Words Unsaid

Therapy was rough today. We tore into some serious shit, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I do know that right now, I feel personally wrung out, drained, flattened, run over, and exhausted.

This may be one of the toughest sessions I've ever had, and apparently, we're just getting started.

Today in therapy, we talked about my son.

More specifically, we talked about my single grace guilt regarding my son. You see, after we kicked him out of the house, I told him I wouldn't speak to him again until he'd been sober for a year. Time passed, and he went in and out of sobriety. But finally, it looked like he was staying that way.

He did a stint in rehab and met a woman whom he came to love. They say you should only get sober for yourself and not place your self-worth on another person. But this woman seemed to give him a reason to go on and a reason to stay clean.

About eight months into that one year. He came over to my grandparents' house for Easter dinner. He brought her, and they seemed very happy together.

He was his old self again. Telling jokes, making people laugh. He brought food. It was like we had my son back for a brief moment. Everybody was giving him another chance, talking to him, laughing with him.

I refused to say a word.

When we left that night, he said, "Goodbye, Big Josh (he'd always called me that since he was 7 years old), I love you."

I said nothing.

Several days later, he was dead.

The last thing my son ever said to me before he died was I love you.

The last thing I ever did was ignore him.

Is it any surprise there are days I want to die?

If you have children, I beg you, no matter what they've done, always tell them you still love them. I wish I'd lived that advice.

- Josh (04-19i-2025)