Author: sheilahjfrench

5 September 2013

My darling boy, you are 20.

What should I do, Vaughn? You told me you wouldn’t leave me, but you did. I feel bad for letting you down. But you let me down too. And I’m left here, alone. And you’re gone.

Oh my darling, I forgive you for everything. All you did, anyway, was live your life the best you could. The drugs were stronger than you, sweetheart. I don’t blame you.

Do you forgive me? Can I forgive myself? We won’t have that conversation–not in this life–unless you come to me.

Are you safe, darling? Are you serenely happy, as Ivan saw you in his dream?

I feel your soul very near to me, my love.

I was not a great mother–far from perfect, we all know that. but surely you felt my love? I know I was angry sometimes, childish sometimes, sulky and manipulative sometimes. But I loved you I loved you I loved you. Fiercely.

I used to say, ‘I love you–and I like you.’ And I did. It was a way of saying I love YOU. Yes, I love you because you are my child. But I also love YOU–the person you are. You were so beautiful, darling–inside and out, as they say.

Were you only destined for a short life? Why did it have to be so painful? Do you know the answers to these questions?

Stay with me, Vaughn, let me feel your soul close, until the day I am ready to go and I will finally see you face to face.

Give my love to Dad, and my mom, even my dad, and your grandpa, and Bob, and Richie.

I don’t know how to go on, Vaughn. I try to set you free. How do I do that? By setting myself free?? But I don’t want to be free of you!

You know I love you darling. I wish I could have protected you. I wish I’d been a better mother. You blessed me, darling. I wish I’d appreciated that more when you were here.

Well, the leaves are beginning to rustle, as they do at this time of year. And the breeze has a certain rumble to it, as if it’s been blown across distant terrain, from the heart of a mystery.  And going where? Across our cheeks and into another mystery. All we can do is feel it, and hear it–we can’t follow it. Or catch it, as Bob Dylan says.

You’ve gone with the wind, my sweet boy. You were here, touching my cheek, so briefly. And now you have softly gone. Into mystery. And I can’t follow you. I can’t catch you.

I’m left with nothing but now. A kingdom, they say. But how can it be a kingdom without you in it?

I must go on. I will turn to that tomorrow. Today, my boy, I feel you with me.

I’ll go make your birthday blackberry pie. I picked the blackberries yesterday at Julie’s. Really sweet, fat ones.

15 July 2013

I feel shitty I feel shitty I feel shitty I feel shitty I feel shitty I feel shitty I feel shitty

And I want it to go away

And it won’t

All I can do is give it time

Oh my darling Vaughn–the way I feel about you is so much worse than feeling shitty. Feeling shitty is a minor distraction compared to losing you. I will talk about that minor distraction now, okay? I don’t even think I can write about my feelings about you dying. I think it might kill me. No–it wont kill me, it’ll just make me wish it would.

Here I go–I’m feeling shitty about the impending breakup with a man I’d been in a relationship with at the time of Vaughn’s death. I have sometimes felt ashamed that I even had the energy to give a damn about that, but I’ve come to see it was a distraction from my grief about Vaughn, and maybe even a useful distraction, as I simply could not face the reality of my pain at that time.

I will lose this man, just like I lost Vaughn. And Don. And my mom. People just go away. People I love. People who love me. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

I don’t want impermanence. I want someone to stay–at least until one of us dies. Someone I can love and who will love me. Livia, of course. But even though she will stay, she has to make me a smaller part of her life as she gets older. It’s inevitable.

Fuck impermanence.

6 June 2013

I think it’s the 6th of June. 6-6-13. Two months and 8 days since Vaughn died. Yes Tina, “it sux day after day.” And she’s three years out.

I will feel pain forever. It’s stupid–futile–to think it will ever go away. On my deathbed I will still remember Vaughn. My darling boy. He is always my darling boy. Will I ‘see’ him again? God how I wish I believed that.

My darling boy–to see you–freed from your addiction–what would I give for five seconds of that?

I will NOT get caught up in how “wrong” this was. That makes no sense. It’s “wrong” for any young person to die. And yet they do. All the time, all over the world. All of their mothers, sisters, cousins, and friends are heartbroken and know it shouldn’t have happened.

And it did. It just fucking did.

And Don died too. He just did.

Is the world against me? Wow–what a huge ego trip that would be. People die. Losses are not distributed randomly (well they are–but random doesn’t mean equal) through the population.

I got more than some people. I’m not the only one. Will I let this destroy me? I already know the answer to that question.

I will feel what I feel. And I will go on.

31 March 2013

Vaughn Simpson Charles

On Friday, March 29, we lost our dear brother and son. Throughout his long search for peace, and even during his most difficult times, Vaughn remained, always, sensitive, loving, kind, and generous. Sweet is the word that comes to mind most often for those of us remembering him. Vaughn was happiest surrounded by friends and family; he had an easy, genuine manner and sly sense of humor. He felt compassion for people from all persuasions and stations in life, and never walked past a person asking for help.

Vaughn was predeceased by his beloved father, Don Charles. He is survived by his mother, Sheilah French, and sister, Livia Charles. He will be ever remembered and missed by many family members in California and New Zealand.

May you find peace in your next journey darling boy.

Memorial info

In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to National Alliace on Mental Illness, Sonoma County.

30 March 2013

This morning I woke up knowing I will never see Vaughn again. I’ll never hear his voice–Hi Mom, it’s Vaughn–or touch him or smell him. I laid with him for a long time last night. smelling him, touching him.

And of course the sun came up again today just like usual. And now it’s raining. As it should be.

22 January 2013

Vaughn my dearest. My darling. How I love you still. How I long for you to come back. Come home. How I hate to see you suffering. My darling. If only there were something I could do. Something to help you.

And yet I could have brought you food today and I didn’t. You said you understood. I don’t understand. How can a mother not bring food to her hungry son? It breaks my heart.

And maybe it was the right thing, but I could have seen you, hugged you. I could have talked with you–told you you should turn yourself in. But I did tell you that on the phone.

I thought–it’s hard for me to see you. But it’s hard not to see you.

Please be safe my darling. I send you whatever love or strength or protection I have. I pray your higher self looks out for you.

Here I am again. In that place again. Feeling my pain and my love–yes. But also second-guessing myself. Wondering if what I did or didn’t do will make a difference–or could have made a difference. I can choose to do it differently next time–see him, give him some food. But I’m kidding myself if I think my actions at this point have much effect one way or the other.

Vaughn knows I love him. He knows I’ve stood by him. He knows I’ll be there if he makes any effort to get off drugs. He knows why I’m not helping him with money or food.

But still–I would have liked to hug him. I hope I will have another opportunity. But I don’t know what’s going to happen. I have no control over the future and no control over Vaughn.