Dear Mum,

Dr. Fritz didn't shave off his moustache so I guess he really meant it when he said he didn't read my letter. I dropped it off with his secretary yesterday after school (you know, Shelly, the one who makes the good cake) but he gave it back to me at our appointment this morning. He told me that it wasn't homework, that it was just something for me and that he wasn't going to grade it.

He said I should keep writing to you, that it'll help. I'm not sure about that, but it's not like I have anyone else to talk to with Dad at work and Mark being, well, Mark. I suppose it'll give me something to do. Dr. Fritz even gave me paper to use. It's pretty, I suppose, all creamy with lots of little red rose buds all around the edge. But all I can think of is how much you hated roses and how you always preferred daises, so if it's alright with you I think I'll just keep using the pages I've ripped from my notebook.

Dad says you're in a better place now – and I guess by that he means Heaven. I don't know if he really believes that or if he's just saying it to make me feel better. Maybe he thinks if he says it enough times it'll come true. I'm not sure what he believes – I'm not even sure what you believed, it's not something we ever talked about, and we only ever went to mass at Christmas.

Part of me would like to believe it. I can imagine you sitting up there, telling all the other souls to make sure their clouds are tidy, and not to shove too hard when they're standing close to the edge, looking over. I guess I should like the idea of you watching over us. But I don't. Not really. My science teacher was teaching us about the conservation of energy, about how no energy is either created or destroyed. I suppose this is the closest thing I have to believing you're still out there. You may not be here to talk to, but I can believe that you – the energy you were made of – is still here in some form. Maybe you're in the sun, or the trees, or the air...

So that's what I'm going to believe. That you're here. That you can see and hear what's happening somehow. All I want is for you to be here.

Sam