I am not afraid anymore. Of anything. Certainly not of death. The worst has happened. Maybe not the actual worst, but at some point you max out on how much grief and terribleness you can feel. I might be there. I used to dream sometimes about living forever. “Science can do it,” I’d think. We’re nearly there! And wouldn’t that be amazing!?

Thanksgiving was hard. I won’t even write about it. I just felt numb. The Saturday after we had a bunch of your friends over and that was better. Telling stories. Laughing. Feeling closer to you. Gemma, James and I were up until 4am. It reminded me of past holidays, but more somber - no dancing around the house and singing at the top of our lungs after Mom and Dad went to sleep.

Two weeks ago Mom booked me a sound healing session. I didn’t know what to expect - I guess some type of gong bath or reiki. But instead it was part psychic, part massage - with the help of instruments. The healer took singing bowls and tuning forks and laid them on my body to “open my chakras”. It was relaxing. As she worked she called out visions she received…

I’m almost angry at you today. I know none of this is your fault, but why the hell did you leave us? I’ve never seen Mom and Dad this sad. They both think the other is sadder. I couldn’t pick. It’s more striking with Dad tho. Mom always wears her heart on her sleeve. And you were her baby, I expected the worst. But Dad’s heart is broken and you can see it on his face.

The past week was weird. Harder. I can feel normal life settling in again. I don’t like it. I spent the weekend in the city. The first real weekend out. I saw friends. I couldn’t bring myself to go to Maddie’s birthday, I couldn’t handle small talk. I went to a dinner instead - with Devin, Gina, and Merp.

Last night (Friday) James, Kate, Gemma and I went and had a beer with you at your grave. James made a makeshift grave“stone” (it’s wood) for you with an old woodturning kit we had in the basement. You would love it… probably more than you’ll like the real stone. (How fucked up is it to think about you loving your own grave?)

Yesterday was a lot. I went with Dad, James, Richie, and Pat Brosnan to the apartment where you died. I saw The Stairs. I’m glad I went. But man was it hard. Do you want to hear this? I’m not sure what you experienced. Did you feel anything? Did you realize what was happening? When did things stop? Go black? Did they?  

Today was Halloween, it was a beautiful day. In case you didn’t realize, during your wake Tommy left a small skull candy by your hand. He said it was so you could celebrate Halloween. I thought that was both sweet and hysterical - we left it there and I didn’t bother to explain it unless explicitly asked.

I’ve been writing these letters at night. It’s the only time I find some peace, some alone time. Right now it’s almost midnight. Almost halloween. The house is so quiet. James and Gemma just went up to bed. Mom and Dad two hours ago. You would probably be asleep now too. Dad gave us a more complete account of what he’d heard about the night you died.

It’s Sunday. 29 October. You’ve been gone a week. I can’t stand that you’re receding into the past. That every minute that goes by is another minute without you. Every now and then I think you’re just not HERE with us right now. Like you’re out for the day or away at school, but we’ll see you again. And then I remember.

Several years back a former teacher (Miss Kaplan, 8th grade English and Theater) lost her partner and wrote letters to him and posted them online. I never told her at the time, but I thought they were beautiful. I miss you so much and wish I could talk to you and so I’m going to try.