And scant consolation. You know what that is John, because clearly you felt that these past few weeks. Poor bastard! How could you move on from how bad you felt? I understand that you saw no way out at all. You had tried so many ways to voice reason and appeal to your estranged wife’s better nature, but her obstruction was relentless. And the better nature vaporized by the domination of her own self and ego.
Sleep escapes me mainly. When I do fall into a slumber, I am still conscious of the fact that you have left us and how. As usual I did a lot of Google-whacking and online research after your death. Trying to see if I could get some kind of clinical explanation about why you committed suicide.
I try to imagine your body, hanging as it was found. You know I had a premonition when I called your sister. I put the phone down after talking to her on Monday evening. I was worried because you hadn’t replied to any of my text messages all day. So unlike you, you always responded so quickly – apart from one day – on 24th Feb, we had a text frenzy because you had been so slow in getting back to me the previous day – and there I was in Belgrade, waiting on your every text. Strangely, you said to me in one of your texts that you would try and “do better” next time. I am piecing it all together now.
I realise that you had tried to commit suicide before. And I wonder if your final successful attempt was the third or second. On that Saturday – you kept offering to cease communication with me, and I told you not to be so ridiculous John! How, if I was annoyed that you hadn’t responded so quickly to me previously, could I want you then to stop contacting me? Anyway, we resolved it and renewed our usual feverish pitch of declarations of love and frienship and the banalities of what we’d had for tea that day.
Here is the thing: you came to London on 20th January with a burn mark on your neck and explained it away as some kind of mishap with the zip of your jacket. I now realise that you had most probably been trying – can’t really call it a dry run. Your work colleagues remembered it too – but your explanation seemed so plausible that none of us suspected a thing.
The fact that you left everything so well prepared before your departure is also another indication that you had planned to do this for some time. Ironically, I think what became a major contributing factor to this was your last court hearing in December, just before Christmas, regarding access to your son, P. I say ironically, because the outcome was the most positive step in the ongoing process of seeking parental visits and access to him in the entire time since you had separated from A in October 2005. Finally, you were granted twice weekly access and the assertions made regarding your drug abuse and supposed excessive alcohol consumption completely dismissed. At last it seemed that you had really started to turn things around - reached the tipping point!
Sleep escapes me mainly. When I do fall into a slumber, I am still conscious of the fact that you have left us and how. As usual I did a lot of Google-whacking and online research after your death. Trying to see if I could get some kind of clinical explanation about why you committed suicide.
I try to imagine your body, hanging as it was found. You know I had a premonition when I called your sister. I put the phone down after talking to her on Monday evening. I was worried because you hadn’t replied to any of my text messages all day. So unlike you, you always responded so quickly – apart from one day – on 24th Feb, we had a text frenzy because you had been so slow in getting back to me the previous day – and there I was in Belgrade, waiting on your every text. Strangely, you said to me in one of your texts that you would try and “do better” next time. I am piecing it all together now.
I realise that you had tried to commit suicide before. And I wonder if your final successful attempt was the third or second. On that Saturday – you kept offering to cease communication with me, and I told you not to be so ridiculous John! How, if I was annoyed that you hadn’t responded so quickly to me previously, could I want you then to stop contacting me? Anyway, we resolved it and renewed our usual feverish pitch of declarations of love and frienship and the banalities of what we’d had for tea that day.
Here is the thing: you came to London on 20th January with a burn mark on your neck and explained it away as some kind of mishap with the zip of your jacket. I now realise that you had most probably been trying – can’t really call it a dry run. Your work colleagues remembered it too – but your explanation seemed so plausible that none of us suspected a thing.
The fact that you left everything so well prepared before your departure is also another indication that you had planned to do this for some time. Ironically, I think what became a major contributing factor to this was your last court hearing in December, just before Christmas, regarding access to your son, P. I say ironically, because the outcome was the most positive step in the ongoing process of seeking parental visits and access to him in the entire time since you had separated from A in October 2005. Finally, you were granted twice weekly access and the assertions made regarding your drug abuse and supposed excessive alcohol consumption completely dismissed. At last it seemed that you had really started to turn things around - reached the tipping point!
Finally, you had gained some kind of headway. Despite A’s continued iterations about your unsuitability as a parent – apparently, the declarations from Planet A, which sits somewhere in the universe between stubbornness, self delusion and bigotry, you were a class A drugs user and she had notions about you abducting your son.
The judge, once she had read the report from the Contact Centre where you had seen P during the interim period, still infrequently, her mind was made up that you were a sound and reasonable man who wanted access to his son. A persisted, voicing her concerns. Your sister S had accompanied you on that day, and when we discussed it later, she was incredulous and furious at the level of A’s indignation – notwithstanding her willingness to lie in order to prevent you from getting what you most wanted in the world – to see your son.
Attempts at mediation had proved fruitless, as once again A’s vitriol was matched, conversely, by a clear desire for you to reconcile with her. At this point, you felt so frustrated; having exhausted every other avenue and you knew that this battle for P would continue. For A it was a simple and straight fight, to be scored on points – keep P from you until you acquiesced and went back. And if you refused to do that, she would obstruct your access. True to her hypochondriacal form, she used illness as a tool.
The judge, once she had read the report from the Contact Centre where you had seen P during the interim period, still infrequently, her mind was made up that you were a sound and reasonable man who wanted access to his son. A persisted, voicing her concerns. Your sister S had accompanied you on that day, and when we discussed it later, she was incredulous and furious at the level of A’s indignation – notwithstanding her willingness to lie in order to prevent you from getting what you most wanted in the world – to see your son.
Attempts at mediation had proved fruitless, as once again A’s vitriol was matched, conversely, by a clear desire for you to reconcile with her. At this point, you felt so frustrated; having exhausted every other avenue and you knew that this battle for P would continue. For A it was a simple and straight fight, to be scored on points – keep P from you until you acquiesced and went back. And if you refused to do that, she would obstruct your access. True to her hypochondriacal form, she used illness as a tool.
Throughout your marriage, she had, mainly due to her morbid obesity, experienced a serious of invented and imaginary illnesses – from thyroid dysfunction to infertility, and managed to accrue one of the most shocking sick records ever! Invariably, she had paid the price – getting made redundant from the corporation before P was born after taking a year off sick because she feared that the dog in one of the adjacent buildings could bring on an asthma attack!. One of your main concerns after this was whether or not anyone would employ her again given this atrocious level of absenteeism. This then extended to Munchhausen’s Syndrome with P – taking him to the doctor at every turn, screaming meningitis on a twice yearly basis, and subsequently ensuring that he had a fairly awful level of absenteeism from school – still at the tender age of 7! He is also a hypochondriac.
Still, once December’s judgement came, you were ecstatic and we could all see the change in you. So dynamic and positive, grinning from ear to ear and feeling vindicated in some large measure as I recall. A was furious, and along with her sister confronted you outside court, calling you scum and once again accusing you of abuse. We discussed this at length; you said that A would always be like this, would never accept your separation and always use P as a way of hurting you.
My own view was that this woman and her family lived out this vicarious existence – it was like some kind of soap opera, shouting on the steps at court, cursing you because you had gained access to your son after a year of fighting, 8 months of no person-to-person contact with him, and 4 months of interrupted and obstructed fortnightly visits at the contact centre. At last you felt vindicated and we talked about a new year, a new start.
And so we also begin to understand that the confusion you felt simply was bigger than the emotional resources to deal with it. You and I had spent many hours locked in telephonic debate about your predicament. Those final times when she drove you up and down the walls with frustration, refusing you due access to your son and claiming some kind of imaginary illness, it really did affect you. We spent somewhere between three and five hours discussing it, how to work around it. I believed that you should just smoke her out – turn up, put your hand on the horn and wait for her to come rushing out. You had already tried going round to the house to at least once to see P, but as usual she refused to open the door and you had to communicate with her through the letterbox. Just fucking nuts John! Totally unnecessary. To heap more misery upon you she would text you later in the day to tell you how upset P was – the inference being that of course it was your fault. Nothing to do with the total head-fuck and emotional blackmail she bombarded you with. In the final phone conversation she had with you, she told you that she had nothing to say to you – but continued to hang on the phone for another hour or so, rambling about illness, poverty and how unfairly you were treating her, how her life was nothing but misery - misery is as misery does. It is then; little wonder that you felt you couldn't take any more. You told me that A would never accept your leaving and that you knew she would always do this.
Still, once December’s judgement came, you were ecstatic and we could all see the change in you. So dynamic and positive, grinning from ear to ear and feeling vindicated in some large measure as I recall. A was furious, and along with her sister confronted you outside court, calling you scum and once again accusing you of abuse. We discussed this at length; you said that A would always be like this, would never accept your separation and always use P as a way of hurting you.
My own view was that this woman and her family lived out this vicarious existence – it was like some kind of soap opera, shouting on the steps at court, cursing you because you had gained access to your son after a year of fighting, 8 months of no person-to-person contact with him, and 4 months of interrupted and obstructed fortnightly visits at the contact centre. At last you felt vindicated and we talked about a new year, a new start.
And so we also begin to understand that the confusion you felt simply was bigger than the emotional resources to deal with it. You and I had spent many hours locked in telephonic debate about your predicament. Those final times when she drove you up and down the walls with frustration, refusing you due access to your son and claiming some kind of imaginary illness, it really did affect you. We spent somewhere between three and five hours discussing it, how to work around it. I believed that you should just smoke her out – turn up, put your hand on the horn and wait for her to come rushing out. You had already tried going round to the house to at least once to see P, but as usual she refused to open the door and you had to communicate with her through the letterbox. Just fucking nuts John! Totally unnecessary. To heap more misery upon you she would text you later in the day to tell you how upset P was – the inference being that of course it was your fault. Nothing to do with the total head-fuck and emotional blackmail she bombarded you with. In the final phone conversation she had with you, she told you that she had nothing to say to you – but continued to hang on the phone for another hour or so, rambling about illness, poverty and how unfairly you were treating her, how her life was nothing but misery - misery is as misery does. It is then; little wonder that you felt you couldn't take any more. You told me that A would never accept your leaving and that you knew she would always do this.
Well you were wrong, because your death has changed that.
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