My beloved Zoe Lynn, We have some many things I would like for us to do together before our time is through. There are rocks and mountains to climb, rivers to kayak and swim in, ideas, hopes and dreams to discuss. I want to be there to comfort you when you go through your first heartache, I want to be there when you graduate from high school and college (although whether or not you choose to further your education is, of course, completely up to you.) Someday you may have children of your own, and I look forward to being a grandfather — as long as that doesn’t happen too soon.
Life can be hard, it can be cruel and capricious, yet there is so much magic, wonder, love and hope as well. My sincerest hope is that you can return to seeing this more positive aspect of existence. I know how hard it can be to see that side when you are depressed — I know that only too well. I also have been hospitalized because I was despondent, as you know, but I kept myself alive because I knew how much my death would hurt the people who loved me. I believe that now you know this as well.
The last letter finished with you and your mom moving to Portland. She had quit her job as a nurse to return to school for acupuncture. This would prove to be the catalyst for your downward spiral. Of course, it was only part of a combination of factors that made for a potent recipe for depression. The move, you and I seeing each other less, a new school and city, your mom being really busy and not having as much time for you, plus the new addition of hormones, all of these contributed to your sorrow. But I believe that the thing that pushed you over the edge was you and your mom’s roommate, J.
She called you a slut(even though you are a virgin). She told you you were ugly and that no boy would ever want you. She insulted and dragged you down. Then she would lie about it to your mom and say you were making things up. I didn’t know any of this was happening until it was almost too late.
I found out about this when you called me one night in May, revealing to me that you were struggling with bad depression. You told me about the situation and your mom and I agreed that I should come get you and bring you back to Southern Oregon for some extra time. However, it wasn’t until I called your school — to let them know you would be missing school for a few days — that I was informed that you were posting suicidal thoughts on Instagram. When your school counselor sent me the links to these posts I was beyond horrified.
I was in the last few weeks of my college career at Umpqua Community College, and I remember waiting for Brook to come pick me up so we could get you in Portland. I was like a caged, wounded animal, pacing ceaselessly, unable to concentrate on anything except coming to get you. I was so scared. Brook too was frightened, and she drove like woman possessed on the drive north.
When I picked you up from school, I had already made up my mind that it was time for you to come live with me. I was ready to get a lawyer or go before a judge, anything I needed to do to keep you with me and keep you safe. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let you return to that house and be around that woman. You didn’t react well to the news, and neither did your mom.
Thankfully, Brook was able to calm things down between your mother and I and a short time after bringing you to live with us, we went to mediation where it was agreed that not only were you going to live with us in Roseburg for the rest of the school year, but that you would also be coming to live with us when we moved to Utah at the end of the summer. I really felt the change would be good for you.
I was wrong.
End Part III