August 31, 1984
It has been a couple of weeks since your funeral and things are very different here. School is about to start. I wish you were here to help pick out my school clothes. Dad just told us to get what we need. You always got us the pretty stuff. Today I have to go to the orthodontist to get braces. I do not want them! They are ugly. I will be called Metal Mouth and other bad names. I have to wear them for two years!! I won’t be able to eat what I want for that long. Last night Dad took us out for dessert. I got the stickiest, gooeyest dessert there. It was good. I feel like I am going through slow motion. So much is happening so fast. I wish I could really talk to you like we used to. I write these letters hoping you might read them but I don’t know where to send them.
I got to go.