Entry 1: Dear Jacob
My Dearest Baby Boy...
No.
My Dearest Son. No, that’s not right either.
...
...
My Dearest Jacob,
I was told to just start writing. Dr Jameson thinks it’s good if I just start writing, but every time I do, every time I try to speak to you, I cannot seem to find the words. So, I write my dearest son, or boy, or Jacob, but I know you’d hate all of that. I suppose I just don’t know what else to write. Does it even matter?
After all, you can’t read this from a grave.
No, ignore that line. Let’s start again...
Dear Jacob,
Your funeral is tomorrow.
And it will be the second worst day of my life. The first one came last week when I got the call. I was waiting for you to come for our weekly dinner, but you never did. And now I suppose you won’t.
You are rarely late for anything, but you were late that day. I thought nothing of it. These things happen. But then you weren’t there after half an hour. Then you wouldn’t answer your phone. And then an hour passed, and still, there was no sign of you.
And then...
That moment...
An hour later...
Then the phone call came. I didn’t know who would be calling this late. No one ever called this late, not since your father passed. And now you’re with him and I’m all alone. You both left me all alone... I answered that phone hoping it was you. I think I said your name, I’m not sure, I don’t remember much of that night.
They said it was a bad accident. You were gone...
You were dead before you arrived at the hospital. I didn’t get a moment to say goodbye. I don’t know if that’s why this hurts so much, but I’m betting it’s not. We could have had the perfect last moment and it would have felt like my heart had been torn from my open chest.
Still, I’ve been focusing on that one thing, the fact that I couldn’t say goodbye. Dr Jameson suggested that I write a letter to you, as stupid as that sounds. It’s supposed to be a way for me to say goodbye to you. I’m supposed to write a goodbye letter and put it in your coffin with you. I can’t do that. So instead I’m doing this. Writing a letter in this journal. Because if you can read this from where you are, I’m assuming it won’t need to be in a coffin for you to see it. Not that any of this matters because I’ve already made a decision. Without you and your father here, I don’t see a reason for me to be.
Dorothy is calling me now. I don’t know when I called her, or even if I did, but she’s been here since that dreadful day. She’s been looking after me. Her, and Liz and her girlfriend. Oh, Liz is such a sweet girl. I’m glad you had her in your life. I’m just hoping I can get rid of all three of them for a while, just until its over. Just until someone else finds me.
Anyway, I think I’ve dragged this out for too long.
Goodbye, my beautiful boy.
After I bury you tomorrow, I’ll be seeing you very soon.
I love you,
Your mother, Cynthia Baker
