Dear Grace,

This has not been an easy year and a half for you. I’m sorry. Please take this apology and wrap it as a gift, with dignity. I’m glad I’m writing this letter for you. And I don’t know what to say. Tell me, what is it you want me to say?

I can understand, how nothing in life makes sense anymore. We don’t make sense together. Here is the past, here is the present. They are not continuous anymore—they are forgetful and ephemeral. Here is the future, and you won’t even look. And here is joy, followed by an inevitable, rapid crash. I know you try to be good when you feel good. I know how hard it is to feel like you’re doing good, when you feel bad. I know how often you feel bad. […]

You tell me you want to be surrounded by people. You want to receive physical touch, you want people to ask you how you are.

You always think one step too ahead. Or, I don’t know if it’s a step ahead or a step skewed.

[…]

Hopefully the therapists will answer you soon. I’m sorry I spent so long in messaging them. It was so easy to do.

Grace, isn’t it time to go to bed now?

[…]

There’s still a lot to talk about. We’ll get there.