By Tim Teeman
Jane Clementi reveals why she nearly killed herself after her son Tyler’s suicide and what she wants for his webcam persecutor.
For
five years, Jane Clementi has kept her son Tyler’s clothing and
possessions intact in his small bedroom in the family’s home in
Ridgewood, New Jersey. It is a medium-sized, detached house on a quiet
suburban street, its sidewalks lined with trees shedding their brown and
amber autumn leaves.
Tyler’s clothes are in his closet, where a
sports cap also hangs. His upper-level bunk bed still has his
black-and-white comforter on it (although, Jane smiles, it is freshly
laundered; a house guest has slept in here). Beneath the bunk is the
white chair that Tyler liked to sit and read in. The black-and-white
print he loved of a forest is still on the wall above his desk.
Later, I realize Tyler stood where I am standing—just in the doorway,
his back to the window—to take the selfie he used on his Facebook page,
where on Sept. 22, 2010 he posted the status update: “Jumping off the gw
bridge sorry.”
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Source: The Daily Beast
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