A Family Affair

I regret to inform you that your son has passed away.

    Phone's ringing. What time is it?
    3:00 am. Who the hell's calling at 3:00 am?
    "Hello?"
    "Mr. Krenshaw? "
    "This is he."
    "Mr. Krenshaw, my name is Dr. Sanders. I work at the recovery center your son is residing in. I regret to inform you that he has passed away."
    "What�"?"
    "I’m so sorry for your loss. I'll call you tomorrow with details, goodbye."
    The line dies. Dial tone.
    I lie back beside Martha. I move to touch her shoulder but stop myself.
    I’ll tell her tomorrow. Somehow.
    Oh God, Sam, what did you do?

***

    The walls are completely white.
    No posters. No paintings. No color.
    The coroner pulls back the sheet.
    "Is this your son?"
    Martha's screaming. Sobbing and shaking.
    The first thing through my mind is that my son is blue.
    His face. His chest. The veins in his arms and legs.
    Blue.
    "Yes, that's Sam. That's my son."

***

    "Well, Mr. Krenshaw, it appears that your son suffered from an overdose of the medication we were using to wane him off his heroin addiction."
    "You're telling me my son died from an overdose of a drug you were using in order to prevent him from overdosing on another drug?"
    "That's correct."
    My fists shake.
    "How long was he like this?"
    "I'm sorry?"
    "I want to know how long my son lay choking on his own vomit until one of your caretakers decided to stroll in."
    "Sir, I want you to know that I had no way of observing your son�""
    "Tell me who was."

***

    Martha's at my side. She hides her face.
    The man is about Sam's age. He doesn't smile as we enter.
    "Mr. Krpec, Mrs. Krpec."
    "Mr. Stone."
    "I want you to know that Sam was a good friend. Whatever happened, I'm sure it was an accident."
    "Just tell me what happened to him."
    His eyes are red.
    "I was watching him."
    "I know."
    "He told me to leave. He wanted privacy. We respect our guest's privacy."
    "Did he say anything?"
    "No."
    "Did he seem distant? Upset?"
    "No."
    "Anything at all?"
    "Mr. Krenshaw, please."
    "I need to know something."
    He's shaking. We both are.
    "Mr. Krenshaw, please leave, there’s nothing to be gained"
    "I'm not done here."
    "Leave now."
    "What happened to my son?"
    He stands, accidentally knocking the metal stool to the ground.
    "Get out."
    "What happened to my boy?"
    "Get out."
    There were tears in his eyes.
    I shut the door as I exit.

***

    Martha stands across the room. I'm at the dinner table.
    Letters of information spill across the floor and tabletop.
    She breaks my concentration.
    "Stop this."
    "I can't."
    "Stop!"
    I glance in her direction for a moment, then turn back to my work.
    Her hair is tussled. She shakes with pain and frustration.
    "Our son is dead! He's dead!"
    "You think I don't realize that? You think I don't know?"
    "I think you're looking for a way to hide from it all."
    "There have been so many cases filed against this place�""
    "Carl, it's not their fault."
    "They should have been watching our son!"
    "It's not their fault. They didn't make Sam take the pills, didn't make him use needles. It's not their fault. Why do you suddenly care so much?"
    I turn to face her.
    "What is that supposed to mean?"
    "Everything. When did you ever tell our boy you loved him? When's the last time you told me you loved me? Why do you care so much now?"
    "I loved that boy!"
    "Then why did you never show it? All the times you could have shown your love for him, for me."
    "Martha, stop this."
    "Answer me!"
    I slam my fist into the desk. Papers fly up and drift to the ground below.
    "Because...because I was afraid."
    "Afraid? Afraid of what?"
    "I can’t explain it. It’s like I was terrified. Afraid that if I grew too close to Sam, too near to anyone, that they’d be taken from me."
    "And yet our son is still gone."
    "I know."
    I want to weep, but my eyes are dry.
    "Sam deserved better."
    "He did, but this is what he got."
    "He deserved so much better."
    Martha heads towards the bedroom.
    She glances back.
    "Maybe his death was not an accident. You have to consider it, even I have, that maybe this was not their fault. Either way, there was nothing we could do."

***

    "Dad?"
    "Yes, Samuel?"
    "Want to play catch?"
    "Not right now, I'm busy working."
    "Then a little later?"
    "Maybe. We'll see."
    "Dad?"
    "Yes?
    "I love you."
    "I know...go outside and play. I'll be out when I'm finished. Just be patient."

Reviews

[Longing for Home]

I received a phone call from the Inhouse Psychiatrist at the inpatient mental health facility two summers ago saying that my son was being transported to the emergency room after being resucitated from a heroin overdose of pills that another patient had given to him.....I've received that kind of phone call more times than I care to count. And sometimes I wonder, how many of them were "accidents"?

Very good, very true to form. Very realistic.

Regards,

April

[Blade & Blood (The ..]

Like all of your work, very intense. ^^ Fabian G. Franklin's got a bit of a point; the doctor was pretty robotic, but other than that, the rest of the characters are more 'alive'. ;) So, yeah, this was such a sad story, yet I truly appreciate the flashback; a little background always does the reader good. ^^

Thanks for sharing!

Ironically Yours, Blade and Blood

[Raef C. Boylan]

"were using to wain him off his heroin addiction." [wain = wean?]

The sparse details and snippets of dialogue make it all the more grim. You relay the different scenes and emotions well; it's half a play, half story.
I don't know if the guy who worked there would have said get the f**k out and thrown a chair. The overpowering feelings might have made him want to, but they're well trained at dealing with angry bereaved relatives. My friend tried to hang herself a few times in a residential ED/drugs clinic, and her mum went in there with the same kind of anger and they responded with calm facts.
Maybe this is a true story though. Maybe partly true and partly speculation. I don't know.
If Sam is the cousin you lost recently, I'm really sorry that it happened this way.

How are we supposed to feel about that flashback conversation at the end? That the dad is at fault? Or that he made time for his son but didn't express his love, as the mother points out? Or...?

Good work. Thanks for sharing it with me.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

O.K. I don't think any organization, let alone individual would be so callous in dispensing such information. I wanted an " We are sorry for your loss and will call you tomorrow..." at least. The whole thing rang of Cats In The Cradle...Do you know the Harry Chapin tune? Ah, but I get the message.