Hard to believe. But it’s been barely two months since Tommy died, the victim of modern life. I feel as if I have a cinderblock in the middle of my head. It’s getting worse, not better.
Why? What made him do it? Family problems I guess. He was at the end of a nonstop fountain of money from Alex and me. But he and his wife had a “psychotherapist,” supposedly an MD. That creature was prescribing him a startlingly large number of psychotropic meds.
As I understand it, Tommy was getting six to eight psychotropic meds simultaneously. The “doctor” who prescribed them never once met him in person. She (a female doctor) “treated” him by “telemedicine” by “seeing” him for three or four minutes per sixty to ninety days.
She was in such close touch with him that she did not even know he was dead for several weeks after his demise — and only then because yours truly left her a voice mail.
She never returned my message. I still am waiting for any kind of report from her on the why’s and wherefores.
Tommy died in Greenville, South Carolina, in a small woods near his house.
He was a sweet, handsome boy. He was not the most disciplined kid on the block. But he loved his daughter on a scale I have never seen before in a family. He worshipped her. With good reason. He was the proud father of a smart, gorgeous girl who exploded with beauty every time she walked into a room.
The girl’s mother was likewise an amazing beauty.
Just amazing. And I have never seen a man as handsome as Tommy. When he called me, I always answered, “Hello handsome,” and he deserved it.
As I said, I feel as if a cinderblock has been dropped on my brain. In November he remarried after a divorce to a lovely, sweet woman I admire greatly. She is suffering as much as my wife and I.
God help us. A cinderblock.
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