Garrett,
I can’t turn my mind to any memories that I have of you. I just can’t. It’s overwhelmingly hard to try to recall a full memory. What I do have are tiny, little, snippets of memories. They flash across my mind and then they’re gone. Just enough to see you and then they disappear.
It’s too much. Too painful.
Dear Garrett, You never believed you were not yourself when you were on drugs. And you never remembered what you said or did when you were on them. Anyone who has ever seen someone under the influence of the kind of drugs you were taking understands this. How could you see others under the…
Dear Garrett, Slowly, I am better than I was. Doing the work that Tricia has asked me to do, and writing these letters to you, help me. The exercise that Tricia invited me into, of writing you a letter, has turned into this. It took nine months to write the first letter. And then…
Dear Garrett, My mom sent me a gift. She knitted a sweater. I can only think of it as our sweater because I know she thought of you when she made it for me. My mother, who has macular degeneration, knitted this. I think of it as ours, and how can I not think…
Hi, Garrett. My counselor tells me that I need to find a way to go towards love. That there is love that you have to give, that you still are able to share with me. She is telling me that you are out there. Are you there?
Dear Garrett, When you were very young, I used to think to myself, how heartbreaking this is. To be a mother is so heartbreaking. I don’t know if other mothers felt this way, but I did for you. I saw such vulnerability in you. I wanted to protect you from the world. My heart…
Dear Garrett, I need to understand my role in your death. How our relationship contributed to how you evolved, the decisions you made, the way you felt about yourself, your rationale for using drugs, to the night when you died. I thought I had time. You always think you have time. Tomorrow you…
