Garrett,
I can’t turn my mind to any memories that I have of you. I just can’t. It’s overwhelmingly hard to try to recall a full memory. What I do have are tiny, little, snippets of memories. They flash across my mind and then they’re gone. Just enough to see you and then they disappear.
It’s too much. Too painful.
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, If I wait too long between appointments to see Tricia, I can feel myself turning to stone. I get stuck in my own thoughts. I feel myself sinking down into a sense of defeat, and I stay there. It feels like a logjam of stuckness, which usually means I need to sit…
Hi, Garrett, I write these letters, and it is a process of slow articulation. I identify the thoughts and feelings about our relationship that I need to bring to the surface and examine. I identify them and know that I need to look at them, one by one, and say, this is what I know…
Hi, Garrett, Guests. I think it was a week after you died that my mother came. Your Oma. She loved you, Garrett. Of that I have no doubt. She came and stayed with us for a week. I didn’t have anywhere for her to sleep. I couldn’t imagine putting her in your room, so…
Dear Garrett, Tricia has said that the level of grief one experiences is dependent on the level of attachment you had with that person. I think for many people who haven’t experienced the grief of death, to hear about a death is a momentary shock. It might make them consider for a minute their own…
Dear Garrett, Something happened yesterday that makes me feel on edge. I feel uncomfortable because I I’m not confident about what I did and I feel susceptible to the judgment of others. I think you might know what I mean. A friend of ours came over, whom we hadn’t seen since before you died. We…
