When we met you were the most vivid person I’d ever seen, more boy than man…but look at you now. You suffocated yourself in the car, and all you left me with is our oblivious little kid and the knowledge that I was not enough, not a reason to endure what you were going through. I wonder, did we ever cross your mind? When you sat there, did you realize you’d be tearing my world apart and pull [bad word] out from under me? Did you not want to see your son grow up? Never hear him talk? He looks just like you. constant reminder. And in the garden you planted a tree to put a swing in for him someday. But tell me, how can this still be our home? Tell me, how are we supposed to go on? How am I supposed to go on?