Category Archives: The Darkness and the Light

Remembering

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Lake Placid, July 2004

Today is March 1st. It’s a day of remembrance for me. It was two years ago today that my oldest son Alec pointed a shotgun at his head and blew his brains out while sitting in his mother’s front yard. He was 18.

It was a life-altering moment, one that I wish I could erase. Undo. I’ve thought often about what I could’ve done to have prevented it from happening. Replaying decisions in my head amounts to nothing. He’s still dead.

I’m human which means, beyond reasoning capabilities, I have emotion. Some who know me well would say that I’m cursed with feeling too deeply. They would be accurate in saying that. To say that Alec’s suicide has done a sufficient number on me would be putting it mildly. I’m one for comfort zones and there is no zone that’s comfortable when your oldest son, a beautiful and loved soul, kills himself and all you are left with are questions without answers. When life gives you lemons, you’re supposed to make lemonade. But in some cases, all you can do is throw those lemons in rage at a wall over and over until they’re some pulpy mess of worthlessness, screaming silently at everything in the world around you all the while. At some point, you wear out from that and there’s nothing at all left inside you. Everything you thought you knew about life is… questionable, at best.

I like to believe that I am, at the core, a good person, if not well-intentioned at least. The death of a child will test the limits of your spirit and your sanity. I have been filled with a lot of negativity that I’ve been unable to let go of. Sadness, obviously. Regret, yes. Anger. Sadness. It’s upsetting to still tear up all of a sudden when I think about him. Or when some trigger like driving by the high school sets me off. Or the worst, some random song coming up on Pandora.

New events happen in life and I think about how he would’ve reacted to them had he only been here. I regret that I didn’t take a million photos of him so I could look at them now.

Alec was buried in the ground two years ago. At his visitation before the funeral, I stood as his father next to his casket as a sea of hundreds of mourners came to pay their respects and to offer their condolences. I would take the first blow from everyone, then my ex-wife, then everyone else. (My youngest son, Zach, wasn’t there.) Hours later, when everyone was gone and I was about to leave, I asked if the funeral director would lift the edge of the casket so I could hold his hand one last time. He did.

I didn’t look at Alec. I just stood there, crying, holding his cold lifeless hand. No words can describe that kind of hell.

I buried Alec but he will never die. As long as I’m living, the stories of his life will be told. All of them. The goofy. The beautiful. The foolish. And in this life, when I remember the most trying moments with him, even those are beautiful because I see him. That singing-all-the-time, smelly, strikingly gorgeous, funny and artistic kid of mine.

Today, on March 1st, the day he ended his life, I will remember all the good and all the beautiful that he brought to life.

Alec and Zach riding a lift

Photos: Top) A family trip to Lake Placid in the Adirondacks in July of 2004. The three of us took a road-trip there and spent the week with family. One of the fondest times spent with my sons. Bottom) Alec and Zachary while riding a lift to the top of a mountain in the Adirondacks, July 2004.

Columbus Day and Memories

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Columbus Day, 2000

In fourteen hundred ninety-two,
Columbus sailed the ocean blue.

Columbus Day, 2000: I sit on a bench in Boston with my two sons for this photo.

This has always been one of my favorite photos. It was a really good period in life. In all of our lives. Columbus Day means nothing to me except for the memory of this time. This period. Adventures in downtown Boston. Living in Wellesley, working in Newton. Fall and winter, leaves and snow. Kids walking to school and playing outside. Trips to China Lake in Maine, to Newport in Rhode Island. To Cape Cod and Vermont.

That’s all Columbus Day means to me. A memory of lives lived.

Here are photos taken in October of that year. At the end of the day, all you have left are your memories. If you’re lucky, you’ve documented it in some way, either through photos or video or even writing. I’m glad there are photos; these are some of my fondest memories.

Tuesday, 2:34pm

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Surfing

Check the mirror on the ceiling. Windblown hair. Run my fingers through it. Better. Brush off the dirt that isn’t on my shirt.

11.
12.
14.

Soft bings at each floor. Never a 13th floor.

16.
17.

The doors open. Her unit is at the end of the hall. I have a vague memory of her as I approach. I knock on the door.

“Just a minute,” she says. A few seconds later, the door opens. A small box on the floor is keeping her from opening it fully. She bends over to move it. “Do you mind if I take this to the chute. It won’t take but a minute.”
“No problem. I’m in no rush.”

I follow her to the trash chute. Small talk about trash disposal in the building. She crushes the book-sized box and throws it in. We walk back to her place; she leads the way. She is wearing a long-enough black shirt and sandals.

“Come in and take a look at the view. It’s the least I can do.”
“Alright,” I say. “I can’t stay long. I have to get back, you know.”
“They’re not going to fire you.”

In my mind, I’m playing back 15 minutes of waiting a few days earlier:

“Where were you,” he asks when I get back.
“I got stuck in security. Then I had to wait in the lobby. The guy didn’t answer his phone.”
“When it’s like that, leave a message and just go. There are other deliveries.”
“Okay.”
He tells me this, and I know it. Deliveries are equations with an unknown number of unknown variables. Chaos theory at work. He’s not mad. He tells me because he should.

I begin talking about the security issue and the topic gets lost in conversation. I ponder the current scenario. I’m at ease being here. It feels appropriate that I’m here, in this place. In the home of a complete stranger. She’s very pleasant, this woman. I walk out to the balcony.

A blue sky, panoramic view of Miami directly outside on the horizon. Star Island sits below in the foreground. Monument to the right. Bridges. “Wow. This is a really amazing view.” I think about another woman I deliver to and her view at night of the city.

“Yeah, it is, right?”
“And your porch wraps around, too.”
Small talk about the skyline. Small talk about the boat show. She tells me how the boats filled the bay. I notice her binoculars as I walk back into her living room.

“Just give me five,” she says as she hands me a twenty.
“Oh, thanks,” I say. I hand her a five-dollar bill. I’m satisfied with my genuine expression of gratitude.

She is looking for something. More small talk while I look out her balcony window.

“Would you like a cigarette?”
“Sure, I’ve got time.”
I turn and she holds an open pack of cigarettes in front of me.
“Oh, that’s okay I’ve got some.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Do you want to sit in the shade or in the sun?”
“The shade, definitely.”
She agrees.
We walk out onto her patio and sit on her cushioned white wicker furniture. We light our cigarettes.

“I’m Scott, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Scott.”
“It’s a pleasure meeting you.”

A cat comes out through the window. Beautiful tan, silky smooth fur.
“Two pussies,” she notes.
“She has the most beautiful blue eyes! My god! I’ve never seen eyes like this on a cat!” They are brilliant. They are bright and light blue.
“He.”
“He,” I repeat. Her ‘pussies’ comment registers in my head.
Small talk about the cat. The cat sniffs me, lingers, then steps over me.

“Just ash right there,” she says. She points to a small metal container.

A large bird flies by and she tells me what she thinks it’s attracted to.
“Life of a bird,” I say.
“You don’t want to be a bird, Scott.”
“No, I don’t want to be a bird.” And I don’t. I just want the serenity, the tranquility, the simplicity.

After arcing in front of us, the large-winged creature swoops and glides before eventually disappearing below. We are still talking. She is telling me how she used to be homeless. I shake my head inside. Even here, homelessness, in this penthouse suite, you’re going to reach at me.
“So you worked,” I ask.
“I worked three jobs. The chefs would cook me dinner.” She tells me she later went into business for herself.

Ash.
Ponder.
She talks.
I listen. My mind and body are at rest.

“How are you,” she asks.
“I’m kind of in a strange place right now. My youngest son left yesterday after visiting for a long weekend. One week from today will be a year since my oldest son killed himself. So I’m in between those two things.”
Questions. Expressed sorrow.
“It’s life. It’s alright.”
“It’s not alright,” she tells me. I try to count in my mind how how many times I’ve heard that. I think that maybe I should stop saying that. Maybe they’re right. Or maybe I just shouldn’t say it.

I think about the surfboard. I think about the beautiful surfboard I bought for my youngest while he was here. First thing, Saturday morning. As soon as the shop opened. The one he really wanted. He was so happy. Couldn’t stop talking about it. Moments after getting it home, he started waxing it.

He loved it. He surfed. He said it was the best one he’s had. Better than the Lost, one of our first surfboards. On Saturday and Sunday, on waves that didn’t exist, he surfed his new board. Monday morning, before leaving for the airport, he took the board out one last time. The waves were there. He overheard other surfers in the break saying it would be picking up throughout the day. He seemed okay leaving when we did. I wish he could’ve surfed all day.

“Whatever happened to Costa Rica,” he asks. “You need to move to there,” he tells me. I picture a life in Costa Rica where he would come visit. We would surf together. He would be so happy. Costa Rica begins to fill my mind again.

“Was he bi-polar,” she asks.
“I’m fairly certain.”

“I have a brother…” She tells me a story of her brother. She doesn’t talk to him any longer. I remain in the quagmire of my mind while I watch her facial expressions relay her feelings for her brother, a raw emotional scar conveyed in her tone.

More questions. Simple, factual questions. Not the impossible ‘why.’ ‘Why’ is the question I avoid, I absorb, I ignore, I grasp at, I try not to think about, I think about, I cry over, I avoid altogether by using whatever mind-numbing tactics I can think of, and in my solitude, is the question I ask him. Why.

My cigarette has been finished for a few minutes now.

“I hate to say this, but I really need to go.” We get up and head toward the door. Small talk about work, food, goodbyes. I leave.

I take the elevator down, walk through the lobby, and exit through the front entrance. The valet still stands at his station. I walk to the scooter and reach in my pocket for another cigarette.

I light it.
Exhale.

“Eleventh to Meridian, that will be quickest,” I think. I start the scooter, look up at the blue sky, and put on my sunglasses.

A bright, bright, sunshiney day

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Sunshine

10am this morning, University of Miami, Coral Gables Campus: Walk to help prevent suicide and make a difference in the lives of others.

I’ll be walking as captain of Team Sunshine It’s not too late to make a donation, if you’d like. And it’s certainly not too late to join us in walking.

As of tonight, I raised $2,065 (including a cash donation). I don’t think that’s too bad. My initial goal had been $500 and that goal was met within 20 hours of announcing that I was doing the walk. Some last minute contributions (including one anonymous donation of $500 – again, thank you, anonymous) helped push me close to my second goal of $2,500.

Thank you, everyone, for your support. As I said before, if the money raised can keep one person from considering suicide… there’s simply no dollar value that you can put on that.

So we’re meeting in front of the post office just to the northwest of where the walk starts at 9:30-9:45. If anyone else is thinking of coming, here’s a map:


View University of Miami–2010 Out of the Darkness Walk in a larger map

Summer days

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Like a swarm of militant bees angrily swatted into action, the heat of the afternoon sun attacks aggressively from all angles around me. After circling my head, the molten battalion of bees buzzes into the airspace around my neck, then circles my upper chest until descending to my stomach, my forearms, my legs, and my feet as I swelter in a hazy delerium. With stingers out, squadron after squadron of suicide bees dive-bomb into my flesh, each one exploding on fiery impact under the scorching sun, leaving nothing but tiny beadlets of sticky, salty sweat in their wake. My skin becomes a watery graveyard in a losing battle.

There is no winning this war. And as I uncomfortably inhale the smoke of a burning cigarette and drink my hot espresso in the mid-afternoon shade outside on the porch (the main battleground), I think to myself that momentarily, I will issue a retreat into the Great Indoors just a few steps away.

Inhale. Exhale. Sip. Swelter.
Inhale. Exhale. Sip. Swelter.
Breathe.
F*ck this noise.

I go inside for reinforcements. A soda. A sandwich. I regain my strength. I take cover in my fortress of solitude, impenetrable as long as the air-conditioning keeps working. I grow weary of this ongoing war that gets worse day by day.

To the point, though. It is in this heat that I celebrate my birthday today. Two days ago, I went to dinner with my parents, one of my nephews, and my youngest son in advance celebration of this day since I would be spending it alone. My son congratulated me on (in his words) “another year of avoiding death.” We laughed. And I think perhaps we both thought of my other son/his brother at that moment. The one who wasn’t as fortunate this year. It was sad to celebrate Father’s Day this year with only one of my boys. Strange to have my birthday a few days later and not get well wishes and a big smile from my oldest. But I was most certainly grateful to spend these last few days with my youngest.

Z-boy nailed it pretty precisely, though. His simple assessment of the fact that I have continued to live for one more year is exactly how it feels any longer: I’m still alive. But death is certainly coming. I don’t think anytime soon, but I know it’s coming. I know that I’m operating on only a set amount of time any longer. At night, time slips past me like an express train, skipping stations where during the day, it would normally drop off and pick up passengers. If I wake from some bump in the night (which I frequently do lately), I curse myself for having fallen asleep during that last stretch of evening, when the railroad cars were gliding too softly over the tracks.

And when I wake in the morning, it’s worse. I realize that more hours of my life are now gone. And I count the hours in a day. I count the days in the current month. I take stock of what year it is. My estimated life expectancy putting my death sometime within the next 40 years. My life is most certainly more than half over.

If I sit still for too long, I am painfully aware that I am missing out on doing something or having done something and it rips at my heart. I stir. I think, “What should I do?” And then I sit. I ponder.

Not every day do I think this. But some days are just way too long when you’re alone. But this isn’t supposed to be depressing! Who can forget how happy I am! :)

Anyway, this all leads to this: I am ready to leave this place. Having isolated myself here (for the most part) for nearly two months now, I am ready to go. When I came here, I came here with certain goals, most of which I have met. So there’s that.

It is time to move on from here and return to life. I leave in a few days.

If you want to wish me happy birthday, great. (A lot of you have already and I must say, you rock!) If you want to get me a gift, super. As for birthday wishes that I have, they remain pretty much the same as my every day wishes. Happiness, health, wealth… other things. But if you really want to make me happy, it’s easy: just be someone I like and say hi. Remind me of you. That’ll make me smile.

Here’s an (un)related video:

The Darkness and the Light

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Cue it up, listen now as you read.
I’m kind of battling with two different things right now, and trying to find the balance between everything. I think I should warn you that, while this isn’t graphic in nature, that the content of this post may be upsetting. If you’re of influential mind, just take into consideration that suicide is NOT the choice you have to make.

The Darkness

I made this statement yesterday and just sort of left it floating out there. Let me connect the dots in my mind and make it a little more transparent.

For Christmas this year, I bought Alec the book Gonzo, The Life of Hunter. S. Thompson. After Alec was buried, I stopped by his mom’s house to go through his stuff. The book was lying on the coffee table. I asked for it.

It’s sitting beside me as I type. I read bits and pieces, what I can at any given time. I already know the story.

There’s a reason that Alec wanted that book. It was on a Christmas list of the few things he wanted. Of all the simple things on that list (like shoes), I really wanted to get him the book because I knew how much it would mean to him; and it meant a lot to me to give it to him.

When Alec and Zach moved back to live with me here on the beach, the three of us watched Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Unquestionably, a great movie. A movie I knew that Alec would appreciate. At some point, and I don’t know when, Alec fell into this routine where he would fall asleep with this movie playing each night on the tv in his bedroom. I would walk in the room later in the evening sometimes and cut it off. His eyes would be closed, he would be in dream land.

I always loved that about Alec. I loved his mind.

From IMDB’s description of the Fear and Loathing:

The big-screen version of Hunter S. Thompson’s seminal psychedelic classic about his road trip across Western America as he and his large Samoan lawyer searched desperately for the “American dream”… they were helped in large part by the huge amount of drugs and alcohol kept in their convertible, The Red Shark.

Take a look:
Gonzo, The Life of Hunter S. Thompson
This is the cover of the book I bought Alec.

And now this:
Alec
This is a photo of Alec taken with his cellphone, sitting in a waffle house in South Carolina not long ago.

Hunter S. Thompson committed suicide. He shot himself in the head.
Alec used a 12-gauge shotgun to end his life the same way.

I’m undeniably in a pretty dark area right now. This is my dark spot. This is the place I hate for my mind to wander. It’s not a good place but it’s a place I can’t avoid stepping; the horrible murk of my mind where I bog myself down. I think about who Alec was and why he became the person that he was. And my role as his father in his life.

And it’s barely the beginning; it’s only a small part of my madness right now. I spend a LOT of my time right now trying NOT to think too much about this. And this little bit with Hunter S. Thomspon is only a small fraction of everything factoring into Alec’s psyche. And there’s a lot of that psyche that came from me.

Unfortunately, because I knew Alec so intimately, I feel certain that I know I can figure out exactly why he did this. I feel certain that I can figure out the exact mental state that brought him to the place he was. Only it’s difficult. And I wasn’t the only influence in his life. And there was a lot of day to day that factors into this that I’m missing. There are so many variables and this is only one.

For example, let’s take into consideration the movie Donnie Darko. Let’s take into account that it was one of our favorite movies (Alec, Zach, and I). Let’s factor in that on the Wednesday following his suicide, as we’re all sitting around with the pastor who would preside over his funeral, that Alec’s girlfriend and I instantly remember one of Alec’s favorite songs, Mad World as performed by Michael Andrews (a Tears for Fears remake). We looked at each other, smiling, knowing that little bit about Alec that made him special. And then the pastor asked how it went. And then I started to quote the chorus:

“And I find it kind of funny,
I find it kind of sad,
The dreams in which I’m dying,
Are the best I’ve ever had.”

And before I could get the words out, I had already stopped in my mind to contemplate the theme of the movie. The character development of Donnie Darko. And why he made the decisions that he did.

I think about the parallels between Alec’s life and the movie which had such an effect on him. If you aren’t already listening, here. Listen. Or don’t. I can tell you that I will listen repeatedly for the rest of my days. Only now, I will be hearing one thing. This was one of my favorite songs. This was one of Alec’s. We didn’t play it at the funeral. It was playing at the visitation, though.

My god, he was beautiful. So very beautiful.

The Light

Alec took a left turn that I didn’t see coming.

When I was at the airport in hysterics the night he killed himself, trying to get a flight home, I was on the phone with my ex to let her know where I was; let her know that I would be there soon. At the time, I was completely intoxicated, trying to numb anything and everything. The only thing I knew was that Alec had shot himself with a 12-gauge shotgun and died. And he had done it in the front yard of his mother’s house. Alone.

And then, as I’m standing in line at the security checkpoint she told me, “Alec left a note.” She told me that it was at the police station. She said she hadn’t read it and wasn’t going to pick it up but that someone else had read it and relayed to her that the gist of the note was that Alec was happy. And then my phone died.

For a few brief moments that followed, maybe half an hour, I had relative comfort. I had some peace, thinking about Alec and his mental state.

The next morning, before seeing anyone, I drove to the police station to get the note. I had to have the note. I waited in the station with my mom for what felt like an eternity as they made a copy of the note. The chief of police brought the copy out to me.

In classic Alec fashion, he started in one pen, scrawled out a sentence, and then it ran out of ink. Or wasn’t writing well enough for him. He switched pens.

In the note, Alec wrote that he wasn’t scared to do it anymore. (Change pens.) He wrote that he wasn’t doing it because he didn’t like his life. That he was actually happy as hell. And then he said that he only wished that he could hold his girlfriend in his arms once more and see his dad. Then he said he would see us later. Then he signed it: love love love love love LOVE Alec/Benji. He drew a heart at the bottom.

After he wrote the note, he left it on the front steps of his mother’s house. Then he went into the front yard and took his life. There were six empty beer cans around him. Liquid courage, I assume.

This is the thing. This is the left turn. Nobody knew that he was going to do this. Nobody had any idea that he would even ponder something like this. Alec and I had had conversations in the past where suicide had come up, not as something that needed to be addressed between us but just in casual conversation. And when I would ask him to assure me that he would never do anything so stupid, he would just laugh and say of course not. That it was absurd. It was absurd and I knew it.

And yet, here we are. And he was happy.

I don’t know the steps Alec took to get to this place. I can’t fathom his mental state entirely. But I know this:

Somehow Alec reached this decision. This was a choice he made. A choice. He could have done something else entirely different. Yet, this was, in his mind, the step that he chose to take.

I am left with no choice but to respect his decision.

It’s a horrible decision. But I have to respect it because it was his. Somehow, in that beautiful mind of his, he came to this. In his apparently tortured self, this was the path to travel. I have to respect that he made this decision and just say, “Okay. Well… okay.”

I don’t know. My mind wanders in a million directions trying to pull everything together. Well done, son. You stumped your old man. And I want to believe that you were happy. It makes it so much easier while at the same time absurdly baffling. Of course, he knew if he had talked to anybody about this ahead of time, they would’ve tried to talk him out of it. His mind was made up. This was the decision he was going to make.

Shortly after the news of his death started to circulate, there was an incredible outpouring of love. Love for which I will never be able to thank everyone enough. There was one email I received that stood out differently from the rest. Someone had referenced the following analogy: If a man is burning alive and has a gun, can you fault him for taking his own life?

I can’t. I just don’t know what the hell was going on. I don’t know that he was burning.

Alec was suuuuuuuuch a good person. He had the biggest heart and never wanted to see anyone hurt. His girlfriend told me that Alec had said that he didn’t want anyone to have to suffer because of his decisions. (He had just gotten in trouble the previous week, had lost some privileges.)

So then… what?

Alec wasn’t an idiot. He knew that this would break the hearts of everyone in his life. He knew that time would heal the wound or at least make it bearable. I just can’t make the left turn that got him to this place. I can’t see how he made it. Alec was such a good kid. So full of life. Everybody loved Alec. Everybody. And he had SUCH a positive impact on the people in his life and the lives that he touched. He had EVERYTHING going for him. And he had a level of confidence about him that was so impressive. Yes, he had insecurities, but he had this… this air about him.

The act itself – the actual suicide – not a good thing. I don’t condone suicide. Suicide is NOT the solution to anything. But what the hell happened?

As confused as I am and unable to figure out how to do basically anything that requires thought right now, I’m left with only one option and that is to simply enjoy every bit of who he was for those 18 years. While the thoughts plague me, I have to appreciate that this is what his life was. That this was all there was. I had 18 years with him. And I have to love that. It’s not that difficult. Just there are moments of pain and grief and guilt and blame and everything else.

My god, what a beautiful life. A tragically beautiful life. I just love him.

Catharsis

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Palms and Sky

The sky was blue all day that day.

Wikipedia (which is the known trusted source of human knowledge or something close to it) has this introduction for their entry on Catharsis:

Catharsis is the emotional cleansing of the audience and/or characters in the play. In relation to drama it is an extreme change in emotion resulting from strong feelings of sorrow, fear, pity, or laughter; this result has been described as a purification or a purging of such emotions (whether those of the characters in the play or of the audience). More recently such terms as restoration, renewal, and revitalization have been used in relation to the effect on members of the audience.

Two Mondays ago, all twenty-four hours spun around the clock. Just like the day before and the day after. Somewhere during that twenty-four hours, though, my oldest son, Alec, took his life. He killed himself. This is the reality that’s day by day sinking more and more into me.

I want to tell you a brief and small story that is unimportant but relevant (well kind of crucial to what I’m getting at, I guess):


Just after 6pm on Monday, March 1st, 2010, a call was coming in on my cell. I looked at the name and it was the name of my ex-mother-in-law. I thought that peculiar because I never talk to her. I’m the devil in those parts and I thought we had an understanding.

Something was wrong.

I answer the call and it is my ex-wife.
“Scott?”
“Hello?”
“Scott? Alec is dead. He killed himself.”

After this point, the conversation is lost to me. I know that I scream. I know that I scream. I know that every bit of pain that is possible in the world has turned into the sharpest of blades and shoved through my heart. I keep saying, “Tell me you’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.”

I don’t want to believe. It is impossible to believe. It can’t be believed.

Two of my friends and neighbors are there*. I don’t know what’s going on. But I know I say, “There has to be good in this. There has to be good in this.”

Later that evening, and after saying goodbye to my bride of three days , I boarded a plane and flew northward to where my family was. My other son, his younger brother. My parents, his grandparents. My ex-wife, his mother. On the plane, I tell myself repeatedly, “Try to act normal, try to act normal. Just blend in. Don’t lose it.” The alcohol swirling around in my body kills only my motor skills, not any of my awareness, and certainly not any pain.

Pink flowers

Flowering pink in the bushes surrounding the building where I live that morning.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know who to say it to, but I’m in a weird place.
This site has always been my life.
I will have to say some things.
I am torn in so many directions.
I feel guilt. And I feel guilt for saying anything.
And guilt is such a worthless feeling.

I’ve thought about this. Not a lot, but probably about as much time as needs to be spent thinking about it: and I think I need to just say things here. I don’t have anywhere else to go. This little space where I can type is my comfort spot. It’s where I can run to and say things. And not say things. It’s my Catharsis. And I hate it. For you. I’m sorry. Although, “I’m sorry” is a phrase someone else recently told me I have to get out of my system.

I guess this is my introduction for my entry on Catharsis. I’m sorry. I just need to say things here.

And it’s made me think about some things. Whether or not I stay at ipanemic or eventually move to another website, I’ll definitely be restructuring, I believe. Photos have been daily life for me. Street, friends, models. I’m going to change the site to integrate things and run my life in front of you in a more obvious pattern. This site is my life, so I should present it more obviously than I do it. Or, that’s what feels right.

Bus seat and coffee
These are the seats on bus I rode at the airport, apparently. I had coffee with me that I must have purchased. I rode the bus from somewhere to somewhere.

This is all I have for now, really.

*I was thinking that freighbor would be a good word to use when identifying someone who is both friend and neighbor. But then I thought it sounded stupid. And the spelling looks retarded. (By the way, I can use the word retarded because I am partially if not fully retarded.)

Oh, additional note: Apparently, I can go from really sad to really happy now. Without warning in most cases. Hm. Sounds like a medical condition. I say this because happy me is just around the corner and ready to pop out! I’m really mellow me right now, though.

Final, final note: Mantras are good.

Remember

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At 4pm this afternoon, we will be burying Alec.

I would ask for one thing from those of you who can’t attend the service but who knew Alec, myself, his mother, his brother, his girlfriend, or any of the rest of our family: please take a moment of silence at that time to remember him.

An aunt of Alec’s was kind enough to set up a page on Facebook for friends and family to share stories, photos, videos, and to send their love. The page is aptly named “In loving memory of Alec Branch” and can be found here.

At the visitation on Saturday night, there were over 400 people that came through the line. I wanted to mention to those that came to pay their respects then: the songs that were playing in the reception area were all favorites of Alec’s. We picked out his music ahead of time and compiled some CDS to loop. (There was a lot of music that didn’t make the cut either because we didn’t have it or felt it MIGHT not be appropriate music to be playing in the background. :) That being said, “Get on Up” by James Brown somehow slipped past me. I know it startled some of the older generation to hear the godfather of soul belting out the words “Sex Machine” in the funeral home. I can only picture Alec just laughing and laughing and laughing over that, though. So it’s all good. :) )

In any event, I want to express my gratitude to friends and family once more for all of your love, your kindess, and your support during this time.

Alec was an amazing person. I hope that today (and every day) is more a remembrance of his life than of his death.

Love

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Everyone,

This post is going to be somewhat short and I have soooooo much to say, but I need to get a message out right now. Everything feels like it’s happening at lightning speed.

I don’t know where to begin. I can’t thank everyone enough for your love and support. As a lot of you know, I’ve been on Facebook communicating as much as I can. For the next few days, I’m going to try to post general stuff here and then repost to facebook so that I don’t miss anyone.

Logistically, these are the details:
I am in Charlotte, NC. This city is sort of the home area of my family. My ex-wife and her family are in Newberry, SC. I’ve been spending the nights in Charlotte and driving the two hours to Newberry during the day.

The funeral is on Monday because of Zachary. He had a youth ski trip planned for a long time and his mother and I felt it was important that he go. His mentor in this group… his father committed suicide and we thought it would be good for Zach to have this time.

Visitation is on Saturday while Zach is away and we agreed on that for my sister, Beth and her daughter Katie who have flown in from Copenhagen. They, unfortunately, won’t be able to attend the funeral but will be here for that. So that’s good. Beth and Katie arrived last night.

I would like to tell you this:

Alec left a note before he killed himself. He sent his love to all.

If I could offer anyone any comfort at all, I would ask that you embrace every good memory of him and the love that he had for you. He had love in his heart for all. He was an amazing person and I am sooooo very lucky to have had him as a son and a friend. I’m so incredibly grateful for him. It’s unfortunate, to say the least, that his life has ended. I’m just so very fortunate to have had 18 years with him.

I’m doing okay. I’ve been able to take great comfort in the love that Alec and I had for each other. And I’ve been able to take great comfort in the love and support offered by my friends.

Thank you. I’ll be in touch.

Also, if you haven’t been to Alec’s Facebook page, please visit. The outpouring of love, the memories of his life shared… phenomenal.