The only suicide note I have ever read was penned by Allen Ginsberg’s mother. “Don’t take drugs. Marry a nice girl. The key is on the window.”
I’ve thought about it a lot. A note left for a man who had widely, very publicly experimented with drugs and wrote through and about them, a man whose great desire to be one with someone led him exclusively to the arms of other men. The key is on the window – should you want to come in when I am dead.
What a sad loving letter. The last words of a woman who loved her son, who believed that staying sober and getting married could help him, help him very much.
I tried to write a letter to my sons one day when I was very depressed and not feeling well. All I came up with was, don’t smoke, don’t hit your children, try to pitch in. Be kind.
This is a good reminder for me to erase that file on this computer if I can find it. I don’t want my sons to smoke cigarettes, one still does; I don’t want them to hit their children ever but neither of them has managed to reproduce himself in spite of what seems like lots of practice and honestly, I have no idea what the key to anyplace is.
But I do know this, if I wrote a note today it would be something like this: Your being alive has made me happier than anything else on this earth. I love you in ways I cannot even verbalize to myself. I am proud of you and I approve of you 100% always. I’m grateful that I got to be your mom.
Also – if you get a chance and someone needs help, try to pitch in. Try to be kind. I love you.