I want to see him, to ask him why he didn’t speak when he was the only one who could have changed this horror. I want to ask him why, if he loves me, he let this happen. I want to know what went through his head when he drove out to Waterbury, by request or not, and bought the heroine that would kill my son, his friend. Was it the money? Was it stupidity? Was it both? Yeah, it was both.
I want to see him, to tell him I know he never meant for this to happen. I know he’s devastated, and ashamed. My son paid for his bad decision with his life, and so did he. He has to live with knowing his actions resulted in a friend’s death. A friend he loved. A family he loved. He will forever have this riding on his shoulders. I want him to know he can become a better person, a smarter person, if he lets himself. I want him to know I might hate what he did, but I don’t hate him. I don’t want bad things to happen to him. I don’t want his life ruined. That won’t bring my son back, and he wouldn’t have wanted that anyway. That’s just who Chris was.
I want to see him, to rage at him and ask him why my son’s life was worth thirty bucks. All he had to do was say to me, “Chris is in trouble.” That’s it. Four simple words that would have saved a life. Two lives. Because even if my son spiraled out of control and ended up dead anyway, he would not have gone down with him. He’d have been a hero instead of a villain. I want to rage at him for my son’s death, and his own destruction, because he’s done in this town he was born and raised in, where his family is, his friends, whether or not he serves significant jail time.
I want to see him, to see if he’s the person I thought he was, or truly the monster I feared in the days after my son died. I’ll know the instant he sees me, by the expression on his face. By his eyes. It won’t matter what comes after that. That instant will say all I need to know.
I want to see him, for me. And for him. He is the one open end I can close. In my never-ending quest to pull positives out of negatives, I accept I’m the only real way he’s ever going to have a shot at a better life. He might not know that, but I do. I can make or break this kid. Me, alone. Because he called me Mom. Because I mattered to him. And so did Chris. It’s not my duty to him, but my duty to myself. To walk the walk and not just talk the talk.
I want to see him. I probably never will. Whatever I feel about him, the legal system has him now. It’s not about forgiveness. There’s no such thing in a situation like this. It’s not about doing what Chris would want. I’m his mother, and I get to be more selfish than that. It’s not about being noble or kind or foolish or sappy. It’s about me. All about me. This is who I am, good or bad. Right or wrong. I can’t be anybody else. And what I want more than anything is to make a difference, somehow, in a positive way, and by doing so lessen this huge and heavy weight. At least, I want to try.
Wanting and getting are not necessarily compatible. And I want too many disparate things to get any of them. Fabulous.