Letter 65 – I Failed

Garrett, 

When you died, I was obliterated. I ask myself, Why couldn’t I have done the one thing a mother is supposed to do? Why couldn’t I protect my child?

Moms are supposed to always be there. They are supposed to give their children everything they need. Love, patience, understanding, guidance. My love was always there, but it seems everything else went wrong. I didn’t understand what you were doing, and I lost my patience with you. My words of guidance fell on deaf ears. Are you hearing me, Garrett? I’d ask you. Yes, I hear you, you’d say. The things you say do make a difference. But then you’d go and do exactly whatever it was that you wanted to do. And you were hurting yourself.

I failed you. I failed this. My parenting was not successful. I wasn’t strict enough. Or, I wasn’t giving enough. I was too laissez-faire. I am too cold. All of my flaws, on display for review. Because I couldn’t do what I needed to do to keep you alive. I didn’t have what it took to keep you here. I can only say, yes, all of these things are true. I am a mixed bag.