Author Topic: Owen, our beloved mystery man  (Read 47806 times)

owensmom

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #15 on: July 10, 2007, 03:50:26 PM »
Thank you all so much for replying to my post yesterday.  I'm so sorry we have to meet this way, but so thankful you're all there, and our children are connected in this strange and beautiful way.

I heard from my sister-in-law, Lyn, this morning.  She ran into a woman she used to work with over the weekend.  The woman told her about her daughter, who is 13 or 14, and having some problems right now, and there was this really nice guy that had been mentoring her on keeping journals, and how important is was to write stuff down when you can't figure something out, or when you feel sad or lonely.  Then she said how awful it was that he died recently, and that her daughter is devastated.  Lyn asked if the guy's name was Owen, and she said yes.  Lyn told her Owen was her nephew, and that he had been keeping journals for years, and she was so glad he shared his experience with others.  So am I.

It was good to hear that he helped others.  This is the stuff we don't always get to know about our kids -- what happens when they're out in the world.  If we're very lucky, we sometimes hear these stories, and think, okay, we were all working our way toward a better day tomorrow.

I talked with a coworker of his last week, who said Owen was responsible for him still being alive, as he was thinking about committing suicide last year.  He said that Owen had told him life was too short and asked him how would he know what was coming next, if he didn't stick around to see.  He said Owen stayed with him each time he got into that dark place, and talked him through it.  

Just like with many teenagers, Owen's teen years were hard, and his behavior scared me sometimes.  It scared him, too, but he kept saying that whatever's gonna happen, is gonna happen, Mom.  Love is not about worrying.  The last two years had been so much better for all of us, and he was working hard to stay positive, so these stories from others really help.  In the last few weeks, he had started hanging out with some street kids that seemed harmless to him, but reminded me of those from the tough years.  We talked about it, and he was sure they were just regular kids who were confused about life, just like he was, but that they were okay.  We feel they were not okay, and yes, we know they know what happened to Owen.  Those hints I talked about in my original post -- all of them came to pass in the four days Owen was missing.  

And, yes, there was so much to do in the beginning, that our grief was delayed, and therefore this past week has been the toughest yet.  Dave and my son, Nat, have gone back to work, but I can't face it yet.  My job is to help people fix their problems all day, and right now, there's only one problem I want fixed, and it's mine.  Since that's not going to happen, I have no patience for much of anything.  I freak out when I can't get a milk carton open.  I'm lucky, though, because my company is laying low, and giving me as much time as I need (they can't mean the rest of my life, can they?).

Again, thank you all for being there.  I don't know all your stories of loss yet, but have a feeling I'll be checking in a good bit.  Thanks for sharing, and for your thoughts and prayers.  Dave and I know they will be helpful in the coming months/years, as we can't know what to expect.

Linda  


MelissaCharliesMom

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #16 on: July 10, 2007, 05:00:46 PM »
I am so sorry for the loss of your precious son. I too lost a son on June 26 of 2004. Charlie was 10 years old, our first born. A spectacular ray of sunshine and the best big brother my other kiddos could ever ask for. A man who happened to be a NY State Correction/Parole caused the accident that killed my precious boy. It took us 3 years of legal battles and writing to State Congressmen and local officials but finally his license was suspended on June 1 of this year 25 days before the 3rd anniversary of Charlies death. Losing a child has left me and my husband older, sad and broken. We are held together only by our love for our children, for each other and the love given to us by those (few)we choose to keep around us. I understand your frustration with the "system" so to speak and am so very, very sorry that you had to deal with such thoughtless, unprofessional "people".
Please know this is a safe place, you can cry, scream, vent....whatever you need to do. I dont have any answers for you as far as getting to the next page, next day or even the next minute.
We just hit the 3 year mark and it has become NO easier..different yes, but easier no and I dont ever see it becoming something that I can come to terms with. I miss him every second of every day, I cry, I get angry and I keep wishing it was so very, very different.
All I can say is you have found a place that has helped me to survive somehow through the last 3 years. I surely wish you had no reason to be here, but am very glad you found us.
Sending strength and peace....

John-Danielle Marie's Daddy

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #17 on: July 11, 2007, 05:10:25 AM »
(((Owen’s Mom & Family))),
             I am SO SORRY to read of your beloved young, handsome and loving son, Owen’s mysterious demise and his sad death. As I read about your struggle to find your son, I am furious at the lack of support and compassion that you received from the so called professionals in your town. The law enforcement officers, media reporters and the coroner ALL need to have some training on how to handle such a case in the future. I know the pain, anguish and devastation you all feel as you continue to ask…”WHY”. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family, as you travel along this horrible journey. You are ALWAYS welcome here among us. The death of a child is the most devastating event of a parent’s life. The road of grief is a LONG and DIFFICULT journey; we as bereaved parents and our families need to live “one breath at a time”.
My wife Bernice and I are the parents of a beautiful, loving, heavenly Angel Danielle Marie. On February 20th, 2006 at 11 years 1 month and 17 days old, our beautiful, precious and life-loving, young daughter, Danielle Marie died at 10:59am in an automobile collision in Sturbridge, MA (USA). She died of a massive traumatic head injury and was pronounced dead at the scene. We also have a wonderful, handsome 15 year old son, Jonathan.
Take Care & May God give you & your loving family the strength and courage to guide you all along this terrible, emotional and relentless journey.
Wishing You All Continuous Comfort & Peace,
John-Danielle Marie’s Daddy
1/4/95-2/20/06 (head trauma-motor vehicle accident)
“Her friendship was an inspiration, her love a blessing”

owensmom

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #18 on: July 11, 2007, 08:13:38 PM »
Thanks for being there, everyone.  These last two days have been the darkest.  I have fallen into the pit and can't climb my way out.  Owen has been gone 6 weeks today, and I can't imagine the next minute without him.  It makes me want to drive to town and stand on the bridge where his body was retreived from the river, and scream at all those young punks who know what happened to him. 

I can't stop crying.  I can't stop shaking.  My body hurts at the molecular level all the way through to about 6 feet beyond my skin.  I've eaten so little in the past 6 weeks, that I'm feeling like I'm starving myself.  The grief counselor I've seen twice, said she sees this in mothers mostly, but other family members sometimes do it, too.  She calls it "one foot in the grave", and said there's a part of us that wants to go with our children or other loved ones.  This made so much sense to me.  She asked if I can eat when my older son is around, and I said, yes, no problem if he's there.  So, she suggested I spend more time with him.  That's hard, too, though, because we're so consumed with pain at this early stage, I feel like I'm taking him down with me whenever we see each other and talk on the phone.  He lives about a half hour away.  He's suffering, too, and I don't want this to be harder on him than it already is.  I don't want him to take on the parent role.

I called my ex-husband, Michael, today (Owen's and Nat's father; not Owen's and Nat's dad, Dave, (my husband) who you've met here).  We talked for about 2 hours.  He never remarried and does not have a girlfriend, so is home alone most of the time.  He doesn't work, so is going down this path in a consuming way, too.  He and Owen had spent the least time together of all our family members, and he feels so guilty, having felt the time would come soon enough, for them to be closer.  We talk whenever there is news from the police, or when we can't stand the pain, and no one else is available.  We have plenty of shared memories from when the boys were young that are full of love and good times, so this also makes sense for us.  And, we share our extended families, so we have plenty of Owen stories, and Michael CAN TALK forever.  So, it was a good way to climb part way out of the pit.

Because the police have so many versions of what happened, we get to grieve in a 4-fold fashion.  Here are our choices: homicide, accident, suspicious, and suicide.  While suicide is not a focus for the police, simply by the fact that Owen didn't exhibit suicidal behavior, the fact that those kids won't tell us or the police what happened, it stays part of the possibilities.  I know in my heart that he would not intentionally hurt himself, but occasionally, the thought sneaks in - what if something was going on that I didn't know about?  There's so much more that I can't talk about because this is still an active investigation, and it's enough to make us all lose our minds.  We get to keep seeing our own personal visions, dozens of them, of how Owen ended up in the river.

When I imagine the different possibilities, the panic attacks are like nothing I've ever experienced.  The first thing I say to myself each day when I wake up is, "Owen is not going to walk in the door, and today will be better than yesterday."  And, then it all comes crashing in - the visions of the possibilities, and I'm gone again, agony.

I know this wouldn't be any easier if we knew what happened, but maybe there would be moments when I could walk from the living room to the kitchen, and I wouldn't feel so sick.  Or, maybe a night where I could actually sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time.  The sleep deprivation is not making it any easier, either.

Since we still don't have a date or actual cause of death yet, Michael, Nat, Dave, and I have simply agreed on a date for our own purposes, based on the different stories the kids have told, and what we felt in our hearts in the days Owen was missing.  Until we're told differently by the final coroner's report, we're agreeing Owen passed on May 30, 2007, between just after midnight and somewhere around noon.  This way, we can, for the moment, try to cut out those 12 hours of our lives that are torturing us, and try to stay focused on the memories, and the regular missing our kid stuff.

Owen's first true love, Carla, called me today.  We had been trying to find her, and finally someone connected with her today.  She was destroyed, and I went right back into the pit while we talked for an hour and a half.  Then, she, being the kind of woman that she is, told me about the first night she met Owen.  It was such a sweet story, and one that showed him at his kindest.  She told me a few other stories, all of which were either funny or showed his gentle side.  This was a real gift, and one that was very hard for her, I'm sure.  I am so thankful for these stories, as they come in.  And, for a moment or two, I can look at pictures of him and not feel quite as broken.

This is what we know today.  And, the pit is waiting for me with each breath.

I've been reading some of your stories, and I am so sorry for all of you, too.  It all feels like such a terrible violation of who our families were before, and certainly after.

Thank you all for sticking with us in these early days.  I'm bound to ramble...

Linda
Owen's mom

Debh

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #19 on: July 11, 2007, 10:50:30 PM »
Linda if you need help posting Owen's photo I will be glad to help you. I noticed your post above tonight. Send me a email at [email protected] and I will help you through this.

Love
Deb

maddiesmom

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #20 on: July 13, 2007, 10:56:12 AM »
Dear Owen's Mom- I am so so sorry for your loss- my heart goes out to you and your family.  You will be remembered in my prayers. I will pray that oyu get answers. I cannot imagine the not knowing. My little Maddie died from cancer at the age of seven 2 1/2 months ago. My husband and I hurt every single day. You are so in my thoughts   Much Love, Maddie's Mom

owensmom

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #21 on: July 13, 2007, 03:37:57 PM »
The first day my husband and I drove down Petaluma Blvd., the main street in our town, one block from the river, I saw a young man just stepping into the crosswalk.  His build, his hair, and the way he walked...he looked too much like Owen, and I cracked.  I still gasp when I see these kids that remind me of him, and on certain days, I feel if I see another one, I won't be able to go on.  It's very hard for me to stay in my body while driving, so whenever I can, I have someone else do it.  That's not always possible.

Yesterday, I went to the post office to send off a condolence card to my sister-in-law, whose mom passed away a few weeks after Owen.  Two of the kids who used to stay at our house with Owen walked past my car, and I wanted to turn the car on, and run them over.  I was on the phone with my brother at the time, and he said, well, at least it would give a new meaning to "going postal" and for a few minutes I was just seething, but also laughing at the way my mind works now -- that it never did before.  I'm the rational, reasonable, analytical one in the family, and this is very strange.

About ten minutes later, continuing to run errands (the first time I've been able to do this by myself), I called my best friend, Owen's godmother, Lea, and told her it was like a switch had been flipped from the deep pit I had been in for the past week, to this new enraged monster that reminded me of all the stories of revenge I'd ever heard.  We talked through it, because it's been happening with her, too, and I came out the other side.  (She's known Owen since birth and lived with us for 3 months recently in a period of transition. She had just moved out 2 weeks before Owen went missing.  They had spent so much time together over the years, and were so close.  She's feeling a lot of the child-loss along with us.)

I'm feeling this defiant side of me that's new, too.  I've never been an activist of any kind, but feel I have a new mission in life because of the way Owen's death has been handled (mishandled) by the authorities and papers.  So, I finished my errands, got a coffee, and drove to Water Street, where these kids hang out.  I parked my car, and walked over to the benches along the river, and there were a few kids that I recognized.

One was a girl that was walking by the post office earlier and I keep running into her (not over her).  She looked at me, started crying (she does every time we see each other), and came to sit with me.  She put her arm around me, and we cried.  Her boyfriend had quite a different reaction, "This is so f*****" put his head in his hands and didn't seem to come up for air for quite some time.  By the time he did, there were at least 20 kids down there -- they seem to collect right after 5:30 in the evenings, when it starts to cool down.  Several who had stayed at our house over the last few weeks of Owen's life came over to talk with me.  Pretty soon, the word had spread that I was Owen's mom, and still more kids started to gather. 

It's so strange what I see in their eyes.  For some of them, it's pain.  For others, it's shame.  For others, its fear.  And, I know they all know what happened, and they're watching each other to see if anyone gets "weak" and might tell. 

I stayed for an hour and 35 minutes, during which time a mid-20s guy walked right down the sidewalk with a case of beer, and those who felt comfortable, went over and grabbed a couple each.  They opened them right there on the street, drinking like it was legal and acceptable, then threw their bottles in the river, and I kept seeing them throwing Owen in, that late night in May.  The only way I can imagine I was able to continue sitting there watching this, is that I had gone back into the shock stage. 

Not one single police officer, or another adult walked or drove by during this time.  It was so easy to see how this behavior continues and is growing by the minute.  I kept imagining Owen being a part of this crowd, and it just didn't fit, even though we knew he liked to drink beer and play hacky sack with other young people.  He had gotten a ticket for having 2 beers in his possession and being underage about a year ago, and we thought he was done with that kind of thoughtlessness and carelessness.  Though, the last 3 weeks of his life, I had talked with him about drinking and how it can grab hold and not let go for some people, (we've had this conversation in our house over the years due to family history).  After he passed away, one of the kids told me that a certain other person was buying Owen beer, then stealing from him.  That certain other person was the other kid by the post office. 

My anger is so volatile right now, and there are many times when I'm afraid to leave the house.  But, this defiant thing keeps happening, where we go to the bridge where he was found to throw in flowers, never knowing who we might run into.  It's upstream from the River Walk area, and there would be no way to get help if something happened.  Just like with Owen. 

Today is Friday the 13th, and Owen was born on a Friday the 13th in June of 1986.  He always looked forward to these occasional reasons to celebrate his life in this dramatic, symbolic way.  I think I'm going to have to go to the bridge with flowers this afternoon.  My brother-in-law should be here soon, so I'll take him as my bodyguard.  I hope he agrees, since Dave's at work.

I must be freaking crazy. 

Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers.  We are doing the same for all of you, and learning about your children, and how much you miss them, too.  That is the only way we'll get through this, well, and the crying, screaming, beating our fists on the bed, sleepless nights, starvation, and swimming our way through the jaws of change.

Linda
Owen's mom
« Last Edit: July 13, 2007, 04:16:57 PM by owensmom »

Lonnie

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #22 on: July 13, 2007, 04:42:49 PM »
Owen's mom: It is almost like watching a mystery, except that it is far too real. I understand your need to know what happened, and to be near where it happened. Perhaps one day, one of the teens will tell what they know. The ones who might consider it are probably very afraid. Are the police giving any attention to Owen's murder at all? That is so tragic about the place where the kids hang out without supervision, and the beer is brought in. I also understand your rage. How could you not feel that way? Hang on, and follow your gut. I really believe one day you will find out the answers you need. Many prayers and thoughts of you, Lonnie (Main Board)

Donnys Dad

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #23 on: July 14, 2007, 07:42:49 AM »
Owens Mom, I am so glad you found this site.  Although sorry you had to join our group we are glad to have you here.  You will find this group to be full of wonderful caring people.
I Miss You So Much Buddy, My Best Friend, My Tiger

Don, Donny's Proud Dad


owensmom

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #24 on: July 14, 2007, 10:24:39 PM »
My brother-in-law did go with me to the "pipebridge" yesterday evening, Friday the 13th.  We took 13 sunflowers with us, as they float beautifully in the ebbing and flowing tides of the River (not actually a river, but a slough from the San Pablo Bay north of San Francisco). 

There were a bunch of people gathered under the tree near the pipebridge, all drinking beer.  I looked over, as Ken and I approached, and said, "It's Friday the 13th.  If you want to throw flowers into the river with us, come on over."  Only two people came over, out of the dozen or so.  One is a guy in his mid-30's, I think he's homeless, but he always smiles or nods at me when our eyes meet.  I said, "Owen was born on a Friday the 13th", and he said, "I'll take a flower."  He was the first to take one and walk on the very dangerous bridge (no handrails and lots of gaps, as this is a bundle of pipes that carry some type of gas from one side of the bridge to the other) and sat down for a few minutes, only about 8 feet out.  I could hear him talking, but not his words.  Then, another, younger man came over, and this one was hard for me, because others have told me he didn't much like Owen, that Owen challenged him on subjects of life and truth.  He, too, sat with the older guy, and they exchanged a few words. 

Ken and I threw in flowers, one by one, with our private thoughts, from about 2 feet across the bridge.  The tide was low, but still around 3 feet, so the flowers floated beautifully back downstream.  Ken hugged me, and I cried.  Both of the guys walked back then, and went to rejoin the others under the tree.

There were four flowers left, and I said, "Let's go up to the next bridge, and throw these in there."  That bridge, which is an old wooden trestle, is where Owen's body was retrieved by the fire department rescue boat on June 2. 

Nearing the trestle, I told Ken that there's a guy who lives up there in a tent, that's seriously not in his right mind, and that he's quite scary.  Ken said not to worry (years in the military, he wasn't as nervous as I was, and said, "As we say in airports now, I've got your "6").  Sure enough, the guy was sitting near the entrance to the trestle, playing music on a boombox, quietly, and said nothing.  I ran into him in the early days of our search, and he was downright hostile because I had disturbed his territory.

We walked past, and onto the trestle, and looked back downstream at the pipebridge, and could barely hear the muffled chatter of the lost drinkers under the tree.  We noticed then, that the two men who had taken flowers had not thrown them into the river, but had stuck them in the bridge where they sat.  It occurred to me, then, that that's where Owen was either pushed or fell into the river.  I can't know, but it was a strong "knowing" and I'll never get that vision out of my mind.

Ken and I threw in the last four flowers, and with the last one, I shouted, "Number 13", as this was Owen's birthdate, and one of his favorite numbers, the other one being 31, for Halloween, his favorite holiday. 

I think some people come into this world too sensitive for the cruelties of earthly life.  Owen was one.  I will say this for the rest of my life, for it's the truth for me, as his mother.  He trusted everyone.  His filters didn't discriminate, based on a person's behavior, even when he questioned their motives.  He made decisions because of, and in spite of, his observations.  He worried for young girls on the street, because he knew how easily they were taken advantage of, and sought out ways to help them whenever he could.  We know this because of the calls we've received from their parents over the years.

I'm home alone this weekend.  My brother-in-law, Ken, who was kind enough to go on this memorial excursion with me, and Dave, my husband, and Owen's dad, went to visit their mom this morning.  She is dying of cancer, and they have that sorrow to face in the near future.

Nat, my older son, has not answered my last two phone calls.  I think he's simply shredded, and the sound of my voice is more torture than comfort.  I miss him, too, and hope that I won't lose him in this sadness.  Owen would have hated that.

Thanks for being there.  I know you know our pain.

Linda
Owen's mom

tysmama

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #25 on: July 15, 2007, 11:50:21 AM »
Linda, Dave, and Family,

I am so sorry to hear of this tragedy. I wish there was more I could do then give words. Shaking some people would make me feel good right now. I had just the opposite experience hear when our son went missing in the nearby lake. Our guys in uniform were great and did everything they said they would. Please know that you have a great base hear and we will all listen and help as much as possible. Wishing you some peace and ease with all of the GOOD memories.

Keeping you and yours close,
Michelle
Ty's Mama
In Loving Memory "Boy Wonder"
Tylor Eugene Heath
April 3, 1992-May 21, 2006

Lonnie

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #26 on: July 15, 2007, 12:20:36 PM »
Linda: I just got shivers when I read what you said about the 2 guys leaving their flowers on the pipebridge. Your keen observation is probably correct. You said that the pipebridge was very dangerous. That may have been what happened to Owen. But I know that you wish one of the people there would just let you know if he fell or was pushed into the water. I am going to pray that someone will have the guts to come forward and tell you the truth. It was very kind of Ken to be there for you, and I am so sorry to hear that their mom is dying of cancer. I know that must be so painful to watch. Many hugs and prayers are coming your way. Please continue to let us know what you discover. Love, Lonnie (Main Board)

owensmom

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #27 on: July 15, 2007, 02:19:55 PM »
I woke up today, and for some reason, the first thing I asked myself was, "What's your favorite day of the week?"  I realized, I no longer have one.  It used to be Sunday because that's when our family got to spend the most time together.  Even if Owen was going to work, I got to spend part of the day with him.  Even if Nat had something else to do, often, this was the day we got together.  Today is Sunday, and I'll be spending it by myself.

Dave and his brother are visiting their mom this weekend, and I couldn't pull myself together to go with them.  They're dealing with her end-of-life issues, and I can't be helpful at this point, so thought I should stay home.  This is a very lonely place right now, and I'm surrounded by all of Owen's stuff and all of my memories of what our family used to be.

People say that although there is a different life waiting for us out there, I care so little about anything but our small circle, and keep wondering what we'll be like a year from now.  That's the only reason I even bother getting out of bed. 

With no one around, and nothing to do, my days are filled with staring into space, remembering the good times, and then crumbling into that dark pit of questions and no answers.  There are so many people to blame for losing Owen.  They get to walk around, looking for their next laugh, or their next friend, or their next love.  I've never felt this kind of rage.

Those kids stole our future.  The future that is to come now, is full of more of this.  The rest of my family, extended family, and friends are dealing with Owen's death on their own terms.  I hope they are doing it better than my experience - forcing myself into the day.


Lonnie

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #28 on: July 17, 2007, 01:12:50 PM »
Linda: Thinking of you and sending you a warm hug.   :'( Just take one moment at a time, as a day is too long. Know that we are here for you anytime you need to talk. Many prayers, Lonnie

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Re: Owen, our beloved mystery man
« Reply #29 on: July 18, 2007, 01:05:53 AM »
Some hard days in the last two weeks.  More than I could ever have imagined, and wish you didn't have them, too.

Dave went with me this afternoon to see my counselor, Gretchen.  He was really having a hard time with the changes in me, but understood he couldn't experience Owen's death in the same way as me, but equally as hard.

We had a good talk, tears, at least one laugh (that's all I ask for now), and some understanding of how different it is, to lose a child than any other person in your life.  The way Gretchen explained it to me on my first visit was:  When you give birth to a child, you make a contract with him/her, that you will take care of him/her, and prevent all harm, protect, and conquer all.  It's a promise.  And, we don't go back on our promises.

Then, they grow up, and you do everything you can to keep them safe, and offer your experience as evidence that some things really work better than others.  They take that information out into the world, and make choices on their own.  And, then, we can't control some of the things that happen, and some of the choices they make.

Dave has been worried about me since Owen's death, and I'm so glad he loves me enough to worry.  I can't explain why I do the things I do now.  I only know that when they are right for the moment, they are right.

Often, I stay up until the wee hours of the night, early morning, on the computer, doing what I always do when I don't understand something - research and commune with others.  This is what Owen did in the late night hours, too.  For years, he was on a different timetable than most of his peers and family. 

Sometimes, I would wake up around 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning, go to the kitchen for a glass of milk or water, and he would be at the computer, searching.  Always searching for information.  We had an understanding early on, that there was nothing we could do to change this.  He was simply wired that way.  So, I sometimes asked him what he was looking up, or found interesting, and he would share music or data with me, that he found compelling.

When Dave and I left Gretchen's office this evening, he caught my hand as we walked down the sidewalk toward the car.  I immediately felt Owen walking directly behind us, between us, towering over us, with his long arms wrapped around our shoulders, and saying, "Okay, you guys are gonna make it through this."  It was the most "present" I have felt him since he died.  I told Dave about it as he opened the car door for me, and I felt peace.  Owen was there, and gathered us into his arms, to say he's okay.

My evening has been hard, but good.  I haven't been able to listen to Owen's music for the last few days, because I kept going to such depths of despair, that I couldn't climb out of the pit.  But, tonight, when I decided it was okay to listen again, I felt, again, peace.

"There's nothing to fear, and nothing to doubt..."  Radiohead, Pyramid Song

Thanks, Owen, for visiting this evening.  From what I hear, you were all over the place today.  Thank you for helping Lea with her painting this morning, "River Where Beauty Sleeps."  A busy day for all...

Love,
Owen's Mom

...and hugs to all of you who are reading and staying with us through this strange and tormenting journey.