In my Vision
For the last month all I could think of when I thought of my dead son was Scotty lying on the ground, beaten down by life as it slipped from his body. His black flannel shirt and black jeans drenched in blood as his consciousness vaporized. This haunted me. I have prayed to God to help me, sobbing most days. Knowing no one could ease the pain or help me through this grief but God himself. My mind confused and riddled with questions on how many ways that those who shot him could have prevented it. My head has been spinning with thoughts of justice for those who killed the fruit of my womb. Remembering seeing my son for the last time emaciated and beaten down in a coffin with his lips glued shut.The sadness/madness everyday. Reliving every Sunday afternoon and evening that I knew and was informed this happened as if it were like Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Then the depression follows on Monday and spills into the week.
Then this morning, I made myself not think of it for awhile. Then out of the blue.. I wondered when I last saw my Scotty alive. I remembered the day. He came by and needed a ride back to Reno, so he could get his college back on track. He wanted to waste no time, he wanted to leave that night. When Scott came over he had a really nice black suit on. I remember he looked so handsome. We asked Charlie to give him a ride to Reno. I knew also perhaps Scotty wanted to drink that night but didn't want to disrespect my home and wishes against drinking. So he chose the high road that last day I saw him.
I think I remember hugging him on the porch steps and telling him I loved him. Of course I always told him I loved him. I remember his strong hug, his smell (of some fancy cologne). Scott has never been much taller than me.
I couldn't remember anything more... and then like a vision, I saw myself walk to the front door of my house, opening it and turning around one last time. I looked back, and there was the Scotty I knew standing next to the open passenger side door of the car. Only this time he was dressed in that black flannel shirt and black jeans. But it was casual. His shirt was unbuttoned and underneath a clean white T -shirt... no blood,.. no injury.... I saw Scotty's charismatic smile, I saw him lift his right hand (left hand on the car door). He waved, smiled and said,
"Bye Mom, I love you" He was happy.
I said, "Goodbye Son, Be Good"
When I envisioned this I realized in all my grieving and haste, I never said goodbye. It was such a happy way to remember my son... real or not... vision or imagination... a gift from God? Who knows. But I cherish this 'memory' most of all.