I think I can write about his now. A little background, before we begin...
Jeff: My eldest son. In 1984, Jeff's mother vanished, quite deliberately, with Jeff and his sister. With no help from the courts or law enforcement, who only seemed to be interested in whether or not my child support was paid up, it took me 17 years and a stroke of pure brilliance from Anita to find them. Since then, we have kept in touch online and over the phone. That is, until Christmas Eve. More on that later. In the meantime, if you want to find a lost family member, drop me a note. Unlike me, my wife truly is a genius.
Jason: My stepson, until his mother and I split up in 1998. He was five when we got together. He always knew who his father was and has always had a relationship with him. Be that as it may, Jason, to this day (and now a grown man of 27), still calls me Dad.
Tyler: My youngest son. Raised by his mother and me until he was eight, he lived with her in Tampa until the age of fourteen, when she sent him to live with me because he was out of control, using drugs and getting into trouble with the law. He lived with me, drug free and unarrested, for a year before his mother moved him back in with her.
Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I received a phone call that, initially, chilled my blood, then quickly warmed my heart. Jeff, who lives in Las Vegas, had told me he would be flying out to spend Thanksgiving weekend with his Aunt Karen in California. It was while he was on his way back home that my phone rang. It was from a young lady named Jen, who initially described herself to me as Jeff's roommate. At first I thought there had been an accident. I had never spoken to this young lady before. She quickly apologized for aging me five years in as many seconds, then proceeded to inform me that she needed to speak to me "while Jeff wasn't around." Another five years flew by. Did this girl know I have a heart condition?
Anyway, she finally explained that she had a plan. She wanted to fly me out to Las Vegas, to arrive on Christmas Eve, so that Jeff and I, who hadn't seen each other in 23 years, remember, could spend a week together. This would, of course, result in Anita and I spending our first Christmas apart, as there was no way, short of a winning lottery ticket, that Anita would be able to get free from work to join me. I thanked Jen for the thoughtfulness of her gift to my son (and to me, as it worked out) and told her that I would have to discuss it with my wife and call her back.
Well, any of you who know Anita personally or even from just meeting her here, already know how that conversation went. Although she was the one who had finally put us back in touch again and deeply wished to be there when we came face to face again, she was thrilled for both of us at this opportunity and practically screamed at me to call Jen back and tell her YES! I will spare you the three weeks of conspiratorial phone calls and surreptitious emails that ensued and just tell you that, at sometime after 5 p.m. on December 24th, landed at McCarran International Airport. Thus ends the story of how Anita let a 23-year-old babe fly me out to Vegas for a week.
We had a wonderful visit. Jeff was blown away to walk in the door and see me sitting there under the tree with a bow on my head. No shit. Jen even took some pictures and I think she plans to post them on her page. Anyway, it was great to finally spend some time with my son after all these years and see the fine young man he had grown into. Some of you have met him here. If not, he is number three on my friends list. Get to know him. I have good reason to be proud of him, in spite of how terrifyingly alike we are. While you are at it, get to know Jen. She is a wonderful person with a good heart. If you could meet her family, as I had the pleasure over that week, the kind of person she is will come as no surprise. We all have too few people like these in our lives.
If I had the power, there is one thing about that week between Christmas and the New Year that I would change.
On December 28th, Jason called me fromTampa.
Apparently, after moving back up to his
mom's,Tyler had taken up with the same circle of friends with whom he used to get into trouble before she sent him down to me. On the night of the 27th, while his mother and stepfather were out
of town, Tyler went out with some of these friends. He overdosed on Coricidin Cough and Cold, his drug of choice for some time. The kids call it "Triple-C." Clever. His "friends," out of fear of getting in trouble, let him lie there for three hours before some genius finally called for help. Tyler, my 17-year-old son, was cremated on New Year's Eve.
It has been five hours between that sentence and this one. Tyler was a bright, funny, caring, friendly, loving and troubled young man. I have spoken openly with you about my long-past problems with drugs. I did the same with my children, including my step-children. To me, there is no difference. Some of them have had their own problems some have not. Two who did and have since gotten their feet back under them will tell you, as they have told me, that, at least in some small part, my honesty with them about drugs, addictions and my own problems with same were part of the reason they got it together. However true or untrue that may be, I cannot say but it is nice to think that being open about my own past failings may have helped these people I love to overcome their own and survive. That being said, it would be a lot nicer to think about if it had the same effect on Tyler.
I think it would be great if, while our schools are so busy teaching us Calculus, Trigonometry and Applied Physics to prepare us for our jobs stamping "DENIED" on forms at the insurance company, they could teach us how to reach all of our kids instead of just most of them. At the very least, they might offer a course in Grief Mechanics, so that we will have some idea what to do when one of our children dies. It seems to me that there should be at least some effort put into preparing a person for something this unnatural but there will always be a part of me, especially now, that is certain that such a feat could never be accomplished.
A note to family and friends: I am grateful to and especially for each and every one of you, even for those of you for whom the feeling is not mutual. (Those of you to whom the last part of that sentence applies know who you are and I want you to know, I understand. I love you anyway.
When it comes to an epitaph, I'm sorry, but I have nothing appropriate. Every time I think about it I am drawn back to one of the last conversations Tyler and I had on this subject before he moved back to Tampa. He didn't like the rules in my house. Too strict. I didn't trust him enough. I'll never forget it. He was screaming at me…
TYLER: "All I want to do is live my own life and make my own decisions! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LET ME DO THAT?"
ME: "Because I don't want to bury you."