Day 79

Randy showed up. I was shocked at his appearance. He is so old and crippled. I have not seen him since the day he came for some of Kim’s ashes to put in their favorite places. I could not feel comfortable although his story is touching. Kim’s death caused him to assess his life and led him to therapy. He realized that his lack of a moral compass caused his behavior. He blamed me for years for not being the mother he needed.

Solo Flight

It is the sixth anniversary of Kim’s death. I’ve been thinking about him a lot and wanted to write a few memories of our lives together. Although he was only fifteen minutes younger than his brother, he maintained the younger brother place. Kim was a sweet baby, laughing early, smiling a lot, eager to grow up. When he was about five years old he liked to make exaggerated faces, voices, and movements. He didn’t do it for attention but rather for enjoyment.  I wondered if we had a budding actor. In high school he acted in a couple of plays and did a good job. He sang in the choir. One Christmas program, I was a little late and had to sit way up almost to the top of the bleachers. At the close of the concert the teacher asked for anyone in the audience to join in singing the Halleluiah chorus from Handel’s Messiah. Kim gestured to me and I shook my head no. Just as the conductor raised his hands, Kim said stop, I want to get my mother. He raced up the steps, grabbed me and down we went all the while everyone waited. We sang. He was a teaser.  Kim would come in the kitchen while I was cooking. Look at the meal in preparation and say Do you think that’s enough Mom? He would get me every time as I quickly assessed the meal. After high school he and his brother joined the conservation corp and fought forest fires. Later he settled near Scotia with his wife. I lost track for a few years. He worked in a publishing company and was severely injured when one of the huge rolls of paper fell and hit him across his lower back. He had at least three unsuccessful surgeries and started a downhill period in his life. He leaned on pain medication and that may have triggered his bi-polar episodes. The last ten years of his life, he lived alone in Brookings in an apartment above the harbor in trees and wildlife.  He came to visit and I would take him to lunch and check his pantry. He didn’t want me to call him. I’ll call you he said, always at 8 PM. I don’t know if his death was accidental or intentional. I know he was manic the day before and I know he hated dependence on his medications. When I went to his apartment, the floor was littered with pills as though he had given up and thrown them around. His life was simple: computer, books, movies, music, living in pain, suffering with mental illness, he never complained or blamed. My son was my hero.  My phone hasn’t dinged at 8 for a year now but it was common in the first years after his death.

He had a flying ap for his computer and loved flying at night over towns and over the ocean. My first thought after his death was now he can fly without a plane.