Justin Peterson was my son Quinn's closest friend. Quinn is learning disabled and Justin was assigned to be his Teaching Assistant and tutor when he went to the New York Film Academy year before last.
We all fell in love with Justin. He was gorgeous, a brilliant young film maker (he was 25 at the time, having gone to New York University. He was witty and creative, had an extraordinary imagination, and was a terrific writer. But most importantly Justin was one of the kindest, most decent people I have ever met. Being a Teaching Assistant to Quinn, with his inability to focus and zero concept of time or direction, would have tried anyone's patience. Anyone but Justin.
Never, in the two years they were friends, did Justin ever raise his voice to Quinn or lose his temper or get frustrated. (That's more than I can say for myself). He was always sympathetic and understanding, always talking me down from the ceiling when I became overwhelmed with Quinn's multiple handicaps.
When Quinn moved back to Washington, he and Justin kept up their friendship. Quinn would go up to New York often to stay with Justin, who was always supportive and encouraging of Quinn's effort to become a film maker. Meanwhile, Justin had an award-winning documentary film himself, and had finally sold a script of his own, raising the money to direct his first feature film. He had hired actors, asked Quinn to be a production assistant and was planning to begin shooting this August. I talked to Justin in mid-July about Quinn's job, concerned about whether he would be able to fulfill the role that Justin had assigned him. "Don't worry, Sally," he told me. "I will make sure it works and I want you to know that I will always be Quinn's friend, I will always look out for him and make sure that he is alright."
A week later, in mid July, Justin was dead. At 2:30 one Saturday afternoon, he went out on the ledge of his apartment to have a cigarette, lost his balance and fell six stories to his death.
I had never met Justin's mother Gigi but we had talked on the phone. She was a writer herself, intelligent, thoughtful. serious and absolutely devoted to Justin. They were extremely close and though she lived in Boston, he was constantly driving up there to visit her.
I called her when I heard the horrible news. She was, of course, devastated. There was an Irish wake at Justin's favorite bar O'Flanagan's and the next week Quinn went up to be with Gigi when she threw Justin's ashes into the East River and to celebrate his award-winning film with a screening and a party afterward .I talked to Gigi quite a lot after that and we e-mailed back and forth. At one point she told me that she didn't want to live anymore, that she couldn't bear life without Justin. I did my best to console her but what could I say? I could only imagine myself in her place.
Then recently I got an e-mail from her describing a meeting she had with a medium where she had a visitation from Justin. She said that she went into the session feeling suicidal and came out feeling peaceful.
I asked her to write about the experience. The piece published here this week is accompanied by excerpts from a tape of the session with the medium.
When I first suggested that we run this piece, there were those who said it would make us look ridiculous. After all, how could anyone take this sort of thing seriously. I pondered that for a while, but all I could think of was all of the improbable things that so many billions of people around the world from all cultures and faiths actually believe. You may have your own religion and yet be appalled at the beliefs of others.
One of the things that I have learned in what will soon be a year of putting out "On Faith" is that, no matter what you believe or don't believe, it is always a matter of faith. I have found that, though I once dismissed with a certain contempt beliefs I found preposterous, I now see things differently.
Everyone is searching for meaning. Everyone has experienced grief and pain. And each of us has to find a way to deal with that grief and pain, with the questions and the confusions of life.
Gigi Bloom lost her beloved son. She believes that, through this medium, he came back to comfort and console her. She went to see him feeling suicidal. She came out of the meeting feeling peace. I will not presume to make a judgment about the validity of what happened at that session. All I know is that a mother found solace after the death of her son. I can only call that a blessing.
Sally Quinn is co-moderator of On Faith.
