Letter 68 – Buried in My Bones
Dear Garrett,
The days immediately following the day of your death are not any that I want to speak of. They are days I have no wish to remember, and those days are buried in my bones.
Dear Garrett,
The days immediately following the day of your death are not any that I want to speak of. They are days I have no wish to remember, and those days are buried in my bones.
Garrett, I went to see my parents in the early summer after you died. I went alone. I knew my family was coming, my brother and my sister and maybe some of their family members. I didn’t know what it was going to be like, and I didn’t want Genevieve to be surrounded by…
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…
Garrett, It’s taken almost an entire year to accept the fact that you have died. That you are gone. I haven’t wanted to do this. And I’ve resisted it. But, it is time. You are not coming back. I will never see you again in this life. There is a part of me that…
Dear Garrett, I don’t look back on your childhood and think to myself, if only I had done that, or if only I had decided on this instead of that, things might have turned out differently. I don’t do that, because I know I loved you, and that you had a wonderful childhood in…
Garrett, We got kittens. They are so fun. They remind me that I can love. That I can love something new. They are sweet and soft. And they make me laugh. I didn’t think I could take on kittens when Genevieve asked for them. I’m too broken to do this, I thought to myself…
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…