by River Daniel (Excerpt from the book by the same title)
My son, Andy, age 50, ended his life on earth, six years ago, but his mind is alive on the other side. I know this as surely as if he had called or texted me. I have heard from him through dreams and direct contact. Now most of the time I am happy, joyous and free. But getting to this point was rough.
The week from hell began on Monday with the last conversation I would ever have with Andy. Something prompted me to leave my second husband Bill at the breakfast table, go into my office, and telephone him.
“It’s your nickel. Go ahead.”
Despite his breezy words, I detected weariness in his voice.
Just checking in. Are you working this week?
“Yeah. I’m headed out the door now. Going to Tampa to paint.”
Okay. Just checking on you. I won’t hold you up. Nothing new here.
He said his usual, “Luv you, Bye,” and hung up.
I told Bill he sounded depressed.
“And he’s down there all alone,” Bill said.
Tuesday evening I attended my Toastmasters meeting. I had not yet been informed my son lay dead upon the ground. He would not be found until Wednesday.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008 is on his death certificate, but as I was informed on a Wednesday I believe I still go a little numb on Tuesdays and Wednesdays both.
I arrived home from my job about 4:30 p.m. Lily, my faithful canine, met me at the door, ready to go out. I walked her down to the end of the cul-de-sac. A black car sat parked, its tinted windows obscuring the identity of the two men in the front seat. If I thought anything at all, it was they looked like insurance salesmen with an appointment.
Lily and I played around for 10 or 15 minutes, then went back inside. No sooner did I get the door locked than I heard a knock. I opened the door to my brother Joe and my youngest son Aaron.
At first, I cheerfully invited them in. Then, dread hit.