left unsaid.

Letter 8, 3/27/14

Babygirl,

Today Eliza drove me to the psychiatrist's office for my appointment. I'm still a little weak from the past few days, and my medication doesn't allow me to be behind the wheel. It's just another reminder of how a damaged mind can make decisions that will affect them later on in ways one would never realize. 

When I got there, Dr. Rockfield and I sat in silence for awhile. I spent a lot of my hour staring at the clock, watching as it slowly ticked away. But then, I guess she'd had enough. Because she finally spoke for the first time since she'd greeted me. 

"Jacson, I think we should talk about how you haven't been doing anything that you used to do, before Hanna passed." She had said.

Thus began another conversation I didn't want to have. 

She made me talk about things that we used to do, things that I enjoyed a lot. 

I told her about our morning trips to cafes, our little late night walks by the creek in the forest near our apartment, about the random trips to Target at ten-thirty right before closing time when you'd want something to snack on for movie night. As well as the times we spent on the park bench while you read with your feet in my lap, lost in your own world. Or the drives we'd take, wandering aimlessly until we found a place that seemed interesting and then stayed there for the weekend, pretending we'd always lived there. There were so many stories and adventures I told her about, that just seemed to keep bubbling out.

She told me my smile was blinding and that I should focusing on doing things that made me make that smile and feel the same way as remembering these things did.

I replied that I couldn't do anything I used to love without feeling the pain of you not being there beside me.

That left her silent for a while, as she thought of a way to respond.

Her reply was typical of a psychiatrist, I suppose. She said that it was normal for someone, specifically with depression, to lose interest in the hobbies or things they used to love. That sometimes the memories were too painful. But you had to fight through the pain in order to get over it, to be able to enjoy it again.

She asked me to promise to do one thing tomorrow that was part of at least our weekly routine.

Baby doll, I did. I've already decided what to do. It was one of your all time favorite things, and I haven't been able to go there since. Tomorrow night you'll see, love.

I want to make you proud. I want to make everyone proud.

-Jacson

(P.s. Your mom called right before I finished this letter. Three days from now, I'll be having dinner with your parents. I'll admit that I'm just afraid as ever, being around them.)