I needed to write a check to our housekeeper, Fernandina, who comes every other Tuesday. Small aside: The first time I saw her after Rob died, she asked if she could give me a hug, and we cried in each other’s arms for about 10 minutes. Then I went for a walk and imagined her vacuuming the carpet and cleaning the kitchen. I was crying the whole time.

Anyway, I keep my checkbook in a wooden jewelry box with a glass top (and since we know each other so well, I don’t mind telling you that I cut many lines of coke on it more than 40 years ago). Inside is a whole bunch of random crap like old watches, a Swiss Army knife, thumb drives, my father’s ring, stamps, my expired passport, that kind of stuff. There’s also an envelope filled with letters I wrote to my Aunt Joyce when I was in summer camp more than 50 years ago, photos of my brother and sister and me when we were little kids, and a few notes that Rob wrote when he was a teenager. I have no idea why I saved them other than one is kind of funny and the other is… well, you’ll see.

A note about these notes: I’m going to share them exactly as they were written, with phonetic spelling and little to no punctuation. (Rob always struggled with reading and writing.) I’m not sure exactly when they were composed, but if I had to guess I’d say he was 13 or 14 years old.

I originally found this first one packed in an overnight bag for a business trip I took to Seattle. It was folded up tight and sealed with tape. On the outside, it reads:

To: Dad

From: Robbie

Something to make your trip better.

This is what it said on the inside:

My Nigga,

it’s 11:35 I’m wuchin Fucheramma

If your reading this it means you got to where ever you were going

I 4 got

How was your flight

I hope it was good

have a nice day

Your nigga

Robbie

The second note was in an envelope placed under our bedroom door one night. This is what was written on the front of the envelope:

Don’t have to read

Most of the stuff here is true.

And this is what was written inside:

i want to end the suforing of my family. all i want is to have a happy family. help me god. Dam it god what will happion. my dad would rather go to theripy then come home and help out the situation. my mom does not want to look at me or even be in the same room as me. i love them but I don’t know if they love me. i can not beleve what i just did. i don’t want to live because I did this. what will i do? what will happen? i know zach cars about me. if are famile brakes up i will hate my self. will i be like this when I grow up? what will my relitives say, “o Robbie sicotick.” mom if you reed this can you come talk to me pleese

The most fucked-up thing is, I don’t even remember what this letter was about.