When Scott Weiland, the frontman for the Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver, died last week of cardiac arrest and possible cocaine involvement, he left behind two children. In an essay published in Rolling Stone yesterday, Weiland’s ex-wife, Mary Forsberg Weiland, passionately and frankly wrote about the 48-year-old’s struggles and failings as a father to Noah and Lucy, their 15 and 13-year-old children, respectively.
[articleembed id=”173625″ title=”Police Found Cocaine in Scott Weiland's Tour Bus Bedroom” image=”173626″ excerpt=”Police have discovered cocaine in the tour bus bedroom where Scott Weiland was found dead on Thursday night, according to Rolling Stone”]
“December 3rd, 2015 is not the day Scott Weiland died,” the essay begins. “The truth is, like so many other kids, they lost their father years ago. What they truly lost on December 3rd was hope.”
Weiland’s life, she wrote, was not a rock’n’roll story to be celebrated or romanticized. The singer’s struggles with mental illness, addiction, and fame, wrecked havoc on his family and loved ones.
“We read that he loved spending time with his children and that he’d been drug-free for years!” she writes. “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 won’t say he can rest now, or that he’s in a better place,” Fosberg Weiland continues. “He belongs with his children barbecuing in the backyard and waiting for a Notre Dame game to come on. We are angry and sad about this loss, but we are most devastated that he chose to give up.”
The essay’s conclusion is brutally honest and emotional. “Our hope for Scott has died, but there is still hope for others,” she finishes. “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.”
Read the full essay at Rolling Stone.