Dear You

September 15, 1995

Dear You,

I'm standing at the bridge as I scramble down my feelings into the journal.

I'm trying to imagine what it was like that night. You must have planned it out. For weeks, thinking about what you were going to do. It must have came naturally. Stepping off and falling. Did it hurt? Did you scream? Did you realize half way down that it wasn't worth it?

That your two sisters needed you? That Mom and Dad needed you?

Or were you happy? Are you happy? I hope you're happy. And I don't mean that sarcastically or with contempt. I honest to God hope you're happy.

I love you, you know?

Goddammit Zander, I fuckin' miss you.

Yesterday I was setting the table. I put an extra plate out for you. Mom saw it and broke down crying. Alexia didn't even come home that night. And Dad? God I haven't seen Dad in weeks. Probably drinking way his struggle, his pain.

We're all in pain. We miss you. More than you know.

So now I'm up on this bridge, looking down. I see the way the water hits the side. It hits against it, breaks the rock. Then comes back. Back and back again. It's almost peaceful.

Were you at peace that night?

Goddammit I wish you could answer.