I pulled into my driveway about twenty minutes later and walked into my house. My mother appeared from out of the kitchen.
"Hi, mom," I greeted sadly, setting the keys to my car down in the little dish on the small table that sat by the front door. "How was Parker?"
"Oh, you know Parker. He was a darling, as usual. How was the party? Did you have fun?"
"I had a few drinks by myself," I replied, shrugging my shoulders, "No one really talked to me, not even my friends. And when people did talk to me, all they would say is how sorry they were and how bad they felt for me."
"Oh, Patrick..." My mom pouted and rubbed my upper arm gently. "It's going to be okay." I gave her an incredulous look.
She kissed me on the cheek and told me she was going to leave. As she was getting her things together, she requested that I call her the next day so that she knew I was still alive. I told her that I would, but I didn't.
My mother closed the door behind her and I walked into the kitchen, picking up the mail I brought in earlier that day and skimming through it.
I almost had a heart attack when I heard a faint "Daddy?" come from behind me.
I slowly glanced over my shoulder to see my son standing in the threshold between the kitchen and the front entryway. He was dressed in his little Batman pajamas and in his arms was an old teddy bear of mine. It actually was the one I'd won my wife at an amusement park we went to while we were dating.
"Parker, what are you doing up?" I set the mail down and turned around so I was facing him, putting my hands on my hips, "I thought Grandma Stumph put you to bed."
"She did. But I can't sleep," He murmured, his grip on the teddy bear growing tight, "I want Mommy, Daddy," He whimpered before he began to sob.
I frowned before walking up to him and picking him up. I started to bounce on my feet and sway side to side in an attempt to calm him down. He cried into my shoulder and I could feel his small, fragile body being wracked by the violent sobs he was producing. It hurts when your kid is crying and there's nothing you can do to make them stop.
"I do too," I croaked, "I do too..." I was fighting to keep myself from letting my guard down and crying with him. He couldn't see me weak like I really was. He just couldn't.
I stood there for a little more until he had calmed down. "You okay?" I asked him. He never answered me, he just rested his head on my wet shoulder, his breathing still a little shaky as he recovered from crying. "Let's get you back to bed," I whispered before walking upstairs to his bedroom with him still in my arms. I laid him down in the crib that he was slowly growing too big for and pulled his blankets over him.
Parker sniffled and looked up at me with red and puffy eyes. "Where's Mommy, Daddy?" He asked sincerely, his cheeks wet from the tears streaming down his face. "Is she still sleeping?"
I chuckled dejectedly, "Yeah. She's still sleeping."
"Can you wake her up?" He pulled the blanket even higher up on him, exposing his little toes, "I want her to tell me a bedtime story."
"She can't tell you a bedtime story, Park," I swallowed hard, "She's sleeping."
"When will she wake up then?" He muttered innocently, his green eyes glistening with tears.
I sat down on the edge of his mattress (because one wall of the crib had been taken down so he could get in and out without having to scream for either his mom or me to let him out) and sighed, "She's not waking up for a long time, Parker."
"Why?" He inquired softly.
If you hadn't gotten the notion yet, the love of my life and Parker's mom is dead. She took her own life about a month before this story started. For what reason? I haven't the slightest clue.
When I went on tour, the thing I missed the most was my family. Always have, always will. They're the first thing I wanted to see when I came home. But not like I did this time. Even years later, I still remember the day like it was yesterday.
It was sunny out. The weather was perfect - not too hot, not too cold, a couple of clouds in the bright blue sky, and a nice breeze that blew through the trees and rustled the vibrant green leaves stemming off of the branches. I was in an exceptionally good mood - the tour the band had, as a whole, was a success. One of our best by far, if you asked me.
I was dropped off in front of my house, and usually when I came home from tour, she'd be standing in the driveway, with Parker once he was born, so she could greet me the second I stepped out of the vehicle with my bags in hand. But this time she wasn't there and neither was Parker. I shrugged it off, though, and assumed she got caught up in something and maybe forgot I was coming home.
How wrong I was.
I didn't let her absence deter me and entered the house, keeping my spirits high and exclaiming, "I'm home!" in hopes that my wife would shout back. But the only response I got was from our son.
"Daddy!" Parker called excitedly.
I followed his voice and found him in the living room, where he was in his playpen with his toys scattered about the floor, trapped inside the flimsy colorful plastic fence.
"Hey Buddy!" I set down my bags and walked up to him, picking him up out of the playpen and kissing him on the cheek, "Where's your mom?" He shrugged his shoulders, indicating he didn't know. I placed him back down and started searching the house for her. After checking the entire downstairs and half of the upstairs, I stumbled upon the bathroom.
I patted my son on his leg and answered his question, "Because Mommy's really tired and she needs a lot of sleep."
He pouted before mumbling, "Can you tell me a bedtime story then? Ooh!" His eyes lit up, "I don't want you to tell me a bedtime story. I want you to sing me Mommy's song!"
I swallowed hard, "Mommy's song?"
"You know...the one about honey and bees."
I smirked, knowing exactly what he was talking about. But the smirk quickly faded, thinking of her always kind of did that to me. "I-I would, Park, but I'm tired and I want to go to bed," I gave as my excuse, "Just like you should be doing."
"Are you tired like Mommy is? Are you going to go to sleep for a long time too?" His voice was soft and it nearly broke my heart.
The tears I swore never to shed in front of my son surfaced in my eyes. I could only be strong for so long. We all falter in strength at one point or another.
"No," I shook my head, blinking away the tears, "No, I'm not tired like Mommy is." I leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead, "Go back to bed, Parker. I'll see you in the morning. I love you."
"Love you too, Daddy," He muttered back, turning on his side away from me.
I stood up and turned the light off in his room before walking out into the hallway. I closed the door behind me, leaving it open a crack, though, because Parker didn't like being in complete darkness. The dark scared him. I don't think he's scared of it anymore. Nothing scares him anymore.
I stood out in the hallway and stared into the bathroom across from Parker's bedroom. The image of her lying there flashed before me.
She was lying on the bathroom floor in a pool of her own blood. On the counter was the razor blade she used to slash her wrists and the empty bottle of antidepressants she used to finish the job.
I cried her name and fell to my knees, shaking her in desperation that maybe, just maybe, she might still be there. But I was too late.
Tears flooded my eyes as the harsh realization sunk in - she was gone.
I stood back up, a heavy feeling in my chest and the knees of my pants stained red. I backed out of the bathroom and stumbled downstairs, where I called 911 and reiterated the situation to the operator. I also called my mom to have her take Parker away. I didn't want him around for all of it. I mean, he was only three and, although he probably wasn't going to remember much when he grew up, I felt that something like this would stick with him, and I didn't want him to have to deal with that.
The ambulance arrived shortly after my mother picked Parker up.
The paramedics rushed her to the hospital, but she was dead on arrival.
What a terrific story, huh?
It was all over the tabloids a couple of weeks ago too. One article was even titled:
Lead Singer of Fall Out Boy, Patrick Stump's, Wife Found Dead - Guess She Didn't Read The Ribbon Around Her Wrist
How sickening is that.
A person died and someone had the audacity to write a story about it and name it that.
The writers seemed to know every single detail about the incident too. Sure, the stories differed a bit each time, but they were pretty much all the same.
I don't even know how they got those details. I remember one article said she had gone mad and was pacing back and forth in our bedroom before escaping into the bathroom and doing the deed. How the hell would they know that? Were they there? Or did my three year old son write a full page length article about his own mother's suicide? He didn't even know how to spell his own name at the time, for god's sake...
Paparazzi were always outside of my house after the incident, waiting for me to come out so they could ask me questions and take pictures of me when I wasn't not looking. I'm surprised I got away scotch free to go to the party.
So where was I? Oh yeah, I was standing out in the hallway staring at the bathroom, a sick feeling washing over me as I though about that day. That horrible...terrible day.
Tears started forming in my eyes and I rushed across the hallway, grabbing the bathroom doorknob and pulling the door shut. I stood there for a little, my breathing heavy and my heart pounding against my chest, before falling forward into the door. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I tried to keep myself from completely falling apart, but I just couldn't help it.