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.
Hi, my beautiful boy. I used to call you that. Not too long ago, I would say, hi, beautiful boy. Sometimes when we were talking, or sitting together, I would tell you, you are my beautiful, beautiful boy. I miss saying that. I miss telling you that. You are still my beautiful, beautiful child. I…
Beautiful Child, One of the hardest things about being your parent was trying to get you to do things that you didn’t want to do. It was hard to guide you into being responsible or accountable for anything. You wouldn’t do it. You resisted, hard. I always felt that you wanted all the freedoms…
Garrett, The other day I was walking Koda by the river. Walking Koda is a good time to think about you and talk to you in my mind. I don’t usually get very far in the conversation, mostly because as soon as I think of you the grief creeps in and I drop into…
Hi, Garrett. My counselor tells me that I need to find a way to go towards love. That there is love that you have to give, that you still are able to share with me. She is telling me that you are out there. Are you there?
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…
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…
