friend to the house in the morning to make guacamole and sandwich wraps.
I played patriotic music from a variety of genres in the background to get us in the mood. The music I exposed my children to comes from all genres and created a connection we had to each other. I discovered my son took this with him after logging into his Spotify account.
My playlist included the classics played by the Boston Pops; country by C.W. McCall, Lee Greenwood, Toby Keith. Jazz artists Louis Armstrong, Ray Charles, and others. Easy listening artists such as Bing Crosby and the Andrew Sisters. Finally, rock/pop by Jimi Hendrix, Bruce Springsteen, Don McLean, and Bob Dylan.
My daughter and I were busy salvaging a strawberry cupcake trifle, and their father was chopping the ingredients for the dish we traditionally share: Black Bean, Tropical Fruit, and Queso Blanco Salsa (Van Aken, 2003) modified because I make it now from the taste. While working on the cake, I guided my son and his friend through the instructions for guacamole, one of which was to mash the avocados. I periodically checked in on their progress. I did not provide adequate instructions: I found his friend smashing the avocados on the cutting board, not in a bowl! The next day, when my son dropped off the boat keys, we had the pleasure of exchanging stories about our days.
Nothing new can happen between us, just memories now.
The model rockets and supplies now sit on the shelf in the basement. The handmade decorations I saved from their bikes and the house are packed away. Nothing new can happen between us, just memories now. There is no more boating with him, no more helping him to be a host, no more friends over to our house. No more new stories of his day.
I will treasure the memories I have of my aunt and uncle interacting with my children, treating them special, as if their own grandchildren.
