Letter 67 – The Night You Died

 

Garrett,

The time has come. I need to be able to talk about the night you died. I’ve nibbled around the edges of it and now I need to face that day. I don’t want to. There is so much sadness and regret surrounding it. But I have to be able to do it, if only to sort out in my own mind what happened, and truly accept that you died.

You had been on and off drugs for several days. I could tell you were impacted even if you weren’t using right then, because the aftereffects of taking drugs is not great, either.

You were resisting going to rehab, and your drug use was getting worse. It was coming up, on the Monday. Today was a Wednesday. You were searching for a way to not go, and your dad and I were holding firm.

Originally, you had said that you would go. You had agreed to go. But now, you were searching for ways to get out of it. The time between you agreeing to go and a bed becoming available had taken too long. You kept coming to us with arguments about why you shouldn’t have to go. Let’s try baby steps, you said. Let’s just stop everything where it is and take it one step at a time. No, Garrett, we said. You must go. There is no alternative.

You didn’t like that. You weren’t mean, or loud, or angry. Mostly you were just sad. Defeated. Like you had no one left to call in this world who would help you. I know you felt alone. I know you were depressed and anxious. I know that you felt that there was no one on your side. And I am so sorry for that, Garrett. I am always on your side. Always. And this was how I was choosing to do it, right then, by not backing down.

We told you that you couldn’t move into the new house unless you did this. That you would not be welcome there. I don’t know if I believed that, but I did not want to divide with Kevin on this. I thought you needed to see a united front. I stayed silent right then. Was it the right thing to do? I don’t know. A part of me wishes I had told you, of course you can be with us, Garrett. Of course you can. But I didn’t and I can’t take that back.

You were looking for things to do instead of going to rehab. What can you do, Garrett? Where would you go? Maybe I could travel, you said. How, Garrett? I asked you. You don’t have any money. How are you going to do that?

You felt defeated. You didn’t have anywhere to go, and you were sick. There was no one who would pick up the phone or answer your texts. You felt you had no one. You even said that. I have no one. And you felt so alone.

We were tired. None of us was shouting. You asked me if I really was going to sell the house, and I told you, yes. There was no possibility of you staying there, and us go to the new house. That house, and your room, were your security, and we were taking it away. We were leaving you with nothing. And you had no one. I cannot imagine how alone you felt, and I wish I had said something to temper that. But I didn’t.

We retreated into our corners. I remember thinking to myself, tomorrow we can talk about this again. Tomorrow when everyone isn’t so tired and feeling so hopeless. I will take you to the doctor, and make sure you are okay, and I will try to inject some hope into this situation.

It is hard to reason with someone who is under the influence of drugs. I wasn’t feeling very willing to try that night. I wanted to wait and try again the next morning.

At some point, you left the house. You came back a while later and went into your room. I don’t know if that was when you got whatever it was that killed you, or if you already had it with you.

I decided to go to bed at eleven. I went into the living room to let Kevin know, and asked him to check on you before I went to bed. He went in and I heard him say, call 911. Call 911. I went into the kitchen to get my phone and he carried you out into the living room and put you on the floor. He started doing CPR and I called the number. Emergency services came.

They took over from Kevin. They gave you an injection of Narcan. They worked to bring you back to life. They gave you another injection. And they were quiet. I remember that at some point during the night I told the paramedics that I had a daughter sleeping very nearby, right behind that door, and I did not want her to wake up and see this. There are some things you can never unsee and I did not want her to see this. Thankfully, she did not wake up. She slept through the night.

They worked on you on the living room floor for I’m guessing to be almost an hour. It seemed like seconds. I stood there watching over you and said the word, please, please, over and over again. Please. Don’t let this child of mine die. Please.

But you had died. They stopped working on you. And you lay on the floor as they started to pack up their things and talk about taking you out to the ambulance.

I went over to you. I went down on my knees beside you and took a tube out of your throat. I put my hands on you and felt the warmth of your body. And I ran my hand over your head and stroked your hair, as I had done so many times before. I kept my hand on your chest, and then your stomach, as the warmth left you. And I stroked your hair. You were my beautiful boy.

I remember hearing Kevin in the background telling the paramedics, she’s not going to leave. I think they were asking me to leave the room so they could take your body to the ambulance. But I could not leave. I could not go.

Eventually they brought a gurney in, to put your body on. There was a little warmth left right where my hand was on top of your stomach. And that was all. You were not here, anymore.

Eventually, I stood. I turned to Kevin and gave in. Total annihilation. I surrendered to it completely.

Upon your death, the house became evidence. Police came. An investigator came to search what was now a crime scene. And they also were quiet.

We sat there for I don’t know how long, answering questions about what had happened, where you had gotten the drugs, if I knew any names, or the names of others who might know the dealer. They searched your room, and they found things. Drugs. Drugs that you must have brought in since the last time Kevin searched your room. They took your phone. They took your laptop. And then they left.

I don’t know what Kevin and I did or said between the time they left and the time it was morning and the sun was shining. I know that when it was time, we went into our daughter’s room and woke her up and told her what had happened. That Garrett had taken too many drugs last night, and he never woke up. And we sat in her room for a long time, and stroked her hair, and ran our hands down her back. And then we started the day that would begin the rest of our lives. Emptied of everything but complete and total loss.

That is the day you died. That is the day I will regret forever. That is the day I lost one of the most precious things to me on this earth.