“My son is homeless, living on the street, with who knows how little warm clothing. Is he even still alive? I drive by his haunts. He hangs out by my work neighborhood often. How does that make me feel? Like he wants to be close, but oh so far away.”
‘He was my first baby. Sometimes I think, hell, just OD already. I didn’t raise you this way. I wait for that final phone call. Then I hate myself even more.’
‘I was writing my goodbye letter. I had gone out to my car, had a handful of pills in one hand, a bottle of water in the other, and then my husband called.’
“In kindergarten I tried to walk in front of a semi truck in the street. I lived with this demon all my childhood. Then I met the one.”
