Friday, September 22, 2006


It’s 3 AM. I’m sitting in my living room tonight, back in Pennsylvania, watching these words come across the screen. I’ve been staring at that blinking cursor for an hour now, barely moving. You shouldn’t be able to do anything at a time like this and I can’t, I can’t do anything but sit here and watch the words come. I can hear my hands on the keyboard and see the words but I don’t feel it. I keep turning on the TV and turning it off and getting up to get myself a glass of water. I’ve had six glasses of water in the last two hours, I think.

Four days ago, Tuesday night, C.’s sister called me at my motel up in Stoneview and told me I had to come back home. She was crying. I remember thinking she must have had a cold. She said it’s Logan. She said something happened to him. I couldn’t understand the details. I said is he hurt. What happened? She said it’s worse than that. I didn’t understand. I think I said let me talk to my wife. They wouldn’t let me talk to her. She was sedated.

They don’t know how it happened. They saw the plastic dry-cleaning bag on the floor but they don’t know why he ever would’ve put it over his head.

He was two years old.

He’d never done anything like that before in his whole life.

Upstairs now I can hear C. crying. You know how you can tell it’s 3 AM because it doesn’t feel like any time at all. Samuel is asleep in his brother’s bed. He’s holding onto his brother’s stuffed Elmo, the one with the stiff fur from the oatmeal Logan spilled on it. He’s wearing Logan’s pjs even though they’re too small on him. He says that’s all he’s going to where from now on. I just stopped to listen but I can’t tell if he’s sleeping or not, he keeps jerking around and every so often he makes a low noise like a scream but somehow quiet. Maybe he’s making it into his pillow. When I go up there he won’t look at me.

Maybe I’ll go up in a while and talk to C. I hear her in the bathroom now, the tap turning on, water moving. We’re one thirsty family, all right.

He was two years old. He liked trucks. He never had a haircut. The first word he ever said was “pretzel.” We were at the Baltimore Zoo and Samuel and C. and I all got pretzels and we were standing outside the hippo tank. I was holding Logan and he was asleep when the hippo came up out of the water and Logan woke up and started crying. At first we thought it scared him but afterward he started pointing at us and saying pretzel. He just wanted a pretzel.

It’s 3 AM. I should go lie down.

I have to get up early in the morning to bury my little boy.


Blogger Jade Walker said...

I'm so incredibly sorry for your loss. Please accept my sincerest condolences.

12:13 AM  
Blogger Bev Walton~Porter said...

Words cannot fully express how sorry I am for your loss. I cannot imagine what you and your family are going through. My heart goes out to you all.

With deepest sympathy during this time....

2:07 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Forgive me, but after reading the rest of your entries, I'm pretty sure that this is all fiction, or a marketing campaign for a movie of some sort. You head off in pursuit of a historical serial killer who preyed on children, your investigate spooky houses, things fall apart with your wife, and now a death in the family, your child?

4:56 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oh, duh, all I needed to do was click the first link, Chasing Ghosts, which goes directly to the book. Oy.

Not so great, this, for a minute there I thought I was reading about genuine grief, and my heart ached for you. But it's all just a commercial... meh.

4:58 PM  

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