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?
Garrett, It was late summer after you died when I got sick. I was sick in a way that I hadn’t experienced before. My body felt like it was a thousand years old. I slept for ten hours, took a four-hour nap, and then went to bed early. I could feel myself slowing down…
Dear Garrett, I’ve realized that if things exist only in your mind, they can take on epic proportions. You might know what I mean about that. Your anxiety and depression, and your losses, must have felt overwhelming, especially since you were so young. I wish I could have led you out of it, or…
Garrett, When you died, I stopped cooking. I didn’t plan to. I just stopped and haven’t yet started up again. I don’t even know what we ate when it first happened. Wendy’s. A lot of Wendy’s. Cans of things. Ramen. I couldn’t bring myself to cook. Maybe at first it was the shock of…
Garrett, About three months after you died, I contacted a medium. I’d been aware of the concept of life after death in a distant, intellectual way, for what seems like all of my adult life, but now, my interest is more immediate. I haven’t suddenly swung over to the side of instantaneous belief, but…
Dear Garrett, Your dog is the best animal ever. In the days after your death, I know he had to be missing you. And the house was heavy with grief. I don’t know how many months it was that I cried with sound. Out loud. I’m not usually an out loud kind of crier….
Dear Garrett, The question I always circle back around to, that I can’t get over, that I can’t think my way through, is how could I not have prevented your death? How could I not have prevented it? As a mother, I only have one job – to prevent my children from coming to…
