I bet I am not the first mom to write their child in heaven. But this is my first letter to you since you died. I hope you get it because I am not sure how to have something sent to heaven.
It’s been about 8 months since you left us and I miss you. All the time. Every day. And I always will. There are days I wake up and the realization that you are gone just hits me like a freight train in my heart.
I am not angry with you for killing yourself. I was shocked at first. But then I read all your music and it was so clear how much you suffered. You know we tried to help. And I know you didn’t always like how we helped but we did the best we could with the resources we had.
I know you loved us. I know you wanted to end your pain and I wish my love for you could have been the antidote.
I still have some of your clothes and belongings packed in boxes. The thing I can’t bring myself to open again is the plain brown bag with the clothes you were wearing when you died.
Who would ever have thought that they return the clothing of the dead? Who has that job? The job that puts a label on a bag with the clothing someone hanged themselves in? Do they think about the person who was in them? Or is it just another day on the job?
And what do people do with them? I can’t part with them. But I can’t face them either. When I first got that bag of clothing, I pulled them out and just hugged them. For hours and hours I cried and held those tan corduroys and that red shirt taking in your scent.
And the shoes. That was the most ironic thing. It was that pair of converse chuck taylors with superman, man of steel. Nanny gave those to you.
They didn’t help you that day and I wish they had. I wish you had really felt like the man of steel. But to me, it was those shoes that made me hurt the most. I loved those shoes. You loved those shoes. How could they let you down?
Depression had sucked all the energy from you. So much so you reached out for something that would make you feel better. Only in the end, it was the thing that killed you. It was my greatest fear heroin would find you– and it did. Why did I have to realize all of my greatest fears?
I want you now to give me strength and help me do what I need to do to help others avoid having to go through this pain. I need you to help me deal with this pain of missing you.
You were the cutest, sweetest child ever. You know that right? You stopped traffic as a toddler and everyone loved you. You made a difference Charles. Just in the short time you were here.
You said in your music that you didn’t think it was possible for a soul to bleed inside. I know what you mean because my soul does that, too. But I keep going and I am not sure how. I have gotten a hug from you every once in a while. Thank you for that. They mean a lot.
Please get in touch. Somehow. I love you.