2002-12-12 - 7:07 p.m.
Yesterday was not a good day, but today was -- even if it started on a very depressing note. When I walked outside the apartment this morning my deceased neighbor's mom was standing in the hallway, facing my door like she was ready to knock. I smiled and then realized I had no idea who this woman was, and was mildly frightened. If she had been a man, I might have screamed. She asked, "Hello. Did you know my son?" and got weepy. I told her no, that I'd never seen him, but intoned that I had learned what had happened from the maintenance man and was shocked. She then walked down the front stairs of the apartment complex, and I watched as she slipped on the oily surface of the parking lot, in the rain. Instantly water droplets formed in my eyes -- it was too sad watching this poor woman who's already been dealt such a blow (during the holidays, no less) slip and fall, be so vulnerable. Oh no, the tears are coming back ... I wonder if the woman knew if her son was up to no good and had tried to help him, or if she had had no idea until it was too late. Hopefully she is not beating herself up about it, though if she knew and didn't get him help, then she shouldn't be that surprised by the result. Confronted by her in the hallway, I had a reaction that's probably typical in our modern, closed, cold society: I wanted to find out more and do something to help, but at the same time I didn't want to know anything more about her relationship with her son or her personal situation because it is none of my business to know such intimate details about total strangers. And maybe she just wanted to be alone. Sometimes it's annoying, not knowing what sort of role you're expected to play, wishing you could fix a problem but not knowing how. Another thing that was memorable about the experience: I had never seen the fellow, much less his apartment, but when his mom visited today, presumably to clean it out and collect his belongings, I passed the open door and saw a bike. It's strange to think that the person who owned that bike won't ride it again, and that he was probably young and died such a senseless death. To me, the image of the bike, which represents health and a cleaner (ie pollution-free) way of life, doesn't mesh at all with the thought that this fellow died from deadly substances that he purposely put into his body. I guess many young people don't see the contradictions of their own lives. One more thing: The mom had to keep the front door open due to the terrible smell left after the fellow's body lay in his apartment for however long it was until the apartment people and police found him. It was chilling to think about -- to be in the former dwelling place of your child, your loved one, and to be surrounded by their post mortem odor. The smell is so strong that you can detect it just by walking past my door, so to be in a room full of it had to have been unbearable. I think sometimes that people like me who strongly oppose the drug war, because we're focused on its primary function as a war against American citizens, can lose sight of how deadly and destructive drugs can be. We think of the ridiculous governmental responses to drug addiction -- task forces that abuse search and seizure laws, high incarceration rates, snitch culture, and other devastating effects -- before we get to the hard truth that drugs do in fact contribute to disease and crime and societal disorder. Yet I still think that drug treatment and not incarceration is the only answer to prevent more deaths. Would this young fellow be alive today if he knew that he could seek help in a treatment clinic and not be punished for stepping forward as somebody with a problem? Maybe he tried and became afraid. Who knows. Whatever happened, that poor woman has lost her son. More Tragedy in My Hallway
Pubbery Over
In some small way, I feel that this fellow's death has had something to do with my decision to quit smoking cigarettes (second day, no urges, confidence level high) and to drastically curb my beer drinking. Because alcohol and cigarettes are also debilitating vices that can kill you, though usually slower than the other stuff.
I think I found ways to rationalize my smoking and drinking (from here on out, "pubbery") by romanticizing it as a way to channel my family's millworker past. We are Slavic and Irish, and in those cultures you drink and smoke in bars and talk until you're drunk (but hopefully before you've landed yourself in a fistfight). And if you were of those cultures and living in Western Pa. in the early 20th century, like my granddad was, you probably worked in a mill. But the notion of reliving somebody else's lost past is severely cliched and pointless. The cigarettes were making it hard to breathe, and the drinks were making it hard to think straight and remain productive. If you're drinking beer then you're probably not writing, and that's all I should be thinking about doing right now. It's foolish to take youth for granted, and mine is running out.
More positive things
This evening I had dinner at the home of some very nice people who I can't mention by name because I sometimes write about their issues inadvertently. But it was so generous of them to invite me to join them for soup and salad. They served me some wine and I had only one glass. Good behavior.�
�
Things are going to get a lot worse before they get worse. � Lily Tomlin |
