A Year of Conversation "A Father and His Son"

By Donald A Polinsky

   "Suicide is not a one-person event. It touches everyone who has ever had the privilege of knowing you." With that being said, nothing could have prepared Donald for the news he was about to receive when a policeman suddenly appeared at his door with news that no mother or father ever wants to hear... "Your son is dead

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grace Ministries International,Inc.
• Release date: Sep 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737628453

Book preview

- SECTION 1 -

THE NIGHTMARE

This can’t be happening

Chapter 1

The Nightmare Begins

It was evening, and I was standing on the porch talking to my neighbor Bob, nothing big, just chit-chat as usual. I noticed a car pulling into the driveway. Hmmm, I wonder who he is looking for? Bob said, I don’t know, Thinking to myself, what did I do wrong?

I watched as he got out of the car, putting his hat on as he walked up to the house. Bob wandered away as he heard the state trooper ask: Are you Mr. Polinsky? Yes sir," I replied.

Looking directly into my eyes, he asked: Could you step into the house, sir? Yes sir, I said again as I pulled open the door.

Nancy, my fiancé was standing in the living room looking at me with a puzzled look. I shrugged my shoulders as in I don’t know. Could you sit down? he asked. I sat down beside him on the couch and he looked at me and asked again: You are Donald Polinsky? Yes sir, I replied.

Do you have a son, Jason Polinsky? He asked. Fear welled up inside of me.

He’s dead. He hung himself. He said.

No, don’t tell me that, I screamed, the pain of his words piercing my heart. Tears began to flow and the whys began to pour out of my mouth.

I don’t know sir, he stated.

Did he leave a note? I asked.

No, nothing, He stated.

Thus my nightmare began.

If you pack a bag, I will take you to Johnstown.

Trembling, I looked at Nancy and wandered outside, tears streaming down my face, the why’s rolling from my lips. Nancy said she would take me to Johnstown, and with that, the trooper left.

Solemnly, as if he had not been there at all, Nancy asked: Are you ready?

Yes, I’m ready, and with that we began the hour ride, tears steadily flowing down my cheeks.

Arriving in Johnstown, I staggered from the car, my legs feeling unsteady, looking at the house I had left not more than two weeks earlier when Nancy and I had visited Jason. Walking up the steps, I quivered as I opened the door. My ex-wife, Deb, and her fiancé, Bill, were sitting on the couch in the front room.

How am I going to get through this Don? Deb asked. I put my arms around her, and we wept together for our son. It seemed like an eternity of tears, and I finally looked up and said, He’s in heaven now. He’s at peace.

Deb looked at me and said, Is he Don? Even though he committed suicide?

Our God is a merciful God, I replied. You know that Jason committed his life to Christ. Why wouldn’t he be in heaven? He’s with Grandma now. I am sure she met him there. I stated.

She once again fell into my arms, and we wept.

Bill came back into the room and sat down beside Deb. I slipped out the front door and stood on the porch, the same front porch where Jason and I stood two weeks before. I was waiting for our other children to arrive.

I saw them pull up to the house, and one by one they climbed out of the car. I can remember their footsteps as they approached the house, each step echoing on the sidewalk. One by one they fell into my arms, weeping and wailing.

All I could do was hold each one,

offering words of comfort,:

I know. I know.

Those were the words that

stumbled out from my lips…

But what did I know?

Chapter 2

Endless Questions

Returning to the house, feeling awkward and wondering what to do next, I looked at Matt, the friend he had been living with.

What happened Matt? What happened? What went wrong?" I asked.

I don’t know. I called him at 11:30 this morning and spoke with him for 20 minutes and he seemed fine. When I got in at 4:50, I walked into the house. It was quiet and I yelled for Jason but there was no answer and then I found him dead and called 911.

Did he leave a message? What about his computer? I asked.

No, nothing. He said. I checked everywhere.

Stunned, I just walked around in circles, not knowing what to do. I finally wandered outside again, and Nancy asked me to go for a walk. We walked silently for three blocks and then I broke down. Why? Why my son? I shouted. What went wrong?

Just then, I looked up and saw my son Carlos, the strong one of the bunch walking down the sidewalk, his 6’5" frame bent and subdued.

Dad, the coroner called and needs some information from you.

At that moment, my heart sank, and reality sank in. He was dead. There’s no denying it. He is dead.

I walked slowly back to the house, Nancy and Carlos walking behind me. Silence ruled the minutes. We had nothing to say.

Reaching the house, I had the phone thrust into my hand, the voice on the other end snapping: Mr. Polinsky? he asked.

Yes sir, this is he.

I need to know if you want an autopsy done, he said matter-of-factly.

No. No autopsy is necessary. I mumbled. I questioned my answer many times afterward, realizing in the emotional turmoil, I hadn’t thought it through.

Well, I’m not exactly sure of the time he died -- somewhere around 12 o’clock I would guess. Well, actually 4:55 p.m. is the time marked, he said. What do you want done with the body? he asked.

What? What? I asked.

What do you want done with the body? he asked again.

I want him taken to Ferguson’s Funeral Home in Scottdale, Pennsylvania.

Fine. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. You won’t have to do anything else up here, he stated.

Wait! Wait! May I ask you a question? I stammered.

Yes, what is it? he asked.

Did he suffer? Did my son suffer? I asked.

No, he didn’t suffer, he replied. But somehow, I questioned his sincerity.

Wandering through the house, I slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor. Candida, my daughter, the one whom Jason did everything with, was searching Jason’s computer. Matt, Jason’s companion, was lying on his daybed. Suddenly, those thought entered my mind: Where did my son do this?

I looked down at Matt and asked: What happened Matt? Did you have an argument? What happened?

Nothing Mr. Polinsky. I swear nothing happened. I doubted his words as my mind searched for answers. I talked to him on the phone, and nothing seemed wrong. he blurted.

Again, I somehow doubted Matt because I just could not see my son doing this for no reason. There had to be a reason. What could have driven my son to such desperation?

The probing continued. You have no idea of why he did it? I asked again.

Well, he talked about being sexually abused a lot; well actually, he’s been talking about it for two months. It just seemed to bother him so much. He had an appointment today to see a psychologist. I guess he couldn’t handle it. I don’t have any answers. Matt cried.

Matt, who was also a state trooper had done nothing about the abuse -- no arrest, no investigation. In the months that followed, my mind often wondered why he had done so little, and if he would have, would my son still be alive today?

The abuse Matt was talking about was perpetrated by a cousin when Jason was around nine to eleven years old, I caught him in the act at the cousin’s house having walked in on them. I told Deb, but she suggested not to start trouble with the family. They were just experimenting. You know how kids are. Don’t say anything.

How I wish that I had paid more attention to this matter. I had