The Asylum Confessions: Family Matters (The Asylum Confession Files, #2)

by Jack Steen

Death isn’t scary. It’s not the end either, no matter what people say. Death has been here, with me, for the past few days. It whispers to me, did you know? The voice has a melody to it - it’s not cold or harsh. It’s actually quite soothing. I guess the melody depends on who you are, though, right?

I think Death has many faces, many voices, and it all depends on the person you are, and what you've done with your life.

I find Scotch has the power to burn away the pain, if you know what I mean.

She was my everything, my fairy tale in the making, and I grew up worshiping the ground she walked on. I was only twelve, but I knew that Mary Beth Summers was the only one for me as soon as she gave me a black eye.

It was a promise made by a father. A promise I always intended to keep.

My parents warned me that it wouldn’t be easy raising a child. I should have listened. Angel never disobeyed me. Until she did. She never went against my word. Until she did. She always heeded my advice. Until she stopped listening.

Just because a child decides they want to be treated as an adult doesn’t mean they are ready for adulthood.

A wolf knows how to protect his own, and it doesn’t matter who gets in the way.

She was my everything. As a man, I knew those boys only saw her as one thing, and there was no way in hell they would ever get a taste of her.

My love for her was pure.

She was of my blood, of my flesh.

For the same reason I go out of my way to keep her safe and protected: because she loved me.

Pops died alone, with no one by his side.

There have to be more farmers than you’d expect who get rid of their unmentionables through their farm animals.

Makes you wonder if the pork you’re eating is safe, doesn’t it?

“Are you friendly, Death? I’ve heard if I tell you a good story, you’ll walk me through the pearly gates. Is that true?”

“Stories are journeys, don’t you think, Death Angel? I've been on a journey that only the dead have shared with me. No one alive has heard this story, I made sure of it.”

“You won’t be joining me on that journey, will you? I tell you now, while I can. I may be a crazy man, but I’m not a dumb one.”

"The only time you ever see a person's true character, who they really are, is right before they die. Anytime you judge a person before seeing their true self, you're robbing yourself of an opportunity. Don't wait for death to look; you're smart, I can see it. You have the gift to see who a person truly is, even before they're willing to admit it. Use that to your advantage, and you'll do fine here."

Since then, I have made an effort not to judge a person based on hearsay, or what's in their files, or even due to rumors that tend to spread like wildfire through the Asylum.

If I wasn't someone people came to in the hard times, then I was living my life wrong.

Family is everything. Family is all. The Family never turns their back on their own - no matter what.

“Oh honey, by the time you reach my age, all you’ll have done is say goodbye. Practice doesn’t make perfect. It never gets easy; you just learn to handle your grief better.”

It doesn't matter what you do with your life, it's how you do it. So even if your existence seems isolated and unadventurous, if you do well with the life you've been given, then it's well-lived.

For a mother, that's what it's all about. Living for your children. Ensuring they have the best life, a full life, a life they can grab hold of with strength and understanding.

When I thought of the future, my future, my child, my children, they were always a part of that future.

There's no such thing as do-overs. Life is never that nice. Rarely are you given second chances, real second chances, but when you do, when they present themselves to you, you need to figure out if the strings attached are worth the price.

It's similar to being a reader - that addictiveness you feel to get lost within the pages of a book, within the characters of a story. You still live, but through the experiences and words of others.

I thought love was love, that even in the worst of times, it would be the best of times, especially when a child was involved.

That’s something no one should ever tell another parent. Never tell someone who grieves that their heart will heal. Never suggest having another baby could replace the one they lost. That was a cruelty I didn’t deserve.

Newborns, all they need is love, and that’s what I gave her. Unconditional love. As far as she knew, I was her mother, and she was my daughter. I still consider her my daughter, even though I’ve had to share her with someone else all these years.

If you live with regrets, then you’re not truly living. You’re reacting in order to not live with more regrets. Don’t do that, Jack. Wake up each day determined to be the best person you can be. Go to sleep each night knowing you did the absolute best you could and that it’s too late to change actions you’ve already taken. Determine to be absolute in your decisions, and you’ll never experience a moment of regret. Regret can destroy dreams, did you know that? When all you do is focus on the things that went wrong in your life, you miss out on what could be happening, the good things. That’s not a way to live.

I once had a counselor suggest that it was my body’s way of telling me I was too broken and that I needed help. It’s possible. My body has always had a rebellious spirit, I guess.

The mothers all condemned me, the fathers threatened to kill me, but no one ever talked about what happened for me to find these babies in the first place. No one talked about how they’d been left alone, about the neglect from the parents themselves. No, I was the monster.

If you’re grieving, you need to let that grief sweep over you, wash you, as if you were a pebble of sand adrift along the shoreline. Eventually, the strength of the water will pull you in until you are surrounded, and the very grief you thought was drowning you is, instead, supporting you.