Two weeks ago as I was parting from my son's friends after toasting his 28th birthday, one of them held on to me and told me insistently "it's alright, he's at peace now. he was in so much pain. so much pain." Enveloped by his strong, young arms, so reminiscent of those other ones, I nodded in reluctant agreement. He meant to comfort me, but what was I agreeing to - that he's better off dead? A few days later I asked him to elaborate, my son's words that I'm in denial continuing to haunt me and spurring me on. He responded that he would reply later. I'm still waiting.
But what can he really tell me? Do I really think there is something I don't know? I know there are things I will never understand - the reality of being a young male, but really the despair he must have felt I feel every day. This morning I woke up with the thought that no, love is not enough, one must be cold and calculating, even in love. If so, what are we here for - what is this whole circus for? Beauty is not enough.