Dear Leighton,

It’s been so long since I’ve written to you. As the air turns cold and less autumn leaves are underfoot, my mind drifts to those early days when I wrote to deal with the grief. My therapist suggested the idea, you remember, don’t you? With such a touchy topic, it’s been difficult to start again. It’s been so long since I’ve seen your face.

It’s hard to know just what to say. I wish I could’ve told you this in person. I wish I could wrap you in my arms and tell you just how much you mean to me, how much you’ve always meant to me. I wish I could take you out to dinner once more. You could tell me all about the stupid boys you’re dating and how your classes are going. I would lecture you, in the way I always did, and we’d both groan, hiding how much we treasure that ritual, even to ourselves. Just one more time. That would be enough.

I went to Vancouver on business last week. It was nice. I found myself wishing more than anything that you could’ve been there too. I spoke to your cousins in the city. Ryan’s been accepted into the Master’s program!

We miss you.

I miss you.

It took so much to sit down and write to you, and now I can’t bring myself to say goodbye. Until I write once more, or when next I see your beautiful face.

Love you,

Mom

~

Dear Leighton,

The cold bite of January’s winter winds keep me company on my morning walks. I go before the sun rises. The same time you would run before the world woke to greet you. I cannot run alongside you, so I walk. My old knees no longer carry me the way they used to.

It’s been too long since I wrote to you. Time seems to have gotten away from me. I started seeing Dr. Jackson again. She suggested I continue writing these letters. I’ve been so hesitant to share my emotions on the page. Looking back, I realized I dumped them on you in the past, perhaps silently harming you in a way I didn’t understand. You seemed so strong. I wish I could’ve lightened the load on your shoulders. I didn’t see it.

Another failure on my part. I only saw your strength.

Ryan and I have started painting together again. Oils were always your favourite. They truly are messier than I remember! And the scent of the thinner! Gross! I really don’t know how you dealt with that, all cooped up in your room, painting for hours at a time.

It’s been hard for me to adjust. The painting helps, sometimes, and it’s easier with Ryan around. She actually moved in recently, into the guest room. I haven’t been able to clean out your room, not yet. It’s been a while since you left for college. I thought I’d keep it the way you left it in case you wanted to visit, or stay. Even when it became clear you wouldn’t return, not ever, I still couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I hope one day you can forgive me for not being able to move on.

On a slightly happier note, the divorce between Richard and I has been finalized! I know you’d be proud of me for finally pulling the plug. Honestly, I know the marriage was over long ago. I’m not even sure what we were hanging on for. Now I’m free to live my life and get back into the things I enjoyed when I was young! I never thought I’d be saying those words but it’s so very liberating.

Wherever you are, I hope you’re doing well.

Love you,

Mom

~

Hey Kiddo,

Things are rough. Your dad has been giving me shit ever since the divorce. He wanted to get back together, said we should “try things out.” Well, you know how he is. But I spent enough years waiting for him to change and there’s no way I was about to give him another chance. I considered filing for a restraining order at one point. Honestly, I still think about it.

He’s got a new woman now. I used to know her. She was in the parent-teacher association back when you were in elementary school. She’s nice. We had lunch a while back, around the time she and Richard began dating. Nowadays, it’s a little awkward. I text her from time to time. She has two daughters from a previous marriage. The oldest, who I think you would’ve really gotten along well with, is graduating university soon. She’ll have a Bachelor’s in Computer Science, the same degree you eventually settled on.

When Ryan and I were shopping for supplies I saw something you might like. A small set of Michael Harding oil paints, your favourite brand. I’m not so sure what to do with them, so I’ve tucked the little box in my closet, still wrapped in the bag I brought them home in.

Ryan returned to Vancouver. She was here for four months. Her boyfriend took the ferry over and visited almost every weekend. He’s such a kind man. I’m not sure when she’s coming back, if she’s coming back. She’s young and needs to spread her wings but I would be lying if I said the house wasn’t empty with only me in it.

Dr. Jackson’s schedule has been full the last couple months. It’s just me, myself, and I these days.

I found your old Xbox in the basement. I remember the day we picked it out for you, and how excited you were to open it. It was your 12th birthday, wasn’t it? I brought it up to the living room. I wanted to get a taste of what it used to be like, when it was just me and you on the weekends, when you’d show me your favourite games. You always loved Halo.

It’s so hard to accept that you’re really gone.

There I go again, putting my problems onto you. I’m sorry.

But, I guess, I’m not really writing these letters for you, am I? That’s something I’ve been trying to avoid acknowledging. Part of me can’t admit it. It’s too hard. Part of me needs to feel you’re still here, that you’re still with me, that you never left, and that you’re never going to go. Even now, I find myself expecting you to come home, throw your backpack by the couch, and give me a hug. Part of me still thinks you’re going to, and none of this ever happened.

It’s a parent’s worst nightmare, losing their child. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel somewhat responsible.

We all did. We still do.

At first, it felt like the world stopped turning. Now, all these years later, I know time never stops, and neither does the pain I feel from losing you. Everything carries on, no matter what happens.

Part of me feels so fucking guilty for writing this. Because you were my world. Even now that you’re gone, you still are.

I wish I could’ve done more.

Love you, so so much,

Mom

~

Dear Leighton,

It’s Mom again. I know it’s been a while since my last letter. Wherever you are, I hope it’s kind and peaceful. I’m sure it is.

I’m in Vancouver! Originally, this was just another work trip but I decided to take some time off. I’m part-time these days. The money from the divorce has been treating me well! I forgot how delicious the food is in the city. I don’t know if you remember, but when you were little, we used to take the SkyTrain to Metrotown for the day. You loved it.

I’m staying with Ryan and her boyfriend. I think you would’ve liked him. His name is Warren and he’s a big gamer. He has the new PlayStation hooked up to a massive flat-screen in their living room. I know you bought a new console when you went to university but I can’t remember which one it was. I get the feeling Warren has plans to propose. They’ve been together for a while. They’re a cute couple. I hope everything works out for them. He seems to treat her well.

Ryan hung a few of the paintings we’ve made together in her hallway. We followed an old Bob Ross video. We’re both really proud of them.

She reminds me of you sometimes.

The first snow of the year graced the mountaintops two weeks ago. The breeze grows colder every day. On my morning walks, my breath condensates. We all went skiing in Whistler over the weekend. The three of us took some pictures. I’ve bundled some with this letter.

Love you,

Mom

~

Dear Leighton,

I finally did it. I cleaned out your room. My therapist says it’s a step forward. A Christmas gift for myself or an acknowledgement of the new year and the change that comes with it. I know you would be proud. I know that you are. But it’s still so hard. So many memories come up, rooting through your old books, clothes, and games. I found a few toys you played with as a kid, hidden under your bed, and the parking garage toy I bought for you so long ago. The cars have been lost to time but I don’t think I’ll ever bring myself to part with it. It took me back.

It all took me back.

Most of your things are in boxes now. I’m still not sure what I’ll do with it all. I wrapped those oil paints I bought for you. It’s your Christmas present. They’re still there, sitting on the end of your bed.

There’s still a lot more to pack. I can only do so much in one go before the grief is too great to bear. It’s been a couple weeks since I started. It isn’t getting easier. The grief I feel hasn’t lessened. I don’t know if I want it to.

Sometimes, on my way to bed, I’ll look past your packed belongings and into your room through the crack in the door. The stacks of boxes make it look like you’re moving out. I guess in a way you are. Or maybe you already did, and I’m just now getting the memo.

Wherever you are, I hope you have all you could ever want.

I love you more than you’ll ever know.

Mom

~

Dear Leighton,

Hey my love. It’s been a while. I thought I’d never say this, but things are looking up. The last couple years have been hard but I think the worst of it might be over. The morning sun shines through the stained glass in the kitchen, spilling across the page in fractured segments of light as I write this letter to you now. The birdsong chorus has returned after disappearing for the winter.

I’ve just finished moving. Our old house had too many memories. I know the people who’ve bought it and they’ll take good care of it. Besides, it was too much space for me these days.

Slowly, I’m settling in. I was approved for a transfer to the Vancouver branch. I’m living in an apartment twenty minutes away from Ryan and her husband. It’s comfortable. I like it here.

Oh! Guess what? You’re going to be an Auntie! Ryan and Warren are having a baby girl. (And don’t hit me with that “cousin first removed” crap!) I couldn’t be more excited to meet her.

Your things … I’ve gotten rid of a lot of them. The rest are in storage. I figure at this point, they weren’t doing much good, just hanging there and reminding me you aren’t here anymore. I know you would agree that it’s the best decision at this point. I’m sure whoever’s got them now is going to be making memories and I would hate to deny them that. I found some of your baby clothes in the back of your closet. I remember buying them for you when you were so tiny, so new. I’m so happy you kept them. I thought you got rid of them long ago. They’re going to your niece. She’ll love them. I never thought things would turn out as they did. Still, I would do it all again, just to spend more time with you, the best daughter a mom could ask for.

I’m so grateful I had the privilege of knowing you.

I love you, beautiful.

Forever and always,

Mom