I’ve liked this song for awhile now, but only after I found out that my oldest son’s father (due to a drunk driver, no less… a drunk and high driver) died, at the age of thirty-seven, did I begin to associate it with him.

So many people that I’ve known and spoken with about this had convinced themselves that my oldest son’s father died as the result of a fractured skull, head trauma, broken neck… the whole nine that had to do with everything above his collarbones. And although I didn’t rule out those as possibilities of things contributing to his death, I’ve taken to this with as open of a mind as you can have about a situation that you don’t even want to think about… and for my own peace of mind, I wanted to know how he died so that I had the peace of mind knowing that he didn’t suffer. I also wanted to be able to answer any questions that our son might ever at any point ask and be as honest and truthful as possible, because he behaves and thinks like me. He wants to know, know, know. Talking to one of his aunts on the phone gave me the insight I needed into that.

His head and neck looked fine when she had to identify his body. She was told by the coroner that there was significant damage to his chest and torso as a result of the accident, and that in particular there was severe damage to his chest. The way it was told to me, I’m now speculating that what killed him had to do with his heart, especially if it happened in the matter of seconds that his death certificate states would have taken until he’d actually passed away. Even one second in the agonizing pain that an injury like that could have caused would be one second too long for me, but I’m even more reassured knowing that he didn’t linger…

I can only continue to hold out hope that his descent into unconsciousness was swift so he didn’t suffer.

For anyone that’s been following the… mailman saga, I did get the necklace containing my son’s father’s ashes that I was supposed to get, although I got it one day after it had been guaranteed and the postal service has told me that they are investigating the mailman who runs this route. This isn’t the first time that a parcel with a guaranteed delivery date hasn’t been delivered on the guaranteed delivery date. This isn’t even the second time that this has occurred. The only things that these items have in common, other than guaranteed delivery dates, have been the same mailman over the years… and although the postal service has told me that they’ll fully investigate the matter this time, I’m not that optimistic if you know what I mean.

But I have the necklace containing some of his ashes, which has become more mine than my oldest son’s (who doesn’t seem to favor it either way, and I can’t fault him for that), and I have enough ashes to get a ring made, which I’m doing. In the coming months, I’d like to get a commemorative Forget-me-Not tattoo going down my left arm since that seems like the best place to put one, and it’s vague enough not to give itself away if I don’t want it to be given away… and I’d like a little bit of his ashes to be used in that. It might have surprised some people, and it might surprise some people, but I don’t hate him. I never hated him. I was hurt by some of the actions that he took, and he became a deeply hurt, troubled man whose hurt and trouble only intensified as the years drew on, but he died at the age of thirty-seven in a manner that I wouldn’t wish on a single person. I wouldn’t wish his age of death on anyone, and I wouldn’t wish his manner of death on anyone. Most of the family members of his who I’ve been in contact with feel the same.

All I can say without going into extravagant detail, although I do intend on covering… something about it in here at some point, is that I do not feel the same way about my oldest son’s father as I do my youngest son’s father, and that if any of this had happened to my youngest son’s father, I’d remain indifferent for reason.