End
To those who have joined me on this journey,
Thank you for walking with me through the first year.
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Letter 42 – Genevieve’s Birthday
Hi, Garrett, It’s Genevieve’s birthday today. The first birthday you aren’t here for. Mine doesn’t count, and Kevin’s doesn’t either. But Genevieve’s birthday does. Maybe because you are both my children. And she is getting older, and you are not. You will never be older than you were when you died. You will not grow…
Letter 48 – Ava
Dear Garrett, A lot of what I write about is painful. I hope that the act of examination will help soften the blow of the memories and the deep sadness as I put them to paper. I hope that the work of addressing and regurgitating this pain into the open air will help to better…
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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…
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Hi, bud. The last thing I wanted was to have a funeral. And I didn’t, not really. At first, I didn’t want to do anything. I was in shock. I couldn’t absorb the fact that you were dead. It still comes up, a little wail in my mind that says, how can this be?…
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Garrett, I’m unable to go to the dentist since you died. I don’t know if it’s because I feel so vulnerable sitting in the chair with my mouth wide open or the fact that the people there are so nice. I can practically feel the sympathy dripping from them. I can’t do it. I tried,…
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Dear Garrett, Whenever I see Jack in the Library, it tugs. Just a little. The first time was the hardest. You grew up together. You, Jack and Paul. Had countless sleepovers and played in the street all day. Parents would come out to supervise, and we’d visit while we watched over you. I thought…
