January 16, 1999
Dear Mom,
The funeral was awful. I was a mess the whole time and everyone kept saying how sorry they are. Some even said they understood. But they don't. No one understands how I feel.
Except maybe Dad. He might. He loved you just as much as I did. The funeral was beautiful, and it beauty just made it worse. It was like everyone was trying to pretend that something about this is beautiful. But your death was just ugly. Father Vince presided over the ceremony and talked a lot about heaven and God, but I'm not so sure anymore. What kind of God would orchestrate something so horrible. What kind of God would take you away from me like this?
After they finished the burial, Dad said, "Let's just get out of here, Katie," and we went on the train to Coney Island and walking along the beach. Neither of us could stand being at that reception for another second, but I'm sorry we left early. I feel like we disrespected you somehow, and I can't stand the thought that I disappointed you. Dad and I made a stickman from the twine and twigs that washed up on the shore, just like we used to build sandcastles when I was younger.
Mom, I smiled. How could I be happy enough to smile? You're gone and not coming back and I smiled? Dad said that the stickman could be a symbol that even on the worst days there's a possibility for joy. It's sitting on my dresser now, and as I write this it feels like it's staring at me accusatorily. Just because being happy is a possibility doesn't mean it should happen.
I miss you so much. There's a hole in my heart that I know nothing else and no one else will ever be able to fill. Dad's trying the best he can, but it's not like it was before. It will never be like it was before. I wish it could be.
Home is mostly silent now. We don't really talk. Sometimes we cry, but everything that can be said already has been. Sometimes friends call, but mostly we don't pick up. Eventually they just leave a message and stop calling. Do we need anything. They're there for us. They're sorry. It's all the same now.
The world used to turn when you were here. Things used to happen. Without you…everything's just stopped. And neither Dad nor I have the energy to get it moving again. Is it even possible? Being at home without you is so painful, I feel like I'm drowning in it.
College starts again in one week. I haven't told Dad, but I've already sent in the paperwork that will allow me to transfer to NYU for the rest of this year and the next. The silence of the house is oppressive, but I can't go to school halfway across the country and leave him alone here. I won't put it off a semester either—I need something to concentrate on besides this, something to distract me from the awfulness of it all.
Don't think that I'm trying to put you out of my mind, Mom. Never. I love you.
Love,
Kate