My beloved firstborn.
I know you’re gone. I know there is nothing I can do about that.
I’ll love you until the day I die.
A letter from Feb. 15, 2016
I write you a letter every day, in my head. There are many things I want to say, but I often feel like it would be for nothing. So I have given you time, and space.
It has been difficult. I miss you so much. Before you left, we hardly spent more than a few days apart. We hugged. We laughed. We rocked out. There were some fights, some mistakes, some angry words said. But we were family. We are family. Always.
Forgiveness is so you can heal and be a complete person for those who care about you, free of negativity. Whether we have a future relationship or not, I hope you find it in yourself to forgive me for the mistakes I made. I hope you find peace with the anger that lingers. You will always be the happiest baby boy I’ve ever known; the clever toddler; the charming boy; the witty teen. I hope to meet the man one day.
You’ve heard only one side of some two-sided arguments. To say the divorce was one person’s fault would be unfair. Your father and I tried very hard to make things work. As late as summer 2000, I thought we had a chance. But the difficult truth is, our demons did not play well together. His depression and my depression grew overwhelming.
If I could die for a day to give him back to you for a day, I would. I feel like he would not want you to hate me. I choose to remember him the way he was when we were a family. Just like I choose to remember my grandfather the way he was before the cancer, and my dad the way he was before the accident.
You are my moon. I may not always see you, but I know you’re there and I always think of you. No matter how much distance between us, I will love you forever.
Take care of yourself.