Dear Mom,

I wish I could hug you right now. Cry against your shoulder. Even just talk to you. I wish that you were here, telling me that's it's alright, that we're alright, that everything will be alright. But unlike at grandma's funeral, you're the one in the coffin.

Dad has gone back to drinking, and right now all he can do is lean against a tree next to your future grave. I don't know if I can survive, Mom, with you gone and he drunk all the time. Every day I think of suicide, how easy it would be to put Dad's gun against my temple or my heart and pull the trigger, take a knife from the kitchen and slit my throat or stab myself to death, or take a rope from the garage and hung myself, just like the young man in that ballet we used to enjoy watching together, Le Jeune Homme Et La Mort. But you were murdered, Mom, and I wouldn't die of suicide for anything in the world, because that's not what you would have wanted, and Dad needs help.

I met our favorite author again on my way from the airport this morning, at a book signing. I had bought one of his novels and wanted it signed. To you. I intended to give it to you tonight, as a make-up present for not having more time to spend with you and Dad, to whom I got a watch. He was very kind, and he wrote his number under his autograph, saying that he wanted to see me again. Should I call him ? I think I will. I need someone to help me right now, and since he was your favorite author and is still mine, he seems to be the right person to talk to. Oh, Mom, I wish you would've been there when we talked, I wish you would've seen me fall for him, my gaze dropping to his lips every time he parted them, my legs shaking, my knees failing me, the stupid I'm-in-love kind of grin that must've spread quickly all over my head as he caressed my hand, which never left the book; I wish you would've been here to hear the voice he used to talk to me, see the way he couldn't help himself from drawing those small patterns all over the back of my hand that I told you about, his eyes shining, hear his heartbeat increase by the second. You must think that I'm imagining all those things, but I'm not, I'm sure of it. Just like I'm not imagining your coffin being put inside the grave while I'm writing those words. Dear Mom, there are so many things I would like to tell you about, but there's no time for it anymore, so I'll say the words that say it all without taking too much time to be said.

The police may have considered your case closed, but I'm sure there's more to your death than random gang violence. I've decided to transfer from English to Law enforcement. One day, I'll become a homicide detective, and I will put killers behind bars. I'll find the ones who did this to you, and I'll put them behind bars too. Don't try to make me change my mind. I don't want any other family to have to go through what we're going through right now. If death can't be reversed, killers can be found, heard, and sentenced. Knowing who doesn't matter as much as knowing why, but it still does. I wish we knew. And one day, we will.

I love Dad.
I love you Mom, you are a wonderful person. I wish I had told you that more often.
I think that I love Richard Castle, too; I'll know for sure once we get to know each other better.

I need help to help myself and to help Dad. Hopefully, Richard will be there to help the both of us.

I need to give you this letter before they close your coffin and you're gone forever. I wish I could've given you a proper goodbye, but it's too late now. So this is my goodbye to you.
Goodbye mom, I miss you. We miss you.

- Your little girl forever, Kate.