DAY AFTER DAY

This post shows a painting I did seven months after Christian's death.  It depicts what my everyday life became after he left us.  Every day blended together.  Things that once filled my days no longer were of any importance whatsoever.  I had no desire to do any of those things.  I would either sit on my porch swing on nice days or in the kitchen dining area looking outside at my bird feeder and the birds with a cup of coffee or a glass of some type of iced beverage (I do love ice).  Some days I would devote to my journaling or my artwork.  Other days I would throw myself into some elaborate cooking project or maybe I'd spend hours on Facebook.  Anything to fill the long hours of each day. 

My primary physician thought under the circumstances that anti-depressants were a good idea.  Unfortunately they robbed me of emotions that I probably needed to be feeling.  There is a fine line between medicine helping and hindering.  But whatever the cause - medicine or grief, I found myself in this surreal place looking out at life and the living and finding the effort to join them just too hard.  I liked instead my solitude.  It was a comfortable, warm place to be.  Solitude and memories.

DAY AFTER DAY

I don't remember what every day life was like or what I did before you went away.  I vaguely remember designing and sewing children's clothes to sell on Artfire (Tea Party Fashions)  or making my Victorian art dolls (Bayou Bunnies) to sell on Etsy.  It's all a big blur.  Its only been seven months but it seems like an eternity ago somedays and just yesterday on others.  Memories of you crowd everything else out.  You were such a big part of my day - having breakfast together, talking, laughing, watching television - it is hard for me to imagine that we actually watched all those reality dating shows; but it was so much fun and we laughed so hard.  Most evenings you were on the computer watching movies - were they pirated? when I wanted to be on also.  Somehow you always managed to charm me into letting you have your way and stay on.  Your reasoning: daytime computer use was mine and evening use was yours. Kind of like Patrick thinking daytime TV (which I hate) is mine and evening television choice is exclusively his (really? how many reruns of Antiques Road Show must I be forced to sit through?)  It must be a crazy man thing.

Remember how upset you would get with my lack of computer knowledge.  You hated it when I questioned everything you told me;  then after a lengthy explanation, I couldn't grasp or remember what you said.  Yep.  You didn't like that.  It was one of the few times that you lost patience with me. What a grump you could be.

Sometimes you were uploading music; or sometimes you had your headset on singing as loud as you could along with the music.  Maybe it was just the style of music, but I think all within hearing distance would probably have been grateful if we had invested in singing lessons for you.  My goodness it could be bad - terribly, unbelievably off key.  But it always make me smile because it was so enduring.  So good at everything - except singing.

I loved it when we went places together.  We had such good times ..... sharing meals and generally just enjoying each other's company.  It could be the resort at Alderbrook (outside on the deck on a warm summer day) or El Scrape (sharing a Mexican pizza on a rainy day.)  It didn't really matter.  When Bobby wasn't available or we just wanted to be alone, you took me to my doctor's appointments and like Bobby  you waited patiently, never complaining no matter how long it took.

And I went with you to court when you had to go.  Those were some long, long days - especially if we were going to the courthouse in Shelton (which we usually were).  Who knew that pushing a doctor's arm down was a felony? My goodness they could drag a case on and on and on.  It was almost a year wasn't it?  But eventually the doctor dropped the charges and you beat it with only a minor misdemeanor.  But that misdemeanor could be upgraded to a felony if you got into any more trouble or possessed a firearm.

Then there was the ticket for the cracked windshield in the city of Fife that you were fighting.  Remember how people use to think you were an attorney and stopped you to ask for advise.  You were always the best dressed man in the court room.  Bar none.  Even though you had perfect vision you would wear those stylish little wire-framed glasses because you thought they made you look more professional - and they did.  And, as was your nature,  you were also the most polite person there.  Sometimes overly polite.  That, too, would make me smile.  I was always so proud to be your Mom - regardless of the circumstance.

You had so many, many friends and so many, many phone calls.  Usually from girls but also from people in the entertainment industry that you met in New York or Las Vegas or in California or friends from "the jet set crew".  I was so impressed when a big-name entertainer or DJ or producer called you.  But it was all those other folks that meant the most.  Kids that you had grown up with that were no longer kids - but that is how I remembered them and this is what they will always be to me.  There were new friends too that became my friends - extensions of the family.  Like Steve.  Even though you thought he had betrayed your friendship in the end.  Real, unreal?  I don't know.  What I do know is that you had a lot of friends that loved you very much.

At times you were so angry - usually at Bobby and Ashley or Patrick.  There were times that I thought I was going to go crazy if the two of you (you and Bobby) didn't stop arguing and trying to insert me into the middle of the argument - trying to force me to take sides.  Those weren't good times. Especially at the end.  There were so many things, so many pressures, so many demons you were dealing with.  Depression being your greatest adversary.  Your brain had been damaged from your suicide attempts and you could no longer distinguish reality from fantasy.  Most of your anger and frustration came from that.  But through it all we still had the greatest love and respect for one another.  We even managed to find humor where others would not have.

Then one day, suddenly, you were gone.  It left a big gaping hole in my world, in my life, and in my heart.  My days are so empty and they all blend together.  Day after day I do the same things.  Day after day, over and over again.  Without my newly developed attempts at art and my journaling, I don't know what I would have done to fill my days.  I feel as though I'm on the inside looking out.  Things that I use to find pleasure in, I no longer do.  But I guess that is alright because I don't really want to go out - just rarely.  I like being alone.  I love it when your sisters come for a visit but, with the exception of Bobby, Ashley, and of course Patrick, I don't especially want to interact with people.  It takes too much effort.  Isolation is my friend.  It is also dangerous, however, because it becomes habit forming.

I use to love to go onto Facebook and try to be humorous and interact with people that way.  It was also a good outlet for sharing my thoughts and feelings and art with other survivors of suicide.  Their friendship and wisdom has helped me over some terribly rough spots.  Their feedback indicates that I've helped some of them too; but lately I don't want to do that either.  I just want to be alone in my loneliness.  Oh well.

LOVE LIFTED ME

I thought the day Christian died was the worst day of my life.  I could not have known then that the worst days were to follow.  In the beginning everything is surreal and a cushion of shock protects us from the unbearable.  Eventually that protective cushion dissipates and then the reality of what has happened catches us in its icy grip and we are left trying to understand and live with the pain, anger, and deep, deep sorrow that faces us.  There were days that if I could have willed myself to die, I would have.  We try to find something that can fill the void our loved one has left behind and come to the realization that nothing ever will.  We struggle to find firm footing in our scattered world.  We are left trying to figure out how to survive.  From that time in my own struggle comes this painting, this verse, and this understanding. 

August 2010

Suicide, My Son, My Love, My Child.

Waves of sadness crashed over my head and

I found myself adrift in a sea of grief and denial.

Grief.  How I have grown to hate that word.

Heavy black sludge fills my lungs; I feel I am suffocating

I am so weary of being swallowed up in endless sorrow

I want the dark, grey skies of gloom and pain to end

I long for cool fresh air and the warmth of the sun

I want to be a joyous participant in life, in living.

And then in my darkest moment when I am sure

I can hold on no longer, I look up and see above me

Your Hand extended down.  This gesture, in its simplicity,

Soothes my soul and calms the tempest of the storm.

This simple gesture, so full of love, so full of grace

Tells me without words being spoken that I can be freed

From this ocean of oppressive, crushing quicksand.

All I have to do is reach up and take Your Hand

And Your love will lift me up

And place me on solid ground.

PART FOUR: THE FINAL CHAPTER: January 19, 2010 - January 30, 2010

This is the fourth and final post which outlines the events the occurred following Christian's death by suicide.  It has been difficult for me to share the last three posts.  My son was a treasure.  He enriched my life from the day of his birth - and continues to do so even after his death.  There will never be another Christian.  He was so kind and so loving.  He was clever and funny.  And he really loved his family and his friends.  He had a big good heart.  Even when his world began to fall apart he always had a hug for me and found a way to make me smile.


A year has passed and I still have all his things in his room.  His hat and scarf still hang in the entryway.  My mind tells me he is gone but my heart says "when you get home all your things will still be here waiting for you".  I am not ready to let him go.  I close my eyes and I can still feel his hug and his kiss on my cheek.  I can feel his warmth.  As long as I have that memory, he will always be alive in my heart.

January 19, 2010

The next morning the family begins arriving.  More tears.  I don't cry.  I comfort them.  Around noon Brandon, his little brother Tre', Rhiannon, and Asia get to the house.  Now all my attention must be on Brandon.  They stay all day and leave in the evening.  Brandon stays with us.  While they are here Patrick and I have to go to the funeral home and go through that terrible ordeal.  I say that I would like to hold my son's hand and say good bye but the coroner has suggested that I don't.  The director goes and takes a look.  He say that for $160.00 they can make him presentable enough for a viewing but I must bring a hat for him to wear.  My mind begins to imagine horrible things.  It goes where I haven't allowed it to.  He tells me that he will "bend the rules" so I can say my final good bye.  He also says only ten people can attend the viewing and that we must be there at 10 a.m. sharp.

That evening Tiffany T. calls and asks me to describe in detail what his head looked like, at what angle did the bullet enter his head.  She tells me that she talked him into it.  That he wanted to go and she just helped him along.  My daughter Tiffany takes the phone away from me and does into the computer room and shuts the door.  She comes out some time later shaking.  The other Tiffany told her exactly what she said to him in his last moments that caused him to ask Patrick to pull over so he could get out of the car and say "and how does this sound bitch?' before shooting himself.

Now I must deal with two powerful and unbearable emotions - absolute devastation and rage.  Christian had ask in his last letter that we be kind and loving to her.  How do I do that without going crazy?  I begin to scream over and over and over.  I wail. I sob.  I am inconsolable.  My daughters hold me and rock me.  I cry until no more tears are there to cry and no more sobs rack my body and my soul.  They put me to bed.  I lay there unable to move or to sleep.  I stare at the ceiling for hours.  Finally I sleep.   The next day is the viewing.

THE VIEWING

January 20th

Sixteen people show up.  It's okay.  We go over the final details with the funeral director.  Family and Christian's friends select small individual urns so they can have part of his ashes.  I will have the large urn.  I write the check before the viewing begins.  Before I turn over his favorite beanie, and the one he wore most of the time, we pass it around so everyone can hold this precious item that meant of much to him and something that we each can visualize him wearing when he was so full of life and laughter.  I pray aloud and offer my son's spirit up to our Heavenly Father and ask that he find peace in His loving Arms.

The viewing begins.  The men go first.  Then his sisters are ask to go in.  They insist that I accompany them.  The funeral director has said that only I could touch him.  I go in and take my son's hand for the last time.  I talk softly to him.  Everyone has now entered the room and are sobbing uncontrollably behind me.  I continue to talk telling him how blessed I was to be his mother and for the all the joy he brought into our lives, and many other things.  Finally I give him a last kiss on the forehead and reluctantly release his hand.  I whisper "Good night sweet Prince."

I step back.  We all embrace in a huge group hug and they cry.  I don't.  Then each one went up and had their individual goodbyes.  Each person holds his hand and kisses him on the forehead.  The director says nothing.  Patrick and Bob don't go in.  They say they want to remember him as he was and not as he is.  That's okay.  I tell the funeral director that he can't cremate him until after the third day per Native American tradition and Biblical reference.  He agrees.

AFTER THE VIEWING

We go home.  The ladies from the LDS church have brought food in.  Everyone eats.  I don't, I can't.  The phone keeps ringing.  No time to be alone.

That evening Christian's good friend Justin calls.  We talk for hours.  He is angry, he is hurt.  He cries and cries.  Brandon talks to him, Tiffany talks to him, I talk to him again.  Finally we hang up.  I am deflated, void of feeling.  I go into the computer room to just be alone and decompress.  Brandon sleeps in the family room with Tiffany and Matt.  Patrick is alone in our room watching TV.  This is his way of coping.  We go to bed and fall a sleep.

January 21st

Robyn stays on the phone until a venue is found for the Memorial service - The Des Moines Activity Center which is located right across the street from Grandma and Grandpa Jorgensen's old property.  The children had spent so many happy hours at their grandparent's house when they were growing up.  She books it for Saturday, January 30th.  Lee's mother, Chris, is providing her with a free ticket with Alaska Airlines so she can return from Arizona to be here for the Memorial Service.

Kenny agrees to deliver the eulogy and be the family spokesperson.  Both Asia, Christian's good friend, and Kenny set up memorial sites on facebook.  Asia volunteered to put the slide presentation together; and I think maybe she or Kenny arranged for the DJ, sound, and lighting.  I don't know for sure.  My sister Debbie, her daughters Amber and Kim, and my brother Donald paid for the beautiful flowers.  Tiffany selects and orders the flowers.  Tiffany also offers to take care of the food.  Julie Weckhorst and Marilyn Rigley offer help with the good preparation.  When the owners of Christian's favorite restaurant, Akaska, learn of his death, they call and generously offer to donate trays of food for the Memorial Service.

January 22nd

My niece, Kim, flies in from Virginia to be with us for the weekend before returning to her teaching job on Monday.  She and Christian had been so close when they were growing up.  It was so comforting to have her with us.  I hated to see her go.

Niece Kim and daughter Tiffany

January 24th to January 30th

EVERYONE GOES HOME.  I spend the next week putting together the Memorial service and program -  thankful for something to do.  It took me some time to research and decide exactly what I wanted to give my son as his last gift from me.  It had to be the right poems, the right songs, the right readings.  I contacted different people to be readers  and to offer the opening and closing prayers.  Thank goodness for the Jepson family and their willingness to help me.  Trevor (Kenny's nephew) offered to do a video of the memorial service.  What a tremendous gift that was.

After I had put it all together, Patrick and I took the program to the printer to have 100 copies made.  I thought that would be plenty - but I was wrong.  I should have ordered 200 copies.  I then set about purchasing things I would need to decorate the tables.  Some things I already had I would use too.  I didn't want to forget anything.  Everything had to be perfect.

THE MEMORIAL SERVICE

January 30th arrives.  The Memorial Service was perfect in every way.  Everything came together beautifully.  There were about 190 or more people in attendance and many more that wanted to come but couldn't because they lived out of state.  Christian was loved and admired by so many people.  I got to reconnect with a lot of his old friends and got to meet a lot of his new friends.  Many nice things were said about my son and how he had touched so many lives.  I had thought this Memorial would help his family and friends but what they gave me on that day, at that service, was better and more valuable than anything I could ever have given them.  Their words and their hugs and their love wrapped around me like a warm blanket and I was comforted.  And at last I could cry.

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God's Lent Child

"I'll lend you for a little while

a child of mine" God said

For you to love the while he lives

and mourn for when he's dead.

It may be six or seven years

or forty two or three

But will you, till I call him back,

take care of him for me?

He'll bring his charms to gladden you

and, should his stay be brief,

you'll have his nicest memories

as solace for your grief.

I cannot promise he will stay,

since all from earth return

but, there are lessons below,

I want this child to learn.

I've looked the whole world over;

and in my search for teachers true,

and from the things that crowd life's lane

I have chosen you.

Now will you give him all your love,

nor think the labor vain,

nor hate me when I come to take

this lent child back again?

I fancied that I heard them say,

"Dear Lord Thy Will be Done"

for all the joys thy child will bring

the risk of grief we'll run.

We'll shelter him with tenderness,

we'll love him while we may,

and for the happiness we've known

forever grateful stay.

But, should your angels call for him

much sooner than we planned,

we'll brave the grief that comes

and try to understand.

Author Unknown

At Christian's Memorial Service his dear friend Derek came forward to share some memories about Christian and the very last thing he said was "what's important is not how he died but how he lived his life".   Those words were such a comfort to me.  Thank you Derek.

PART THREE: THE FINAL EVENTS

These are the last four days in Christian's earthly life.

THE FINAL EVENTS

Henderson, Nevada

January 15, 2010

Christian called me early on the morning of Friday, January 15th.  He told me that he had found the gun I had hidden in the box under my bed.  He had dropped something, it rolled under the bed, and in his attempt to retrieve it, he had found the box.  This was the only place in the house he had not looked.  I had wrapped it in cloth and hidden it between layers and layers of sewing fabric.   He had been looking for the gun for a long, long time and now he had it in his possession.  My heart dropped into my stomach.  I tried to sound light hearted.  What are you going to do with it now that you've found it I ask.  He replied that he was going to sell it because he could get several hundred dollars for it.  I thought to myself he sounds okay.  He's talking about something he's going to do in the future.

January 16th

On Saturday morning, January 16th, he called again.  He said he had written me a letter explaining everything and that he had decided to take his life.  We talked and talked.  At that point I thought he was okay after our conversation.  However, he called several more times during the day saying yes he was going to kill himself.  Anxiety, worry, stress.  I cannot take any more.  I am beyond the breaking point. Way, way beyond the breaking point.   I think to myself if you're going to do it, just do it. I can't stand another minute of this.  This has been going on for two years, two difficult, unbearable years - attempts to end his life made, loving him and caring for him, talking him down, being his sounding board, being the one he directed his anger at.  In a last desperate act, thinking it might make him think about how this would affect others, I ask if he'd like to say good bye to his Grandmother.  Without another word, he hangs up.

January 17th

We did not speak on Sunday, January 17.  I was consumed with worry but could not make myself call him.  I was so frightened by what he might say or do.  I thought maybe if I don't call, he'll settle down and change his mind.  Maybe he'll be alright.  He had to be alright.  He knows how much I love him; how much his brother and sisters love him; how much Brandon loves him and needs him.  And Benton too.   He just had to be okay.  He won't do anything without talking to me first.  Yes, he must be okay.

January 18th

Monday, January 18th:  it is approximately 5 a.m.  The phone rings.  A very angry and agitated Christian is on the other end.  He is screaming. "This is it.  It all ends now."  He is screaming to Patrick to come downstairs "come down here you mother fucker.  I'm going to kill you."  A gunshot echoes through the phone.   It is the loudest sound I have ever heard.   I hear him screaming at Patrick as he runs up the stairs.  The upstairs phone picks up.  I hear him telling Patrick to tell me that he loves me.  Patrick is saying you don't have to do this Christian.  Christian repeats "Tell her that you love her."  Patrick takes the phone and says he loves me in a weak, frightened voice.  Two more gunshots.  The phone goes dead.

I momentarily debate with myself if I should call 911.  If I do and everyone is okay, the consequences will be grave for Christian.  He will go to prison.  He had gotten a felony conviction for pushing a doctor during one of his suicide attempts.  He had not gotten any jail time but two of the conditions were that 1) he not get into any more trouble and  2) he could not possess a firearm.

My fear that one or both of them might be injured or dead overrides this concern.  I tried to call 911 but couldn't get through to Washington State, Mason County 911.  Called 411 and instead of being put through to the police department, they connected me to the Court House.  The automated system starts giving me a long list of options.  Finally it says to be connected to an operator dial "0".  I do and the recording says "good bye" and disconnects.

I call home, no answer, no answer, no answer.  I'm terrified, desperate, and feeling utterly helpless.  I call Kenny - my daughter Stephanie's husband - no answer;  then Christian's dad, Bob.  Bob has trouble understanding what I'm trying to tell him.  I had to keep explaining to him why I needed him to call 911. He had trouble writing down my address.  Valuable time is passing.  Finally I think he has it and I hang up.  I call him back a little later, no. answer.  I call over and over and he never answers the phone.  I do not know if he has called the police or not.  The anxiety continues to grow.  My chest and arm begin to hurt.  I can barely breathe.  No, No, No! I can't have a heart attack.  Not now.  I Pray.  Pain recedes.  Thank you Heavenly Father.

The phone rings.  It's Patrick.  He and Christian are in the car heading toward the ocean.  He sounds scared.  I can't tell if he has gone voluntarily or if he is a hostage.  He says he didn't want Christian to have a shoot out with the police.  He hangs up quickly.  A deep sigh of relief.  They are both alive.


Five minutes later Christian calls.  He sounds angry and is telling me that he told Patrick that he had to treat me better.  He tells Patrick to promise or he is going to kill him.  Patrick promises.  He said that Bobby and Ashley had to move out that Bobby was hopelessly involved with drugs and was bringing bad people to the guest house.  Someone had kicked in their door and what was to stop them from doing the same to our house.  He ask if I had called the police.  I said no but that I had ask his father to but I didn't know if he had or not.  He ask why I had done that.  I said honey I had to.  There were gunshots.  I didn't know if you were dead or if Patrick was dead or if one or both of you might need medical help.  I had no choice but to try and get help.  He said and now you've given me no choice.




He said that he loved me and he loved Pat.  I ask him if there was anything that I could say or do that would stop him from doing this.  He said no that this was his last moments on earth.  He hung up.


Tiffany T. calls me.  She says Christian had called her.  She thinks that she can talk him down because she had done it before.  She hangs up.  A short time later she calls me back and says I think Christian just shot himself.  If he had, I knew that Patrick would be trying to help Christian and would not be able to talk to me.  I tell her not to call Patrick under any circumstance that I would call her when I knew anything.  Later Patrick will tell me that Tiffany T. did call Christian.  He ask her why she had hung up on him.  She answers.  Christian tells Patrick to pull over.  He gets out of the car and walks a short distance away.  Patrick hears "and how does this sound bitch".  Final Gunshot.


I wait and wait and wait.  Finally he calls.  I ask "did he shoot himself?"  He replies "yes".  I ask if he is alive.  He says yes but it doesn't look good.  The medics are working on him.  He says he will call again when he knows more.


Again I wait and wait and wait.  After 30 minutes I call him.  He answers.  I ask if Christian is alive.  He says no.  He cries.  I don't.  I don't know why but I didn't.  We hang up.


Now I have to get a flight home as quickly as possible.  My Mother is crying, my brother Steven is crying, and so is his fiancee Kay.  I sit on a kitchen chair staring straight ahead.  Too grief stricken to cry or even move.  Finally I get up and start making my phone calls to his sisters and brother and try to deal with their shock and grief.  My Mom and brother say I don't have to make the calls now.  I can do it later.  I know that I must do it now.  Later I think I won't be able to and they need to hear it from me.


Steven gets me a flight out for that evening at 8:30 p.m.  I get up and start doing my laundry.  Everyone is trying to get me to sit down.  They want to hug me.  I ask that they not touch me.  I know that I will lose it if they do.  If I give in to all that emotion, I will not be able to recover from it and I have things I must do.  Finally I am packed and ready.  Sister-in-law Sharon comes over to drive me to the airport.  She's crying and shaking.  I feel as though I am only a spectator to what's happening.  Almost as though I'm no longer inhabiting my body.  Everything is so surreal.


There are high winds and it is raining.  We call the airport at 6 o'clock.  The flight is delayed until 10:20 p.m.  The plane I'm flying out on can't land because of the high winds.  I wait and try to chit chat with the family even though I'd rather scream and cry.  My mind keeps saying you need to hold it together.  Hold it together repeats itself over and over in my head.


I'm on the plane.  The very nice man sitting next to me makes light conversation and is laughing.  I laugh back.  My mind screams Shut Up!  The plane is landing in Seattle.  I feel tears running down my cheeks.  The man asks if I'm okay.  I say no and tell him why.  He holds my hand.  He says that if it's okay he and his wife would like to accompany me off the airplane and down to baggage claim.  I say that I would like that.  The airline has a wheelchair waiting for me.  The man holds my hand the entire time.  His wife carried my carry on.  I cry.  I'm trying  to cry silently but my shoulders are heaving and I'm shaking.  I am so cold.  It's as though all the blood has left my body.  I'm showing signs of weakness.  Stop it.  Pull yourself together.  I wipe away my tears just before we arrive at baggage claim.  I see Patrick.  He is gray and his eyes are swollen.  I know that he is dreading my arrival.  He doesn't know what to expect.  I embrace him and we cry.

We begin the long drive home.  I say to him that there questions that I must ask.  He says I know.  I ask questions that hard to hear the answers to and hard for him to answer.  The rest of the trip is made with each of us in our own thoughts.  We get home about 3 a.m. and after a while we go to bed.  We are exhausted.  Amazingly we both fall asleep.  It has been a long, hard day.

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Post Note:  Bobby and Ashley are currently drug free.

TOMORROW

January 19th through January 30th

THE EVENTS FOLLOWING CHRISTIAN'S DEATH

UNTITLED: PART TWO

THIS IS TAKEN IN PART FROM AN EMAIL SENT TO A FRIEND

January 20, 2010

******THE TIFFANY MENTIONED IN THIS BLOG IS CHRISTIAN'S SISTER, TIFFANY JORGENSEN******

He was upset with me for not contacting him after my phone call telling him Christian had committed suicide.  He had waited by the phone and the computer late into the night and all the next day and discovered I was on facebook. 

............. You found me on facebook because I needed a distraction at that moment. Some mindless thought.  Some thought other than about what had just happened.  The phone would not stop ringing.  I had to talk to weeping men and women from all over the country and especially from the Seattle area explaining in part what had happened - reliving it each time.  The parents of a lot of Christian's friends were calling to say how important Christian had been to their families.  All wonderful but so difficult because I had to be strong and comfort them. I was in a position of not being able to grieve because I had to be strong for everyone else.  My children and their families, Christian's son, Brandon (age 12), Brandon's mother Rhiannon, step father Mickey,  brother Tre', his auntie Asia and uncle Mike, and Christian's friends were all here looking to me for support and strength.


Brandon especially needed all my attention and love.  He was hurting terribly and as children do, he was finding reasons to blame himself for his father's passing.  I had to be his Nana, his counselor, and his confidant.  He was my sweet little shadow.  I even had to sleep with him and hold him all night.  Not to mention trying to comfort Bobby.  He was absolutely devastated and inconsolable.  Christian's dad, Bob, was also looking to me for comfort and strength.

Brandon and his Nana at the Memorial Service

Arrangements had to be made with the funeral home; difficult, emotional decisions had to be made as dispassionately as possible.  Thankfully my mother had given me a check to cover the funeral expenses before I left her in Nevada.  Such a generous act removed what would have been a major problem.  Then there was the matter of finding a venue to hold the memorial service.  Although my daughters, Rhiannon, and Asia said they would take care of that for me.  And while I didn't have to make the phone calls, I was worried about finding a place quickly and that I could afford.  I have already written checks for over $3,000.00 and there are still so many more things we have to pay for and I don't know where the money will come from.  (Post note:  Robyn paid for the venue).  Stress upon stress.  All must be internalized so no one feels any additional pressure or concern.  (But, of course, they did.)


Daughter Tiffany made all the calls to Christian's friends.  Something unbelievably hard to do.  It most certainly has taken an emotional toll on her.  Robyn and Tiffany had to start fielding the phone calls.  We were getting 50 to 75 calls a day.  Then we had to go through all the family pictures and select the ones of Christian, his children, family, and friends for the slide show Asia was putting together for the memorial.


And while it was fun reliving his childhood stories, it also served to remind me, because of how much joy and laugher he brought to all of us, how very much we were all going to miss him.  I am not kidding before all this unhappiness began, that boy could light up a room with his smile.  He had a way of telling a story that would make you laugh until you cried- begging for mercy.  Additionally, he was the most, THE MOST, polite guy you can ever imagine.  He always called older men "sir" and said "yes mam" to older women.  He always said "yes please" and "no thank you" (I must have been a tough taskmaster).  He was so old fashioned in that way.  It would make me smile.  And he was so loving and affectionate.  Such a cuddler when he was little.  He was always hugging me and saying he loved me. Usually just before he pretended he was going to give me a karate kick - missing my face sometimes by just inches.  How I am going to miss goofing around with him and all the fun we had.


Little Persephone loved and adored him.  He would stop whatever he was doing, kneel down, hug her, and talk to her.  She would cry if he left without kissing her good bye.  Such happy times.

Persephone

I now have to think about the food, the drink, and how to organize the memorial.  Who is going to do what, the music - will it be live or recorded and if live, who will perform; who is going to give the eulogy, who will be the master speaker - am I going to have to do that; the order of events.  How am I going to pay for the flowers, etc.  So many, many things to think about and decide.


While I was typing this, I had to stop to comfort a sobbing, distraught Robyn.  She and Christian were so close.  He had lived with her for a time when she lived in eastern Washington and she had, in a lot of ways, become his confidant.  This is as hard on the children as it is on me.  Perhaps in some ways even more so.

Robyn and Christian

There are so many things that you don't realize that you're going to have to do, so many people to care for.  God gives us the strength to go through the motions but sometimes even He can't help with the flood of emotions.  I know that there are people that will disagree with that statement  (I know I would have in the past) but that is how I'm feeling right now.  Everyone is saying how strong I am but I'm not.  I'm numb.  At some point that numbness is going to wear off.  That scares me.


Resources are limited in this tiny part of the world but I am going to go to grief counseling and hopefully join a suicide support group when this is all over and I'll try to get Patrick to go too.  But I know I'll get all those "man excuses".  At this point we are giving him all the love and support we can.  He has softened and is responding to the outpouring of love and respect.  I told him he was my hero.  He will have to deal with his own demons.  He will have to come to terms with his own bad behavior toward Christian.  I had told him over and over that Christian as mentally fragile but he just could not keep his mouth shut.  He had to yell and scream and be ugly.  It's like an uncontrollable compulsion with him.  I will not ever say anything to him about that.  He knows.  I will not add to his sense of blame and guilt.  What would be the point of hurting him further when he did his best to defuse the situation.  It took great courage for him to do the things he did that day.  It showed how deep his feelings for Christian really were.  His actions were not the only reason Christian took his life.  There were greater things at play.  Christian was a tortured soul at the end.

NEXT BLOG:  THE FINAL EVENTS

UNTITLED

In sharing this journal there have been times that I have struggled with the question "should I share this part?"  In the past, those things that were so hard for me to include have turned out to be the things that I have been told helped the most.  As I sit here with my fingers on the keyboard, I am struggling because while I think perhaps I should complete the story of Christian's last days and the days immediately following his departure,  I love him so much that I do not want to betray him in any way.  Will the telling of his part of his life help anyone, I don't know.  I just don't know.


Today is Sunday, January 16th.   Tuesday, January 18th, will be the first anniversary of his passing.  My family and I have been on a roller coaster of emotions since that day.  Are we any closer to healing?  I don't think so.  It is still so hard.  We get together more often.  We hold on to each other a little tighter.  As Tuesday approaches, it gets harder and harder for each of us.  All of the holidays have been difficult without his happy presence but this is, of course, the most difficult of all.

First Anniversary
Back row:  Tiffany, Bobby, Stephanie, and Grandma Verity (my Mom)
Front row:  Persephone and Linda

In my journal, this entry is 18 pages long.  I doubt that you want to read that many pages at once so I will break it down into parts.  There are typos.  Please look past that and please fill in any left out words.  Because I know there will be some.  If this gets too hard for those that love Christian, stop reading.  Also all of Christian's passwords in his letter have been changed and are no longer valid.

PART ONE:

September 25 , 2010

UNTITLED

I had thought that I should give this a title but nothing seemed appropriate, no words seemed right to explain what happened on, before, and after January 18, 2010.  This entry is an accounting of those events.  It has taken me eight months to put it on paper.  I am beginning to forget or perhaps I'm trying to push those events to the back of my mind but I think, rightly or wrongly, that remembering is part of the healing process.  Or perhaps I'm afraid that some memory will come rushing back and catch me unawares and pull me violently back into the trauma of that period in our lives.

This retelling of the events will no doubt be disjointed but I will try to put it together as cohesively as I can.  So many things had happened that led up to the final chapter in Christian's earthly life.  I am not going to outline those things in this letter.  I am not willing at this time to try and explain everything that Christian went through that brought him to that final decision.  That might not be fair because I am the only one that knows his entire story but it is long and complicated and today I feel the weight of it would be too much.  Emotionally I can only handle this part of the story.  This will be difficult enough.

This will be told in seven parts - an opening poem; Christian's last letter in its entirety; my profile on the Survivors of Suicide website; an email to a friend;  my account of the days presiding January 18th, the events of that day - CAUTION! THIS MAY BE DIFFICULT READING FOR TENDER HEARTS, and the events that followed;  and a closing poem.  NOTHING IS BEING EDITED. It is not my intention to hurt anyone but I must give an honest accounting as I remember it - including my own guilt.

The Cord

We are connected,

My child and I, by

an invisible cord

Not seen by the eye.

It's not like the cord

That connects us 'til birth

This cord can't be seen

By any on Earth.

This cord does it's work

Right from the start.

It binds us together

Attached to my heart.

I know that it's there

Though no one can see

The invisible cord

From my child to me.

The strength of this cord

Is hard to describe.

It can't be destroyed

It can't be denied.

It's stronger than cord

Man could create

It withstands the test

Can hold any weight.

And though you are gone,

Though you're not here with me,

The cord is still there

But no one can see.

It pulls at my heart

I am bruised ... I am sore,

But this cord is my lifeline

As never before.

I am thankful that God

Connects us this way

A mother and child

Death can't take it away!

... Author unknown ...

*************************************

Christian's Letter dated Saturday, January 16, 2020, at 4:05 a.m.

me and my funeral

Hey my wonderful mom,

I have so many things going on right now.  I just wanted to let you know I love you the most of anyone. Please give my love to all of the family and my friends.  I would really appreciate it if you and everyone would be nice, kind, and loving to Tiffany if she makes it to my funeral.  Please call all the people in my phones.  You'll have to get the numbers off my broken phone so all my friends can know what happened to me (Bobby knows how to do it).  Also I'm going to include my codes to my myspace account.

(NOT INCLUDED FOR SECURITY REASONS.)

Please contact as many people as you can.

I'll miss you and I'll be watching from above.  Remember you mean the most to me and I love you w/ all my heart.  Take care of yourself.

I hope I didn't forget anything.  Please tell my friends to spread the word.  Try to get a hold of Fazi.  Her dad's gas station is on Dravis Street in Seattle it's a Chevron or a 76 station.  Please tell her I've always loved her.  And it would mean a lot to me if her and Kristen and Rhiannon could make it.  Kristen was the love of my life.  Give my love to all the people I have come in contact w/ they have all touched my heart.  Tell Benton and Brandon they mean the world to me and I love them dearly.

PS you'll have to get the # numbers off the broken phone.  I'll leave my phones on my night stand.  I know it's a lot of work but I'm sure someone in the fam can help you out.

LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER!!!

Your son,

Christian

*************************************************

SURVIVORS OF SUICIDE

Member Profile

March 25, 2010

Name of Loved One:  Christian Jorgensen

12/09/77  -  01/18/2010

Survivor:  Linda DuBos                             Relationship:  Mother

On January 18, 2010, I lost my son, Christian, to suicide - a gunshot wound to the head.  He had been the guy that every other guy wanted to be like and every girl wanted to be with.  He was loved and admired by so many people - especially his family.  He and I were probably closer than most mothers and sons.  One would think that he had everything going for him but deep depression doesn't skip the golden child.  It has no boundaries and no special criteria.  Anyone can fall into that deep dark pit of despair.  My laughing happy child became so angry, so lost.

Now he's gone and I am the one lost and full of despair.  Truthfully I spend most of my time feeling nothing at all.  No joy.  No happiness.  And oddly, not the great sorrow I expected to feel. That I should feel.  I am confused by this lack of emotion.  I may laugh and smile but inside there is nothing but a great emptiness.  Sometimes I feel anger.  Anger at my husband for not being more sympathetic and understanding of what Chris was going through even though I had told him repeatedly that Christian was mentally fragile.

Anger at the Shelton Police Department and the 911 responders for thinking I was over reacting when I called them after he had attempted to take his life by overdosing on pills.  The police officer told me that if he was "sitting in a corner drooling" then they might think about taking him, not to a hospital, but to jail.  Anger at the paramedic that laughed at me when I called the following day and said my son had again tried to take his life.  He told me that because I had called the day before and Christian had told them that he was okay and I was just tripping that they were not going to respond to my call.

Anger at DSHS because they refused to allow me to get him any emergency mental counseling until we had completed all their paperwork and then we had to wait for their approval process.  Approval that came too late.

Anger at his business partner in New York that defrauded him and embezzled all their money which caused him to lose his job and his home to foreclosure.  Anger at his ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend for refusing to allow him to see his beloved son.  Anger at his current girlfriend for making his life so miserable with he lies and her physical violence.  Anger at her for that final phone call where she pushed him into pulling the trigger and then bragged to others that she had talked him into it and he had killed himself over her.

And anger especially with myself for leaving him and going to visit my mother in another state.  Did I really have to leave just then or was I actually trying to escape all his violent outbursts and, yes, his suicide attempts.  Anger at myself for thinking to myself "if you're going to do it, just do it".  So much guilt over that thought.  Did I, in an attempt to save my own sanity, give up on him?

I knew in my heart that someday he would succeed.  After all he had tried at least four other times.  He was even institutionalized once.  But he charmed the counselors into thinking that he had it all together and he didn't receive the help he so desperately needed.  He was proud of being "the trickster".

He had received a job offer in Las Vegas and had been looking forward to going and starting over.  He was looking forward to a new future.  Excited about it.  At least he was until he found out that his mentally ill girlfriend had moved there ahead of him and was now telling everyone he was stalking her.  He still intended to go but the joy had left him.

So I left and while I was gone he took his life.  If I had been here could I have stopped him?  I don't think so but now I'll never know for sure.  The question is ever present in my mind.  Was it my fault?  I think now that it isn't that there is no emotion.  It is that there is too much emotion.  My mind can't process it all so I have become numb.  Except for my anger.

So what do I do with all this anger?  I'll do what I always do.  I'll internalize it.  I really should call my grief counselor again.  I saw her once and liked her.  My Oncologist, Dr. Blitman, arranged three free visits for me.  So very kind of him.  There are a lot of nice people out there that rally around the first three weeks and then disappear.  They, of course, think I'm doing so well because on the surface I smile and laugh.  Never crying.  A great hostess.  I guess I have them all fooled just like Christian fooled so many people.  Another "trickster".

TOMORROW:  PART TWO

an email sent to a friend

MONDAY:  PART THREE

THE FINAL EVENT

The last three days of Christian's life

WEDNESDAY:  PART FOUR

The events following his death

I WENT TO THE OCEAN TODAY - TO THE SEASIDE

It seems very strange that I am sharing my entry about going to the seaside when on this day, January 11, 2011, it's snowing in every state in the Union except Florida.  Seriously, I should be upstairs in bed - I've been so ill; but for some reason decided to drag myself downstairs and type this.  I can only guess it's the lack of oxygen to my brain that's responsible.  So before I pass out, I will begin.  This painting and writing were done five and a half months after Christian's passing.

I WENT TO THE OCEAN TODAY - TO THE SEASIDE

June 7, 2010

I went to the ocean today - to the seaside.  I wanted to feel the sun on my face and the warm sand beneath my feet but when I got there, the sky was overcast and it was cold.  A light fog rolled in making it hard to distinguish between the water and the distant horizon.

I went to the ocean today - to the seaside.  I took off my shoes and gingerly walked into the water - the freezing water.  I wanted to feel the sun on my face, to listen to the laughter of playing children, to see long lines of colorful beach umbrellas and to watch kites carried on the gentle ocean breeze.  I wanted to hear the cries of the sea birds - the seagulls and sandpipers.  I wanted to watch seashells tumble onto the shore.  I wanted to be transported to a different time and to a different place.  A place filled with happy memories of the past.

I went to the ocean today - to the seaside.  The beach was deserted - no children, no laughter.  The cries of the birds were to my ears somehow mournful.  I lifted my face to the sky and instead of feeling the sun on my skin, all I felt was the ocean's salty tears blown in on the wind.  The chill in the air made me shiver and covered my skin with goose bumps.

I went to the ocean today - to the seaside.  I stood in the water - the freezing  water.  I felt the icy waves splash against my legs.  I wanted to hear the power of the ocean - the explosion of water against the shore.  I wanted the ocean to share with me its strength.

I went to the ocean today - to the seaside.  I stood in the water - the freezing water.  I stood waiting.  Waiting for the ocean to make me strong and whole again.  I stood with my face turned upward toward the sky feeling the mist against my skin; and the ebb and flow of the waves as I struggled against the weight of the water.  Waiting. Waiting for some miraculous happening.  Some awakening or epiphany that would suddenly made me wise, brave, and strong.  Something that would give me the ability to overcome my weakness of spirit and soul.

I went to the ocean today - to the seaside.  I stood in the water - the freezing water - my feet growing numb and beginning to ache.  As I stood there blankly staring at the vacant beach, innocent in my stance and unsuspecting, a large wave rushed onto the shore shoving me violently forward.  Then as quickly as it had arrived, it receded taking with it the sand beneath my feet; and I stumbled precariously backward.  The power of ocean had taken with it my firm footing and I felt vulnerable to its uncertainty.

I went to the ocean today - to the seaside.  I stood on the beach and looked out at the ocean's vastness.  I heard its power as the waves crashed on the beach.  I felt its salty tears against my cheeks and tasted its salty mist on my lips.  I silently watched the ebb and flow of the waves.  I felt within my soul the eternity of this great ocean amazed in the knowledge that it has been here since the beginning of time.  The giver of life.  And as I stood there pondering the majesty of these things, I thought, too, about the equally great destructive powers of these waters and the Hand that controls them.

I went to the ocean today - to the seaside.  I took my sadness there.  I had wanted the sunshine, the laughter of the children, and the cries of the seabirds to take it away from me.  I wanted to feel the sun on my face and the warm sand beneath my feet.  I wanted to stand in the cool ocean and bury my toes in the firmest of the ocean floor.  I wanted to go into the cleansing water and come out renewed - somehow healed.  But it was not to be - not today.  Today I found only gloomy skies, chilly temperatures, frigid waters, and raw power.  There was no happiness or joy; no laughter, no sun, no blue skies so I picked up my shoes, brushed the sand from my legs, and went home.  Taking my sadness with me.

ROOM TO BREATHE MY WISH FOR YOU

Over the past year I have been blessed with the friendships of some really, really special people.  Friends that have been here for me day and night.  Friends with encouraging words.  Friends that have sent me hugs and love to keep me going and so that I never feel alone.  Friends that understand what I have gone through and what I continue to go through.  They understand because they, too, have walked down the same dark road.  They, too, have been buried in grief and drowned in despair.  They understand my heartache and my feelings of isolation.  They know what that void is that can never be filled. And these other survivors of suicide know what an empty smile is.  They know that one is not healed because they look happy and laugh.  They understand the storm that is boiling below the surface.

There is another very special friend that I have grown to love and respect.  As he said to me once in a message: "We may be oceans apart but we are walking side by side on the same journey."  He has that magic gift of always knowing just the right things to say at the exact moment you need to hear it (my friend Patty has that same gift).  He has the ability to reach in and soothe an aching heart.  I am so blessed to be able to call him my friend.

I am so, so sad that Tony, Patty, Dawn, Sherie, and I have shared the same feelings of sorrow and lost but it comforts me to know that I am not alone on my journey.  You have all extended your hand in friendship and I cannot tell you how much you have touched my heart.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart Patty, Dawn, Sherie, and Tony.


For Christmas Tony wrote the most amazing and beautiful poem for me.  With his permission I am sharing it with you.  It is called Room to Breathe  My Wish for You.




ROOM TO BREATH   MY WISH FOR YOU

I searched the skies found the brightest star
I sent a wish to where you are ...
My wish for you is peace of mind
To leave your heartache far behind ...
A chance for your heart and soul to mend
Room to breathe my special friend ...

For those you love to understand
When its right to take your hand ...
For inner strength to face tomorrow
For timeout from the endless sorrow ...

For you to wear a smile with ease
And rejoice with all your memories ...
Create beautiful art, write poetry
A heartfelt wish to you from me ...

I pray to God that my wish be granted
The tears be wiped from your eyes ...
It isn't fair your heart be tainted
And robbed of love and pride...

How can a heart feel so empty
When bursting with heartache and pain ...
Will you ever regain a sense of yourself
Will you ever be Linda again ...

Grief knows no limits, it plays by no rules
It's a long, dark and lonely road ...
Nobody knows the extent of your loss
And no one can lighten your load ...

I've search the skies, found the brightest star
I sent a wish to where you are...
My wish for you is one of a kind
To leave your anguish far behind
Time for your heart and soul to mend
Room to breathe my special friend.

Thinking of you and praying for your eventual happiness Linda
Merry Christmas to you and Christian my dear friend xxx.