By now, you have surely heard that Scott Weiland was found dead in his tour bus, and then shortly after cocaine was found near his bed, with friends speculating he was doing crack.
As a writer and a fan, we only saw Scott Weiland's fall from grace as a spectator. It had no actual effect on our personal lives. But what about the lives it does effect? Weiland was married and had two young kids. How were they affected by Weiland's rampant deterioration?
Weiland's ex-wife Mary posted a heartbreaking letter to Rolling Stone late last night, finally going public with Weiland's poor parenting skills:
In reality, what you didn't want to acknowledge was a paranoid man who couldn't remember his own lyrics and who was only photographed with his children a handful of times in 15 years of fatherhood. I've always wanted to share more than anyone was comfortable with. When writing a book years ago, it pained me to sometimes gloss over so much grief and struggle, but I did what I thought was best for Noah and Lucy. I knew they would one day see and feel everything that I'd been trying to shield them from, and that they'd eventually be brave enough to say, "That mess was our father. We loved him, but a deep-rooted mix of love and disappointment made up the majority of our relationship with him."
She went on to mention there were times when Child Protective Services would not let him be alone with his kids. And, when Weiland eventually moved on to a new love interest, he vanished from his children's lives completely:
They were not invited to his wedding; child support checks often never arrived. Our once sweet Catholic boy refused to watch the kids participate in Christmas Eve plays because he was now an atheist. They have never set foot into his house, and they can't remember the last time they saw him on a Father's Day. I don't share this with you to cast judgment, I do so because you most likely know at least one child in the same shoes. If you do, please acknowledge them and their experience. Offer to accompany them to the father-daughter dance, or teach them to throw a football. Even the bravest girl or boy will refrain from asking for something like that; they may be ashamed, or not want to inconvenience you. Just offer – or even insist if you have to.
The final paragraph really tugs at the heart strings:
Noah and Lucy never sought perfection from their dad. They just kept hoping for a little effort. If you're a parent not giving your best effort, all anyone asks is that you try just a little harder and don't give up. Progress, not perfection, is what your children are praying for. Our hope for Scott has died, but there is still hope for others. Let's choose to make this the first time we don't glorify this tragedy with talk of rock and roll and the demons that, by the way, don't have to come with it. Skip the depressing T-shirt with 1967-2015 on it – use the money to take a kid to a ballgame or out for ice cream.
The whole piece is certainly worth reading. Check it out here.
