Nearly 3 Years Later, I Saw Where My Son Died by Suicide

It was beautifully painful

Author’s note: This is one of several stories I have written about the tragedy that beset our family. Links to previous articles can are at the bottom of this story. It is unimaginable pain.

The trip had been postponed twice. First, because of Covid, and second, because of Covid and other extenuating factors. Now in 2022, it was go-time.

Having nothing but the latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates where he was found, I thought this would be easy.

But then, I’m embarrassed to say I’d never used a compass.

Before I set out on the trip, I tried to find the approximate location on Google Maps. I also downloaded two compass apps on my phone. “It’s a compass, how hard can it be?” I thought. So, of course, I didn’t experiment with them until the day of discovery.

Approaching Laramie, I began to see the fences — the kind of snow fences Matthew Shepard was tied to and left for dead in 1998. It was around 90 degrees. I shivered.

Alex was very good at hiding or hiding behind facades. Most of his screen names on various social media were nothing near his real name, but some gave a clue as to who he was. For example, during his period of obsession with Lindsay Lohan, he would often go by Alex Lohan.

Alex and his best friend (I will pseudo-name him Damien) lived together with two or three girls and who knows who else in a house in Denver. That explained why all his essential documents and identification had a Denver address.

So when things didn’t work out in Denver, they moved in with Damien’s parents in Cheyenne.

“Both of the boys had been acting peculiar,” she said. “I was so busy with my job, assisting my husband with his handicap, and tending to the house, I just didn’t question anything because if I asked, both would say they were totally fine. I should have pried.”

Wyoming is a cold and lonely place during its harsh winters. So after a couple of years in Cheyenne, the boys, both who suffered from wanderlust in addition to depression, said they were going to head to warmer climes for an unspecified “while.”

Alex and I were estranged for a few years, and I will take all the blame for that. The drama I was going through at a time in my life made his life more difficult (he at least had bipolar disorder, if not something more severe), so he chose to walk away. I would get bits and pieces of his life from his big sister, and sometimes I’d catch him on social media, at which time he would promptly create new accounts. Or so it seemed to me. But I knew we’d be back together at some point.

In the last year of his life, Alex even isolated himself from his mom, who had helped him through many rough stages through the years. Then, his friends got the silent treatment for the final six months. Damien’s mom said that Alex was involved in some risky behaviors towards the end, like hanging out at truck stops and rest areas. But the autopsy report did not suggest that he had contracted any diseases.

As I learned more details, it would appear that the boys’ behavior was “fuck you all,” except for Damian’s parents.

“Alex was fascinated with the weather”, Damien’s mom said, “and he and my husband would sit on the back porch, watching approaching storms. Alex noticed a peculiar difference in how one of the storms was forming, so he hopped in his car, chased that storm down, and saw what he’d always wanted to see — a tornado”.

Alex was apparently a big help around the house. Damien’s mom and dad became very fond of Alex and took him under their wings. They constantly made and offered food, feeling that the boys were not adequately nourished. But, they would always say they were “fine.”

So early one morning, armed with my printouts from Google maps and my phone, I attempted to find the exact place where they had taken their last breaths of air. I wanted to see what Alex last saw and where he last walked. Winter had set in early, and the snow in the Vedawoo could already be measured in feet, according to police reports.

The printouts took me back and forth on one particular forest road. I was looking for a “Y” in the road that didn’t seem to exist. The compasses weren’t agreeing with each other. I didn’t drive hundreds of miles not to see the spot.

Panicked, I approached a couple of guys at a dispersed campsite and asked if they knew how to read a compass. One of them was an expert in the matter and said to download a third compass app, which he felt was the best. This app did agree with my printout. So I hopped back in my car, and in very little time, I knew I was where I needed to be, as the area was also described in police reports.

Damien’s mom had saved the thread of text messages the two of them had sent to each other over the years. She handed me the phone, and I felt like he was alive again because the messages were so Alex. Silly but also caring and considerate. Damien’s mom really did become Alex’s second mom. She was the last person to see, hear, and touch Alex.

When the boys were ready to leave for their “trip,” Damien’s mom received the biggest of hugs from them. And then another hug. And another. Upon reflection, she said that she should have seen that as some kind of a sign. We all blame ourselves.

The Vedawoo Wilderness, closer to Laramie than Cheyenne, is a rock climber and hikers’ paradise. Monolithic rocks tower over the forest floor, with boulders on top of those doing balancing acts. Hiking trails abound.

A semi-pathway had been forged between the road and their campsite, which I assumed was the route to follow based on my information.

I found it. But was I sure? No, which is why I wanted to visit Damien’s parents back in Cheyenne after my experience at the boys’ campsite.

“Did you see the long granite slab that sloped down to an area where a tent might have been?” Damien’s mom asked. “Yes, I sat on it for a long time,” I said.

It was beautiful. There were boulders the size of cars in the area, which may have helped protect them from the winter while they were alive. Beyond the campsite was a large thicket of aspen tree saplings. I laid down on the granite using my backpack as a pillow. It was a warm 83 degrees. A gentle breeze helped the aspen leaves sing their song. I closed my eyes, and I spoke to him. Very gently and lovingly.

I took a few chunks of pink, sparkly granite and a couple of pine cones from the site as a remembrance.

This was not closure for me. It was more akin to a pilgrimage. I liken it to visiting a gravesite, even though his ashes are on my bedroom dresser.

Before I left the house, Damien’s 92-year-old dad wanted a picture of us together. That’s how much Alex meant to him.

As Damien’s mom said, “I don’t understand why neither of them talked the other out of doing it.”

We will never know what was going through their minds as they drank the poison. That is why there can never be closure.

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is there to help 24/7/365 for persons in crisis. They have a new number which is easy to remember: 988.

For more perspective on my son’s saga, consider reading the following: