Letter 4

October 21, 2014

Dear Jesse,

You didn’t really talk about it. December 9, 2010, the day mom suddenly died. I remember needing to know every detail since I wasn’t there when everything happened. Jeremy put me on the next flight out to Philly just hours after you and Aimee called.

It was 3am.

My phone rang and I glanced over only to see your number. I rolled back to sleep. Within a minute it rang again, this time it was Aimee’s number. A surge of adrenaline shot through my body as I jump up to grab it. I knew something was terribly wrong. I hit answer only to hear Aimee’s voice trembling as she told me mom was dead.

I remember sitting on the plane waiting until every single passenger exited. I was putting it off. The reality of things. I knew once I made my way off that plane I was going to have to really, like really, confront it. When I finally arrived to moms house both you and Aimee were zoned out and in shock.

Paul was in the hospital still recovering from his leg amputation so it was just you and mom at her house that night. You said she came home early from work that day, she had not been feeling well. Around her normal bedtime you said she came to you and said, “I love you my son”, just before going up the steps to sleep.

I love you my son. 

Those were her last words to you.

You said her body’s positioning made you look twice while walking past her bedroom door. Once you went in and tried to turn her, you saw the blood on her face and felt the stiffness of her body.

She was dead.

Our mother was dead.

Jesse… I can’t even begin to imagine what you experienced in those moments. Just days before you killed yourself you talked to Aimee about it. When she asked what you felt upon finding mom you told her.

Alone.

You felt the most alone you ever had been in your life. You had no one to scream to and yell to get up there.

You were fucking alone.

No one knows exactly how long it was that you processed what was going on. Once the paramedics arrived you went to dads house just up the street. He said you were pounding and pounding on his door. Once he finally awoke from his sleep and made it to you, you burst in and told him mom was dead. You then fell onto his kitchen floor.

Dad said that Aimee and yourself were able to just be there with her on the bed before the funeral home took her away. Aimee told me she was able to hold her hands one last time. I’ve had a hard time with being the one who wasn’t able to be there with her in those last hours like you guys. By the time I arrived she was gone.

At her funeral, you spoke about a vivid memory you had from childhood. You talked about the time when a group of kids jumped you and stole the bike mom had just bought you. You were maybe 9 or 10. When she found out, she put you in her car and drove around the neighborhood looking for those kids. She never was able to find them but her eagerness to help and you was evident. Sometimes I wonder if you felt guilt like you should have known to go upstairs and check on her.

Jess, there was nothing you could have done.