You may read this, you may not. I miss you, son, and wish you'd return my calls. It was a cold October night not long ago that you were ripped from my life. Every October is a reminder to me of the night I came home from school to find you gone. I know it was not your doing nor could I blame you for the heartache I suffered these 12 years since. I walked up to the front door of our house that evening, I remember the sleet stinging my face. "There shouldn't be too many trick-or-treaters tonight," I thought as two little witches followed me onto the stoop, and waited patiently as I turned the key in the lock, eyes gleaming from the supressed excitement for the anticipated sweets I would momentarily be dropping into their plastic pumpkins. I shot a quick glance over my shoulder at the proud parents, waiting with a watchful eye from the sidewalk a few steps back. "Hi Ruthie," I said, grasping for the bowl of candy set waiting by the door. I assumed your mother had taken you out to cash in on the nights prizes, but as I dropped my backpack inside of the door, I noticed the cats had not come to greet me at the door. Looking around, I noticed that the cats were not the only thing missing, there were pictures taken from the walls, and rushing around, there were clothes missing from the closet... The door. There were more visitors ringing the doorbell now... I made my way back to the door, eyes starting to well. Sitting there in the doorway that night, I realized that my life would never be the same again. I sat, the sleet heavier now, as the crowds thinned, and my eyes gushed. The neighbors would have a lot to say behind their closed doors. I didn't care, I had lost my son that night. The only one that I thought I'd ever have. My heart had been ripped out, and nothing could shame me into the house to face the emptiness that the house would haunt me with until they kicked me out.
My cell number has never changed, and you can always reach me here. Happy birthday, and I miss you.

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