Letter 68 – Buried in My Bones

  Garrett, When you died, my family went into a tailspin. My parents, my brother and my sister. My brother and sister were probably mostly concerned for me, after the initial shock of hearing the news. My parents, though, they took it hard, bud. Really hard. Not only did they hurt for me, but they…

  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, The time has come. I need to be able to talk about the night you died. I’ve nibbled around the edges of it and now I need to face that day. I don’t want to. There is so much sadness and regret surrounding it. But I have to be able to do it,…

  Dear Garrett,  Not long after you died, Alex came to the house. She brought bagels. I don’t think she meant to stay. I think she just meant to shove them into Kevin’s hands and get the heck out of there, but for some reason she did stay. On the porch. And waited for me…

  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…