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Jason’s room in the brown house was up the stairs, to the left. A dark brown, queen sized sleigh bed was pushed up against the wall between matching nightstands, and a rocking chair stood by where he used to drape his clothes if they were too clean to throw in the laundry.

There was a 357 magnum in one of the nightstands. Jason used to take it out with his friends and shoot the road signs.

When I was pregnant, we were the only ones living in the house, so we slept in the master bedroom downstairs. When he left for work, I would go upstairs because the mattress in his old bedroom was softer and more comfortable, so plush it felt like luxury to sleep in. A green quilt was laid over the bed- we got it for our wedding. I loved the varying fabrics on the patches and the animal skin accents.

On the day Jason died, I called my parents. My baby and I were alone. When my parents got there, I was still standing by my truck, keeping it between me and the house, like it could shield me. The front door was standing open, and I couldn’t focus on it.

Dad hugged me and I sobbed, “Something was wrong!” He can’t stand to see me in pain. My pain becomes his pain.

So many people were in our house. I went in our room with trepidation, because no one told me where he died, so I assumed it would be there, but it wasn’t. I mechanically pulled clothes out of the dresser for my baby boy and anything loose out of the closet for myself. I walked out of the room and someone said, “She’s in shock.” I can only imagine what I looked like from that memory.

Someone tried to stop me, but I went upstairs. Straight to his old bedroom. The green quilt was slung back and a deep stain of blood was on the far side of the mattress. I pushed past the dresser and dropped on the floor, staring at the bed.

I don’t remember how long I stayed there, but at some point I got up and struggled open the drawers, looked under the bed, even in the attic storage. He had to have left a note…but I knew Jason. He did not like to write, so he didn’t leave a note.

 


 

 

We had moved the rocking chair in that bedroom and replaced it with a treadmill. I remember working out up there one day with music blasting. Jason suddenly bounded into the room with a huge smile on his face, scaring me so much I almost wiped out. I did use that treadmill one more time shortly after he died, just so I could stare at the doorway, wishing he would come in. Exercise was something I needed to help me cope- the release of endorphins.

 

Click here for Part 4 of What Happened.

 

 

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    8 Comments

  1. Julie

    You don’t know me. But I was close with this family. Still am. I was much younger than Jason, and with this biggest crush. He would stay up late with me and play board games and take me riding in his mustang when I would come and stay. His death put a big damper on my teenage years. I miss him so. And reading these now that I have found them, make me miss him more. I hope you are well, and his son. God bless.

    • Bonnie Drew

      Thank you for reading Julie. I can just picture him driving in the Mustang. He used to drive on the dirt roads with his nieces and nephews laughing in the backseat. Jason had the most magnetic personality, and we will always miss him. God bless you too!

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