I walked into my kitchen and asked my husband if any of the guns in our house were missing.  I was totally afraid of his answer.  He nodded yes, that a small hand gun we had hidden (or so we thought) in a decoration in the master bedroom was gone.

Then Carlie said that there were letters Joey wrote with his Adventure Bag on the counter.  The friend he had left them at brought them to us, thank you!  Trace was reading the letter titled ‘Funeral Plans’.  I could see that it was Joey’s hand writing, my mind was rebelling that my son had in fact written a note about what he wanted at his funeral which would have to mean that this was actually happening, that he really pulled the trigger and ended his own life.

WHAT NOW?

With my mind and heart going a million miles a minute I called my dad.  It was SO hard to speak the words out loud.  Even harder to be speaking them over the phone and not in person.  I called various close family members who were as shocked as I was.  As I thought about calling more my own words rang in my mind from a conversation with a friend at work.  She was saying how late night notifications woke her up.  I asked why she had her cell phone with her during the night.  She told me in case something happens or someone dies.  I told her if someone was dead they would still be dead in the morning.  Well, it was close to or after eleven pm at this point.  No need for anyone else to lose sleep…….

So, after my close family members and Trace’s were reached we waited for the County Sheriff’s deputies to come over.  They came and asked questions about Joey’s behavior, if we knew of any issues in his life that would lead him to want to take his own.  We didn’t.  They wanted to see his room, where the gun was that he took.  They asked for his notebook that he had downstairs in the play room where he had spent most of Friday and Saturday.  He told me his stomach was upset.  He was rarely sick so I let him miss school Friday, got him sprite and saltines.

Every minute of the last few days poured through my mind. Over and over again I relived them all wondering if there was something I missed.  He was so much fun on Sunday. He was laughing, goofing around. He hugged me with one of his deeply genuine hugs and now my heart was shattering into a thousand pieces he knew that it was his last hug, his last laugh.  Was he so happy and fun as a parting gift to me, to Carlie?  Did he wait and leave after Trace got home so he could see his dad one more time?  Was he sad for a long time or a minute?  Did someone hurt him that I didn’t know about?  How long had planned this?  When did he find the gun and take it?  Was he depressed and hiding it?  Did the toxic mold in our house poison his mind or emotions not making him think straight?  So many questions and not one answer except he was gone and NEVER coming back.

Family and friends came and went. The night slowed until Trace and I were up alone with wandering thoughts, tired eyes and absolutely broken hearts.  To say we were in a state of shock is an understatement.  It all seemed like a really bad dream. How could this really have happened.  How could our youngest son who had access to all our time, resources and love not want to live?  Nothing made sense, I could not make any of it make sense to my mind or heart.

I decided to write a note to family, neighbors and friends who I was not able to call.  I didn’t want people to hear this terrible news or hear some version of it elsewhere.