Henry loved playing guitar. He got his first guitar at about age 10 or 11. It was a 3/4 size acoustic – a gift from his great Uncle John, who is also an avid guitar picker. Once Henry picked up that little guitar, he had found his passion.
He finally began taking lessons at about age 14, but until then, he was self taught. This was the first song he taught himself, at age 11.
For Christmas in 2006, he received his first “real” acoustic guitar – a very nice one. He was absolutely thrilled with it, and he took his guitar with him wherever he went, including the 9 months he spent away in treatment. Whenever you saw Henry as a teenager, his guitar was usually strapped to his back or in his arms, being played. His guitar was – without question – his most cherished possession.
When he was admitted to the hospital, he was without his guitar. We all wondered where it was, but he couldn’t seem to tell us. Finally, just before he died on May 31, we learned from close friends of his that about a week or so before he overdosed, he pawned his guitar – almost certainly to buy drugs. He told several people that of all the low points of his drug abuse, that selling his guitar was the lowest. During he week leading up to his overdose, was apparently extremely depressed by what he’d done. And he was also ashamed. Plus, he missed his guitar. He told people that he couldn’t wait to get it back and that he would never, ever let it go again.
Then he died.
I became somewhat obsessed with finding and retrieving Henry’s guitar. It meant all the world to him, and was the purest expression of who he was. I knew I couldn’t rest until I had his guitar back home with me.
Well, through the extraordinary efforts of people who love me, the guitar was located and it was returned to me, in its soft case, with Henry’s strap and picks and scribbled notes and chewed-on inkpens still stuffed in the pockets.
I cried for a long, long time, cradling Henry’s guitar in my arms and breathing in the scent of my child, which still lingered in the wood.
His guitar is home. I will never let go of it.
Thanks y’all.
I am so happy that you have the guitar back. That will be a treasured item for your entire family.
Such a precious thing. I'm so glad it came back to you.
Hurray, I'm so very happy his most cherished possession made it back home to his family.
So happy for you! Way to persevere and get it back!
Beautiful. So, so glad you got it back and that it still feels and smells like Henry. What a blessing.
I found your blog via dooce and have spent the past few weeks pouring over your archives. Your story is heartbreaking but needs to be shared. Thank you for having the courage to do so.
I have read all of your posts on Henry and have no idea why, but this one made me cry.
I am so happy you were able to get his guitar back home.
Me, too Jill. This one hits hard. I think because it's about the healing, and bringing a part of Henry back home. Oh, Katie I feel like my fingers are fumbling and can't imagine what you're going through – but I hope this moment's joy(oh, what wonderful friends you have!)rests in your heart forever.
Oh wow. I am so very happy you have his guitar back. That is so meaningful.
So happy for you all!
What an awesome gift. And I understand about the smell. I slept with a flannel shirt that belonged to my brother Jim until the "fragance" was gone. Katie, I'm so sorry you lost H. Your posts are so giving, loving, and heartfelt.
A good outcome. Glad the guitar has come home to you.
This post also made me cry. I am so glad that you got the guitar back. A little piece of Henry.
I'm so grateful to those who made it possible and so proud of your brother for being the person he is and loving you the way he does.
I love the photo of Jane showing off/wearing her first "long boots" for riding and Henry with his first real guitar. Was that Christmas morning?
a lot of your posts since henry's death have made me cry but for some reason, this one hit me harder than others. i think i'm imagining what it was like for henry to have pawned his most beloved possession to feed a habit that he certainly wanted to break and that breaks my heart. i imagine how low he must have felt that day and wish he could have lived his entire life without having felt that.
I'm so glad your friends were able to return Henry's guitar to your family.
I'm 24 and live across the world from you – in terms of life as well as distance; but I read your blog faithfully and must tell you that you are an amazing person and writer. This post is truly touching.
So happy for you. I can imagine the anxiety and tension this search must have caused you.
Oh, Katie, what heartbreak for Henry to be so desperate that he pawned his beloved guitar. I am so glad that it has been returned to you, and I can only imagine that I would hold it and smell it just the way you have. It's a wonderful thing to have this piece of Henry back. You are clearly surrounded by love.
Oh – I wept as I read this. I am so happy that it was returned to you…and hope that having this most beloved possession provides you some comfort in your darkest moments.
It's unbearable to imagine how desperate he felt.
May he rest in peace knowing his mama has his guitar.
weeping thinking about you.. and him…
Sometimes good things do happen to good people.
I hate it when I am discovered in my office crying.
Awesomeness.
How heartbreaking that he pawned it. That says more about his final days of addiction than just about anything else you've ever told us. But what a beautiful blessing to have it back. I know that Henry is happy that it is back home with you.
That was Henry popping in to say "Hi Mom." What a priceless gift this is for all of you! Everytime somebody plays that guitar (I hope it's a lot!)will be a little bit of Henry wafting through the air. That's great.
Yeah, I thought the same thing as Leslie about the level of desperation he had reached. So so very heartbreaking.
Both my kids play guitar, although I don't think they are quite as passionate about it as Henry was. I sucked in my breath last week when my daughter sat down in the living room and started playing "Wagon Wheel". I had never heard that song before you shared it with us (although apparently my daughter had told me about it and I didn't retain the information). Now it's one of my favorites and I cannot hear it without thinking about your son.
I agree that pawning his guitar is the most powerful statement you've made to date about how low he'd sunk and how desperate and sad he must have felt. Makes me cry just thinking about it. And when you realized it I bet it broke your heart. I'm glad to hear that it is back home with you and still has pieces of him in it.
chills. tears. hugs.
What amazing friends you have. So happy for you that it's back. I know things are just things, but some of them really do hold the essence of loved ones for a time. Enjoy enjoy.
And congrats on the Babble gig. So so smart of you to do for you and for G. (And for mamas of first babies who don't know what they are getting in to or how many stripes of "normal" there are!)
Katie, over and over your words have moved me to tears. Sometimes for you and your loss, other times for Henry and his journey, and at other times, for me. In the moment that you first shared what happened, something in me woke up – an haunted awareness – that your pain could be mine. I know that in the tomorrows I face, with my children and my wife, my business and even myself, what I did today will be part of how I got there. I thank you for having the courage to share your journey with us. Know that your life-changing experience is changing our lives, which I know from my own story telling makes living the pain more tolerable. Seriously… Thank you for helping me wake up.
I'm so glad you found it!
I have followed your blogs and your stories of Henry since the beginning. I, too, have a son and a daughter who I treasure every moment I have with them. Your stories have help me overcome some of my struggles of "letting go" as they are now 18 and 21. Of all your blogs, this one made me cry. Many blessings as you continue your journey.
How precious! I am so happy that Henry's guitar made it home.
What a precious, precious thing. What an important thing. I am so glad for you that it's home.
So glad that you have Henry's guitar. Even more glad for you that his scent still lingers on it.
Oh my! How special! I'm so glad others felt the need to bring the guitar home to you…and succeeded.
Tray
This made me cry. A good cry, though. Henry's guitar is back where it belongs: home.
So wonderful to have this little HUGE part of Henry back home where it belongs…
Often people are paralyzed when presented with another's grief: they struggle with finding the right thing to say, the helpful thing to do. Of course, there is no prefect response, and it's best to say anything than nothing.
I've been so moved by the creativity, the brave and the relentless nature of the tasks of those who cared for you, for Henry, and everyone in between. The procuring of the guitar was the perfect thing to do, of course, but more than anything, the sentiment was amazing, too. So very glad the guitar came home. And yet, its return reminds of a loss in a whole other awful way.
There truly is no stronger statement about addiction that I have read recently than the fact that Henry chose his drugs over his guitar.
I mean, what else can you say? A snapshot, if you will, of what it means to be a drug addict.
Ditto what SScarbrough said, "May he rest in peace knowing his mama has his guitar." Sending you warm thoughts.
What a precious, precious piece of Henry to have returned to you…
This made me cry. I hope holding his beloved guitar in your hands can be a balm to your broken heart.
Thank you..really informative!!
I have been following you for a while now and although I have so so many things I'd love to say, I just want you to know how much joy I just found in my heart for you. Some would say Henry's guitar is a material possession but in this case, it is symbolically so much more. The universe (God, in my belief) rewards us at times and this is yours. You are an incredible woman and a fascinating Mother – I am so glad part of Henry is back where it belongs.