Chapter 2
by Toni Jean Wall
On December 17, 2015, the world I knew changed forever. I lost my only child, Jonathon, at age twenty-four to mental illness. Jonathon was a bright, loving, articulate son. Despite the loss of his father at the young age of ten, he persevered and found his way, and we, mother and son, truly became one. He liked car racing like many boys his age. That always made me nervous. My six-foot-six boy was called “the gentle teddy bear” by his high school principal. “Another two hundred like him would be great,” he often said to me. He loved heavy metal rock music and studied at the Musicians Institute on Hollywood Boulevard in Southern California. There he befriended a famous drummer, who so eloquently called my Jonathon his “brother” in a special written tribute.
After the loss of our beloved dog, Jonathon and I had it in our hearts to get another one. One thousand three hundred and eighty-four miles away was another Peekapoo toy dog. Beau would grace our house with such love. He would follow Jonathon around the house, simply attached to his heart. They were the best of friends. Even Beau was different after Jonathon passed away.
Less than a month after Jonathon’s passing, in January 2016, I saw Roland for the first time. I was at one of his presentations seeking answers, as many of us do when our lives are turned upside down and shattered by a moment in time. A hush fell over the room when he walked in, engaging us from the start with the words “I have a young man here who committed suicide.” He looked directly at me as he said them and continued speaking. “Your son told me to tell you, ‘Don’t blame yourself.’ ” My heart stopped, my breath caught in my throat, and I sat there transfixed.
That night I received my first of seven Purple Paper messages from Roland. It depicted a door and written across it three times was “I’m sorry, Mom.” In the right upper corner it read, “Tell my mom that her boy is free.”
Roland said, “You know the meaning of the door.” I did relate to it. When my son had a bipolar episode, he’d break the doors, but he never did apologize. After Roland gave me that first Purple Paper, he asked for a blank one and began to draw. He drew wings and a heart, the exact representation of the tattoo that I had etched on my arm in Jonathan’s memory. I left the presentation that night with such a feeling of peace.
In March of that same year, I attended a convention where Roland was speaking. I received my second Purple Paper message then. This one was dated March 23, 2016, and it read, “I’m sorry I never told you how bad I really felt. I’m sorry that I left things the way I did. I know I made you crazy. I finally found peace.” On the left side it read, “The door with the hole. Walking in the room.” I know my son was speaking to Roland. I haven’t gone into his room since he passed, and the doorknob is missing. That is the hole he is speaking about.
In May, I was blessed with my third Purple Paper message, dated May 3, 2016. It read: “Hey Mom, I tried to get healthy a few years before I passed. I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at my bipolar disease. We tried our best. Don’t be afraid to open the door.” Once again this message has so much meaning. When Jonathon had come home from college, he had lost a hundred pounds.
My next Purple Paper message, dated June 7, 2016, read, “I don’t want to talk about my suicide anymore. I tried so hard to put things together for myself. I felt so lost (for a long time). You couldn’t watch my every move. I saw the light, you know. It helped me find my way.”
My fifth Purple Paper was dated August 16, 2016. It read, “Johnny still has the ‘best’ sense of humor. I couldn’t believe that it all ended like it did. But, I’m OK. Tell them more …”
My sixth Purple Paper message was dated September 12, 2016, and this one read, “Johnny says ‘I’m free … I’m free. I know it was hard with me. Don’t worry about me, OK? Look for the hearts!’”
The seventh read, “Hi Mom—I’m happy to know that Beau makes you feel better. I am there! I am there! You don’t have to ask anymore. OK? I love you … I love you.”
I feel so blessed to have received seven Purple Paper messages. They are all framed and hanging in my computer room. I often go in and read them and feel so at peace knowing my son is still with me. I miss my son more each day, but being blessed with my messages makes me know he is at peace.
