Letter 18 – Laying on the Bed

 

Dear Garrett,

I remember one time laying on the bed with you when you were in early middle school. My bed was where we had all of our serious discussions. Whenever there was something that needed to be talked about, we’d say, let’s go to the bed. And we’d lay down on it and talk about whatever it was that needed to be said.

I was sitting on the bed and you were upset. You said you needed to tell me something. I asked what it was, and you said you didn’t want to tell me. But at the same time, I could tell you really needed to tell me. I said, just tell me. Garrett. It will be ok. And somehow or another you ended up telling me that you had tried marijuana, and now you were afraid I wouldn’t love you anymore. You felt so guilty and you really, really wanted me to still love you.

You told us a lot of things that other kids maybe wouldn’t. In some ways, you were shockingly honest with us. In spurts. Sometimes it took a long time for the full story to come out. But eventually, you’d end up telling us all of it.

At some point, you must have gotten in too deep. You didn’t come to us anymore with your stories, or you were afraid to. Maybe you didn’t want to anymore. I don’t know. But I know that you always wanted our love. You always wanted to know that we loved you. But you were also determined to do what you wanted to do, at the same time.