My Beautiful Little Boy

I look with longing at your picture. Every day. I feel love, I feel heartache. I don't know or understand what happened.

Depression is a blanket sometimes light and thin and sometimes heavy. But always always there.

Today it's heavy. But it's weird because I can still have moments of happiness, of good, of appreciation.

I don't want to get "work" done. I just want to write. I just want to play. I just want to read. Can I do this? Should I?

I see pictures of myself holding you and try to get that I was a mama, I know you will all say I am a mama, and I know that, i feel that, but I don't ever get to hold my baby. So I see when I was an on-duty mama, when you were MY baby. I miss it so much. I just want to fall apart.

What is life about? Not what I try so hard to achieve I think. I wish I could say that since you died I've become a very wise person, that everything is in perspective, that I know what life is about. That I want to live fully. I'm not there yet. I still want my music to do well, I get depressed about the tour not getting booked the way I want it to, that the album isn't perfect, that I'm not getting somewhere with it, all ego, all an excuse for not being content with life, with myself.

I like to think that if you were here my heart would have more of an anchor of love, that you would be the center, that music would have more love and less frustration. It did for a while, after you died, I could play and feel the center of the notes, every one affected me so, and now I'm a stress case. I feel like there isn't time to just play.

The moment the doctors told us that you had suffered major brain damage and a wash of whiteness came over me, an absence, a swoosh of air, a big, deep breath, I thought, no more Petracovich. There was no room for that. I thought, I knew, the most precious thing was to be lost in a few days, that the strain for accomplishing would die.

And it did for a while, and now I have an album to release to the world and I'm tying myself in knots over it.

I need your advice, your knowing, my baby. What would you tell me about this?

You say:
That you think I'm wonderful, the most wonderful. That you know my heart and it's beautiful. That I'm already there. That I am allowed to have joy.

And I think you are wise, my baby. I want to be a good mama for this little one. I want her to think that life is good, not just sad, not just angry. I'm angry all the time. I want to be a good mama for her. There is love too. There is tenderness. Today I sent blessings to all of her little parts, her heart, lungs, stomach, pancreas, eyes, brain, legs, hands, it is lovely to send love.