Dear Michael,

I couldn’t sleep last night. I lost my car key and tore the house apart all day looking for it, fruitlessly. My new friend had invited me to brunch earlier that week and I’d been so looking forward to it, but then I lost the car key and couldn’t go. I told Monstro, “Wow, I must really not have wanted to see MFM after brunch.” The key is nowhere to be found; I think it must have disintegrated. At least my house is clean[er than it was]. Sometimes I hate my life.

Anyway, the stress of the day led to sleeplessness (looking back on it, “The Road” probably wasn’t the best choice for the night’s entertainment). Sleeplessness usually leads to thoughts of you. It occurs to me that I ought not to have named you Michael — that’s the name of a Back In The Day boyfriend I used to have, and I wouldn’t want ¬†you or others to think that I’m writing to him — but, as my angel, the name seems to fit. Plus, alliteration.

I sure hope you’re shining down on me. A hug would be great but I don’t suppose that’s in the cards. I miss you so much. Last night I cupped my right hand, pretending to hold you. I wonder how big you were. Dad still hasn’t called me, even though I sent him my business card and thirty-five cents in his birthday card last month. I’m not sure whether it’s because of 1) shame, 2) anger for telling him he’s an a-hole when he’s drunk, or 3) whatever.

I told him I forgive him for telling me about you, but that doesn’t help the feeling of loss.

Your nephew turns seven this week. You would love him. He’s so smart and funny and amazing. I just pray you don’t get to meet him too soon.

Love you so much it brings tears to my eyes.


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