Getting Back to Depression — and a Very Weird Flight

Alex — My Son

This installment is an extension, or continuation, of “Truths — Part 1” from several weeks ago. I haven’t been able to write much since Alex’s death. Too hard, no attention span, no interest. But to save myself, I’ve got to pick me up and continue.

I guess it should come as no surprise that someone in the family was going to fall victim to this hideous disease that has struck so many of us. I’m so sad that it had to be my son. It’s hard to look upon what he did as a courageous act, when all you want is him, back alive. But at the same time, he went through with what I failed to do twice, and my mom at least a few times. In the end I guess a little part of us wanted to live, but not Alex. Based on the stories I heard about how he spent his last year of life, his future would have been a living hell. Thus, this is obviously something he wanted to do for quite some time — and he finally found a willing accomplice to make it so.

I wonder what was going through their minds as they imbibed a lethal dose of phenobarbital. Were they really both in it 100%? Did one of them have anything to do with “forcing” the other into the act? Did either of them have regrets in the time that they consumed the poison and when they left this world? These are the questions that we will never know, and there are few clues in his final words — just that…