***
I keep Kerry's wallet in a ziplock bag. Seven years later, it still smells of worn leather and stale Marlboro Reds. I can't remember how I got it, but I have it. I think he left it in his unlocked car along with a duffel bag filled with notebooks, newspapers, and dirty clothes.
The first time I opened his billfold, he had $137.00 dollar tucked neatly inside. A one-hundred dollar bill, one ten, two fives, and the rest singles. Days later, the hundred-dollar bill was gone. Maybe somebody needed it more than Kerry. Maybe Kerry owed them money. I don't know why someone took it. It bothered me a lot back then. I'm sort of numb to it now.
Alongside his cash, are four photo's of his year-old son Jackson, dressed in red. In three of the photo's Jackson is smiling, a big, toothless grin. In the other, he is peeking out from under a blanket, eyes wide and wonderful.
Kerry saved his ATM receipts. His last withdrawal of $20.00, posted on May 24th, left him a balance of $87.81. Two, double folded metro north train receipts show he and a guest rode from Greenwich to Grand Central - one way, off-peak.
He kept evidence of pensive purchases made in the weeks leading up to his death. Cashier Marnie noted that it was "A Pleasure to Serve Him" and that cash refunds were with receipt only.
In the center of his top-grain, cowhide wallet, directly behind his driver's license, he kept a Detectives Endowment Association Card issued by the City of New York's Police Department, a Blockbuster rewards card, three bank cards, and a Chinese, "good luck" red envelope with his name written on it.
To the side he tucked a few business cards from notable people or places he had been, along with an original copy of his fiance's, second-trimester sonogram; a first glimpse at his son, in utero, sucking his thumb.
A drug store receipt proves his intent to obtain over-the-counter sleeping pills. On May 27th, 2002 - less than two hours before his recorded time of death, he spent $31.77 on two, 32-capsule packages of rapid-release Unisom, and one, 72-capsule package of quick-release Nytol.
On March 26, 2002, Connecticut held a classic lotto drawing worth 6 million dollars. Kerry purchased two, $5.00 quick picks - which tells me that, on this day, he had hope.
***
Please take the time to reach out to those who may be suffering. To listen, validate, comfort, and be present with them. Allow them to be vulnerable, honest, and awake; and engage them with hope.
In Honor and In Memory
of
Kerry Ryan Magann
You asked that we tell your son the good things about you.
I promise to tell the world.
I promise to tell the world.
***
You nailed this one. Nothing is more personal than our wallets.
ReplyDeleteShort and to the point and some good advise. Thanks.
Shannon, your timing is on. We meeting an ex-coworker tonight for dinner who is going through an unexpected divorce. She's hitting a lot of "firsts" around the holidays and is very sad. We will listen and give hope.
ReplyDeleteThank you for reminding me firmly to listen to my adult daughters who are struggling emotionally right now. I tend to be dismissive about their suffering, minimizing what I am terrified to look at or hear.
ReplyDeleteWOW!
ReplyDeleteWonderful... hope is the perfect ending.
ReplyDeleteWonderful Honey, Thanks for Reminding Me. I Love You, Pappy
ReplyDeleteThe thing that struck me about this entry was that, to someone who knew nothing about your situation it would seem like the description of anyone's wallet contents. But knowing the full story, this becomes the description of someone's life, your sons, and gives a little insight to what he must have been feeling. Your instincts as a detective give these seemingly random things so much meaning.... a window into Kerry's life. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteBeautiffly written, Shannon. Kerry would be proud of his mom.
ReplyDeleteMerry Christmas and Happy Blogging.
Joan
Wow. Very good. A biography in a leather time capsule. Detailed poignant and touching. Well done.
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ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteShannon,
ReplyDeleteI've been looking around your blog for the first time, and I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your son. We know three friend's of friends who have 20ish sons who've ended their lives in the last month. Hopefully that's the last of it.
Take care.