herbavore
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Jul 26, 2011
- Messages
- 14,942
I came to this site in an unusual way and I want to be forthright about that. It was open on my son's computer when I discovered his body. I left my son at 11:30PM on May 30th when I dropped him off at his apartment after his first shift at his new job. He was excited and vibrant and he looked more alive than I had seen him look in two years. I told him he looked handsome and that I loved him and he shot me that dimpled grin that I have lived for all of his twenty years, winked at me and said, "I love you too, mom". I sang all the way home.
The next day I went to see him, and when he didn't answer my knock, I let myself in. That was the beginning of the dream I now live in.I will never forget the sight of my son's body, nor the feel. He was three weeks past his twentieth birthday. After the nightmare of calling 911, having the police order my husband and I to leave "the body", watching them uncover needle stash after needle stash, we waited for the coroner, and then we waited for his only sibling, his brother, to get off work so that we could break the news to him. Later that night I felt the need to go back to his apartment alone. I needed to be with his stuff, I needed to sit in his space, I needed to know if we had missed anything he may have left us. His computer was like an extension of him. From the earliest age he just intuited this world that still mystifies me. We have pictures of him at two, with all his stuffed animals piled on the desk around the monitor while he knelt on the chair he was too little to sit in and did "dwawings" with some primitive old drawing program. I sat in his tiny apartment that night, listening to the hum of the computer, watching the psychedelic, mesmerizing screen saver and feeling the heat from the enormous cpu. It seemed alive. I thought, "I'll never be able to turn it off."
Later, when my other son came to help me and he showed me this site, I asked him to post his brother's obituary. I was angry and hurting and I wanted to scream my hurt into this part of his world with the force and rage of a mother bear. But as my son began reading the posts we began to feel peace. That is the only way I can describe it. Here was a world where my beloved son was accepted, loved and even celebrated at times for who he was. (Yes the famous cartoon--that's my boy!) Outside of this world he was isolated, harassed by the law, plagued by a sense of un-belonging, of having no place in this fucked-up, spiritually bereft, materialistic, image-driven dying world. My son was funny, hilariously and outrageously funny. He was adventurous and athletic, fearless in the physical world. He was sensitive to all animals and to people who were vulnerable. He was kind and empathetic. He was smarter than anyone I've ever known. He understood more about physics than his dad and that's saying a lot. He was a wealth of factual knowledge about places on this earth I had never even heard of and little tidbits about obscure cultures and languages. He taught himself how to design websites in the slow times at a drive-through coffee shop he worked in when he was 16 and started making money from them the same year. There's more, but the point is, he was looked at as nothing more than a high-school dropout felon by the powers that be in this misguided world and it broke all of our hearts to watch him struggle with that. That is why I am so thankful to you, his Bluelight community.
You saw him for who he was and you embraced him. I have wandered around this site looking for any shred of my son I can find; any old post, anything. I am obsessive in my grief. It's not just here. I roam all over our town just to bring up memories. He skated here, sat there, ate here, surfed at this beach, learned to crawl on that one. We had a screaming fight about drugs here and held each other like there was no tomorrow there. This is my world without him. I embrace every picture, every word he wrote, every drawing he ever did. I say his name every morning when I wake up and every night I hope that I will dream him back, if only briefly. I hope those of you that knew him here will not feel invaded by me coming here. I have learned that when you honestly reach out to people that they generally grab your hand. I do not judge anyone for drugs. I have long been an advocate of decriminalization of all drugs. I had no idea what a harm-reduction site meant but now that I have explored it I see. I am moved by the community and all it has to offer people. I am moved by the outpouring of love and grief for my son. Thank you for doing what you do and for being who you are. It is a great solace to me. In case the cartoon reference was not enough, you knew my son Caleb as Ektamine.
The next day I went to see him, and when he didn't answer my knock, I let myself in. That was the beginning of the dream I now live in.I will never forget the sight of my son's body, nor the feel. He was three weeks past his twentieth birthday. After the nightmare of calling 911, having the police order my husband and I to leave "the body", watching them uncover needle stash after needle stash, we waited for the coroner, and then we waited for his only sibling, his brother, to get off work so that we could break the news to him. Later that night I felt the need to go back to his apartment alone. I needed to be with his stuff, I needed to sit in his space, I needed to know if we had missed anything he may have left us. His computer was like an extension of him. From the earliest age he just intuited this world that still mystifies me. We have pictures of him at two, with all his stuffed animals piled on the desk around the monitor while he knelt on the chair he was too little to sit in and did "dwawings" with some primitive old drawing program. I sat in his tiny apartment that night, listening to the hum of the computer, watching the psychedelic, mesmerizing screen saver and feeling the heat from the enormous cpu. It seemed alive. I thought, "I'll never be able to turn it off."
Later, when my other son came to help me and he showed me this site, I asked him to post his brother's obituary. I was angry and hurting and I wanted to scream my hurt into this part of his world with the force and rage of a mother bear. But as my son began reading the posts we began to feel peace. That is the only way I can describe it. Here was a world where my beloved son was accepted, loved and even celebrated at times for who he was. (Yes the famous cartoon--that's my boy!) Outside of this world he was isolated, harassed by the law, plagued by a sense of un-belonging, of having no place in this fucked-up, spiritually bereft, materialistic, image-driven dying world. My son was funny, hilariously and outrageously funny. He was adventurous and athletic, fearless in the physical world. He was sensitive to all animals and to people who were vulnerable. He was kind and empathetic. He was smarter than anyone I've ever known. He understood more about physics than his dad and that's saying a lot. He was a wealth of factual knowledge about places on this earth I had never even heard of and little tidbits about obscure cultures and languages. He taught himself how to design websites in the slow times at a drive-through coffee shop he worked in when he was 16 and started making money from them the same year. There's more, but the point is, he was looked at as nothing more than a high-school dropout felon by the powers that be in this misguided world and it broke all of our hearts to watch him struggle with that. That is why I am so thankful to you, his Bluelight community.
You saw him for who he was and you embraced him. I have wandered around this site looking for any shred of my son I can find; any old post, anything. I am obsessive in my grief. It's not just here. I roam all over our town just to bring up memories. He skated here, sat there, ate here, surfed at this beach, learned to crawl on that one. We had a screaming fight about drugs here and held each other like there was no tomorrow there. This is my world without him. I embrace every picture, every word he wrote, every drawing he ever did. I say his name every morning when I wake up and every night I hope that I will dream him back, if only briefly. I hope those of you that knew him here will not feel invaded by me coming here. I have learned that when you honestly reach out to people that they generally grab your hand. I do not judge anyone for drugs. I have long been an advocate of decriminalization of all drugs. I had no idea what a harm-reduction site meant but now that I have explored it I see. I am moved by the community and all it has to offer people. I am moved by the outpouring of love and grief for my son. Thank you for doing what you do and for being who you are. It is a great solace to me. In case the cartoon reference was not enough, you knew my son Caleb as Ektamine.
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Caleb's dad doesn't want to see it--he's afraid that it will show that his death was intentional and that he will not be able to bear that. I don't feel like that knowledge will add to my pain. My pain just comes from missing him. Caleb and I talked about death a lot while he was alive. He always had a bigger view than just this plane. I just want to know for the truth of his story; I feel that if it was intentional that I want to honor that as a choice he made.
