Grieving Ryan

People ask me how I'm doing and I tell them, "Pretty well, except when I'm not." Not is less and less often. I've thought a lot about why I'm doing as well as I am.  Of course there are a lot of reasons, but one that stands out in particular: wealth and privilege .  As I have made my way through these last months, as I found him and called the police, as I made arrangements for his cremation and memorial, as I traveled to Atlanta; I did not, even once, wonder how I would pay for it all.  I didn't fear that the police would see my color and make assumptions. I didn't wonder if he had killed himself because I had failed to provide for him.   When I looked at grief head on and saw a long road before me, I cut back on my work and didn't worry about my income.  Because of many accidents of birth and circumstance, because of dozens or hundreds of happenings outside my control, I happen to have privileges of race and wealth and education that allowed me t...

Some days are harder than others. Sometimes there is not a reason. Sometimes there is. Today there is a reason. Today I explained to the deputy coroner that the part of the autopsy report where she described what I had said to her on the worst day of my life was simply wrong.  It might not matter to someone else. The real facts and her supposed facts all point in the same direction. The conclusion is no different. The toxicology report, his stomach contents, the diagnoses from his psychiatrist tell the tale. As far as I can tell they got all of that right. It may not matter that the deputy coroner manufactured a diagnosis of ADHD and a visit from Atlanta friends that never happened.  It matters to me. Truth has always been important to me. Many stages of my life would have been easier if I had been willing to tell the lie that made everyone comfortable. I didn't seek comfort in lies when I was 5, and I cannot countenance being misrepresented in a public document as I approach ...