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Adam is helping me write this because he says I'm no good at spelling, otherwise I'd write it all by myself. For now, though, I'll take my big brother's help. I'm seven now, mommy. I'm getting to be a big boy. Today Mrs. Halley taught us to finger paint.
All the other kids painted turkeys but guess what, mommy. I tried to paint you. It was really good, Mrs. Halley said so; Adam too. We're putting it on the fridge. I can't wait until you come back, Mommy. Adam says you just had to leave the hospital to get some better medicine somewhere far. I love you, mommy.
Ethan (With help from Adam)
You can't do this! Leaving us, calling it quits because mom died. You think Ethan and I aren't hurting too? I had to lie to him but everyone in town knows. They look at him with such pity like they even knew his name before mom died. They only care because they look good taking in little lost children. You left us in the middle of the night, I saw you drive off. I can't stomach telling Ethan you're a good man. You're nothing but a coward.
I know you're actually dead. I'm in the sixth grade now. I noticed all the weird looks I got. I knew you weren't coming back. Not if you were gone five years.
I've been painting again. Mostly people. Girls are easier to paint, they have smoother features and can stay still longer than boys. They also don't get as angry when you ask. I hope you like the paintings, I'm putting them on the fridge, like usual.
I can't live with this. It was my fault she died. Goodbye.
You're 16 now, you deserve to know. Dad killed mom. He was drunk and insisted on driving anyway, all of us were in the car. Dad was yelling like a maniac, you were only 2 and I was 10 Mom was turned around, trying to calm us down. Dad turned and looked at her like he was going to yell but that's when he swerved out of the lane into a mini van. That's why you have that scar on your chest.
Mom went into a coma. She wouldn't wake up, not for a whole year. Finally, her soul just left. She couldn't just rot while we were all in pain around her, I'm sure that's what she thought.
He killed her.
I know what happened. I can't paint anymore. My hands won't listen. Everything gets messed up, I can't see straight through the tears. Not when I know how you died. I didn't get to know you because of a stupid mistake of that man. Mom, why? Why did you have to die?
Forever with love,
You'll never guess what. After seven years I can paint again. I met Susan in my freshman year of college. Mom, she's incredible. She inspired me to paint again. I've been working so hard to get her picture right but I just can't do her justice.
It's been so long since I last wrote you. I'm not sure why I do even now. Nostalgia, I suppose.
Fifty years have passed. I married Susan, we had a daughter but she died when she was five. Kidnapped. My Susan, she was never the same after that. She died of a broken heart, I'm sure. I can't paint anymore, my hand shakes too much with age. With sorrow. Now every time I try to paint her my hand trembles and ruins the whole thing. I'll never be able to do it.
I'm sorry mom, it's getting dark. It's getting so dark...