Nov 2014
Dear Sammy,
I pray one day you'll read this and realize how far away you are from me.
I'm staring at the comic strip you drew for me on my birthday three years ago. You wrapped a jumbo Hershey's Bar in it and left it next to my backpack at school. I remember when my birthday used to mean something to you. I remember playing with you when we were three and four years old and dressing you up in my tutus and lipstick. I remember when you were my little brother.
I don't know who you are anymore.
You've been falling apart for so long and I tried my best to fix you. I should've done more, I should've told somebody. When you told me you wanted to **** yourself, I should've called your mother. But I tried to help you myself and I gave you attention and now that's all you want.
You still tell people you want to **** yourself. I know now that you just want attention. One day I fear you'll stop getting it and you'll actually **** yourself and I will fall to my knees and tear my hair out and wail and scream because you are so young and in so much pain and you tried so hard to leave me behind and now you've finally succeeded.
Now all you do is find girls and cheat on them and smoke and drink and swear and fight and you left Jesus and your big sister and your best friend in the chaos behind you and we cannot keep up. We've stopped trying. You don't want to listen. We don't want to talk. We just want you.
I haven't had a conversation with you in 3 years. I see you every ******* day and I talk to you and you hug me but you don't even see me anymore. And I don't know who I see anymore.
You have so much promise. So much talent. You are so smart. Sam, I love you so much. We all do. And despite what you think, your father does too.
I miss you. I've lost you and maybe it's my fault, maybe I should've done something more. But now you're too far gone, you've denied every shadow of your pain and therefore I cannot help you heal it.
I pray for you now. I pray for the little boy who I ate Mac and cheese with and built forts with. I pray for the star musician, for the painter, for the writer.
I pray for the boy who is killing his body and suffocating his heart and abandoning his family.
Sammy, please come home.
I pray one day you'll read this and realize how far away you are from me.
I'm staring at the comic strip you drew for me on my birthday three years ago. You wrapped a jumbo Hershey's Bar in it and left it next to my backpack at school. I remember when my birthday used to mean something to you. I remember playing with you when we were three and four years old and dressing you up in my tutus and lipstick. I remember when you were my little brother.
I don't know who you are anymore.
You've been falling apart for so long and I tried my best to fix you. I should've done more, I should've told somebody. When you told me you wanted to **** yourself, I should've called your mother. But I tried to help you myself and I gave you attention and now that's all you want.
You still tell people you want to **** yourself. I know now that you just want attention. One day I fear you'll stop getting it and you'll actually **** yourself and I will fall to my knees and tear my hair out and wail and scream because you are so young and in so much pain and you tried so hard to leave me behind and now you've finally succeeded.
Now all you do is find girls and cheat on them and smoke and drink and swear and fight and you left Jesus and your big sister and your best friend in the chaos behind you and we cannot keep up. We've stopped trying. You don't want to listen. We don't want to talk. We just want you.
I haven't had a conversation with you in 3 years. I see you every ******* day and I talk to you and you hug me but you don't even see me anymore. And I don't know who I see anymore.
You have so much promise. So much talent. You are so smart. Sam, I love you so much. We all do. And despite what you think, your father does too.
I miss you. I've lost you and maybe it's my fault, maybe I should've done something more. But now you're too far gone, you've denied every shadow of your pain and therefore I cannot help you heal it.
I pray for you now. I pray for the little boy who I ate Mac and cheese with and built forts with. I pray for the star musician, for the painter, for the writer.
I pray for the boy who is killing his body and suffocating his heart and abandoning his family.
Sammy, please come home.
