He said, “I’m not going anywhere, babe.” I knew he meant what he said. I trusted him.
Just hearing the words, sent me reeling, whirl winding, back to another who was to be there early the next morning after he spent the night with a friend. He was my son. He was 16. He intended to return the next morning. He had free will. In the midst of the night, though, he was gone. A night that until the next morning when the Sheriff and the Coroner’s office knocked on my door, I had not known a dark side… of myself or of others in a struggle I am too familiar with now. I slept innocently, naive, and lastly, soundly, through the night that my Sammy died but from that night on, I would not know that level of deep sleep for the thoughts of what happened that night while I slept peacefully would not allow me. No time for a rest. No escape. No sound. Silence in the night is maddening. My son, Sammy… 16… curious… died. I was not there. I was not alone in my loss. I was in absoluteness, purely broken. No, he wasn’t going anywhere. #muchlovetosam