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Final Post

on 15 August, 2018

I am posting this for Julie Benson-Grant which was her final wish.  She went to be with Streeter on August 13th, 2018.

My Last Conversation With My Son:

 

March 22, 2018

 

It was late in the morning when I was finally ready to begin errands, which including both Streeter and I getting our hair cut.

 

I had put on my shoes, grabbed a jacket and my purse and keys and from the foyer, I yelled up to Streeter:

 

Mom: “Hey! Let’s go get our hair cut!”

 

Streeter: “No.” (Sort of soft, like he wasn’t quite awake.”

 

Mom: “You agreed. C’mon, let’s go.”

 

Streeter: “No!”

 

Mom: “Yes!”

 

Streeter: “I said NO!”

 

Mom: “Well, I said YES!”

 

I walked down the hall to the staircase and made my way upstairs to his room. He was standing a little ways from his desk, in front of his window. When he saw me, he moved closer to his computer, he had his head down.

 

Mom: “C’mon, it’ll be fine. You said you wanted to get your hair cut because it was in the way of your [VR] headset. It won’t take much time. Get changed and let’s go.”

 

Streeter: “You can shave it off with the clippers, I don’t care.”

 

Mom: “Come on, I want it to look nice. You used to like your hair short. We’ll just go to SuperCuts and we’ll be in and out in no time.”

 

Streeter: (Without looking up) I’d rather die.

 

Mom: (Angrily) “Fine!” I’ll just go without you then.

 

This is the last conversation I had with my son. No “I love you”s or hugs or kisses, like we would usually do. I honestly felt like he said “I’d rather die” but in hindsight, he must have said “I want to die.” But because I was put out and a bit angry with him, I didn’t listen.

 

He had reached out at that very last moment, I was selfish and stupid and I wasn’t listening.

 

When I marched out of the house, slamming the door behind me, he must have felt so let down and alone and hurting. And I didn’t see any of it. Me – his mother, each of us the center of each other’s universe – didn’t listen. I was so angry that I even sent him texts later when he wouldn’t answer his phone when I tried to call him:

 

Now, looking back, he may have already been dead or dying.

 

Even on returning home, when I yelled up to him that I was getting food, and did he want some, he didn’t reply. I assumed that he was still angry and was ignoring me. I went and got takeout and came home and ate and went to bed.

 

Again, he may have already been dead or dying. But I didn’t check on him.

 

The next morning, I started doing laundry and intended to wash sheets. So I went upstairs, carrying his laptop, to his room.

 

I opened the door and crossed the room to his desk. I noticed him sitting on the floor up against he bed frame.

 

Mom: What are you doing on the floor?”

 

I looked over at him. His head was skewed to one side in a weird way. Then I noticed his fingers were blue and purple. I went to him quickly and touched his left arm.

 

It was ice cold. Colder than ice, a cold that I have never felt before. But I didn’t see blood or anything, but looking down at his right hand and saw the gun laying against his thigh, inches from his hand.

 

At that moment, I knew. He was gone.

 

And I had killed him.

 

I knew that the all the years of trying to have a child and wanting nothing more in this world than to be a mother were gone. I knew I would never hear his voice or see his sweet smile or be hugged or kissed by him ever again. And that my life was over.

 

You see, before he was born, I read that having a baby means that you learn what it means to know that you no know what it means to walk around without a heart.

 

And you know that you have given your heart and soul to this little person in your arms.

 

And that never ends. As he grew up, I not only loved him more than I could have imagined, but that I was in love with him.

 

And now, I am frantically dialing 911 and trying to explain to someone through my tears and screams what is going on. And I was alone in the house with him, so I knew I would have to be there to open the front door and direct cops or paramedics or whatever.

 

That last vision is burned into my memory, but I don’t even know if his eyes were open or if he had been crying or was he really calm and knew what he was about to do?

 

The police directed me away from the house and told me that I could not go back in. It seems a dozen cops showed up along with the paramedics. I lost all track of time. I called his dad and frantically tried to tell him what was going on and finally he figured out what I was saying and was on his way. I was still alone in all of this. I called a good friend, Chuck, and told him what was going on and he too made his way to my house.

 

Later on, after they had taken him out of the house in a plastic bag and put him in the ambulance, and all the conversations with the police and detectives were done and finally everyone had left. I knew what I had to do.

 

Without him, I have no heart and no purpose. I purposely took the bottle of oxycodone that I had just refilled (120 pills) and the bottle of Xanax (about 25 pills) and two bottles of water and went into my room. I quickly washed down all the pills and lay down to die.

 

  1. The attempt was interrupted. Most of you are aware.

 

I’ve spent the last four months trying to figure out how to live without him. I feel dead inside and all I do is cry and cry and cry. Almost no one talks to me, like I am a leper or something. I am so incredibly, horrendously, body aching sad. I can’t so this. I think that the only purpose for my life was to give birth to that boy. And I can’t continue on without him. By the time you read this, I will be gone. But do not distress, I will finally be with my baby again. The only thing that made life worth living.


One response to “Final Post

  1. stunned, speachless, and angry.

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