My #1 Son - Alan
Me and My #1 Son Alan
Alan was the first born of my two sons, so he always referred to himself as my '#1 son'. A greeting card from him always ended with something like 'I love you Ma, always and forever. Your #1 Son, Alan xoxo'. How I treasure these cards now.
Alan, at 28, was struggling with a terrible drug addiction, had been for several years, but in 2011 things got better, and then worse. Alan entered a 90 day rehab program in early April, began taking methadone, and for the first time in a long time I had my real Alan back. He wrote me beautiful letters, called whenever he could, and eagerly awaited our weekend visits. Alan got out on July 11, and the future looked bright. He had a lot to do to get his life back in order but we were both hopeful and determined. I won't get into the details of what happened over the summer since I don't know that anything would be different had certain events not occurred, but by late August Alan was using drugs again, in addition to the methadone. On September 1 Alan left the house on foot and my nightmare began. When he wasn't home on September 2, I started calling his cell phone repeatedly. A voice in my head kept saying over and over, 'he would call, he would call'. Alan never wanted me to worry and would always call. By September 3 I was in a panic, and began putting up missing posters, offering a reward. I followed up on every tip; my heart would soar when someone said they saw him here, or saw him there. But I kept saying, he would call me! How can my son be hanging around somewhere and not call me? On September 10 Alan's body was found in the woods, not far from the house. My son had died of an overdose, alone in the woods, and had been there for 9 days - he had died before I even knew he was missing. The medical examiner said she was sure he had died the day he went missing due to a number of factors. I told her not to hold anything back from me - I am his mother. Because of certain conditions, Alan was partially in water, it was early September and still pretty warm, and the animal activity (Oh Dear God), my son's body was partially skelatenized and we had to provide dental records in order to make a positive identification. Although his wallet with license was with him, it was not enough to say for sure. Fingerprints and tattoos were not an option either. I am so consumed with sadness, guilt, rage and loss that I don't even feel part of society anymore. I'm on the outside looking in at other people, not relating to how they carry on with life so effortlessly. I hear people complain about a damaged car, a fight with their spouse, losing money in the stock market and it maddens me because they don't know lucky they really are. I'd take on all of that and more just for one more day.