When Stevie had opened his bedroom door at 2:15 in the morning, I discovered he had slashed his wrists.
Very much in character with his methodical nature, he was catching most of the dripping blood with a green towel – and that is where my eyes were drawn.
Nadine was still reclined on the couch in the living room. We had been up all night, sick with worry and apprehension.
He had finally done it.
“Oh God, Stevie. What have you done?” I asked.
“Nadine, Stevie has cut himself,” I hollered to her as I rushed back into the living room.
From what I had seen under the green towel, Stevie had sliced open both forearms, several inches each. The cuts looked substantial. And quite a lot of the blood had made it onto the floor.
The severity of his injuries and the fact that Stevie had locked his bedroom door, gave every indication he meant to end it all tonight. If I had not knocked on his door, he would have bled-out.
Stevie was now using the towel to stem the flow of blood as he sat on the couch waiting for us to dress.
We could save him, if we could get him to the hospital on time.
“How had our lives come to this?” I asked myself.
As we raced towards the Poudre Valley Hospital emergency room, the thought occurred to me that if we could make it through tonight – Stevie’s final solution – there was a better chance things might change for him, in a good way.
Through the horror of this event all of our lives had been changed forever.
Surely this was not the way my son’s life was supposed to end.
Next – In the Tunnel