Monday, February 27, 2012

Dear Guy Who Walked Into The Office The Other Day

I'm so sorry that you were in the wrong office. I'm so sorry I couldn't help you aside from giving you a phone number for someone who probably can help you out. (It turned out she could, too, so I hope you called her.)

I've been thinking about you. You just looked so tired. Careworn, upset, and tired.

I'm so sorry your son died while he was in jail.

I'm so sorry your son was in jail in the first place.

You seem like a nice guy, and while that's no indication of you being a good father, you seemed genuinely nice and warm, really. You also seemed resigned to your son's death, and I keep wondering if it was something you expected to happen due to his life choices, or perhaps even a mental illness.

I don't know if he was on drugs or schizophrenic; whether your last words were kind and loving, begging him to come home, or if you yelled at him and told him not to come home until he straightened his life out. I don't know if he was at the wrong place at the wrong time and it was all just a big mistake. Heck, you could be a drug kingpin or something, and he could have been an unwitting pawn in your empire. (I doubt it, though.)

All I know is that you looked so tired.

I won't pretend to understand what you're going through. I don't need any explanations or platitudes. I'm not judging you because you can't be responsible for his life choices. I've just been thinking about you. I've been praying for you and hoping that you have the support to get yourself through this. I know it will never be "over" for you, and that you will probably wonder all your life if there was anything different you could have done, but I only know that because of what other people say after having experienced such a horrible occurence in their lives, and by that I mean the death of a child. That he was in prison is irrelevent to me. He was your son, and he always will be.

Please know that you don't carry your burden alone and that you can eventually find peace, perhaps in a support group of some kind, or with your family. But for now, allow yourself to grieve.

He was your son. That will never change.

All my hope for you and your family at this difficult time.

The Girl At The Front Desk Who Couldn't Help You But Really Wanted To


  1. I felt the same way about The Woman Who Called About Her Grandson, Who Lives With His Grandparents Because His Father Died.

    I don't know what happened to her son, or where the little boy's mother was (dead? left them? something else?), but that poor woman sounded just like the man you met looked--tired. Tired and defeated...and there was nothing I could say to make it easier.

    1. I'm glad she got you and not someone who wouldn't have cared.