We heard the coyotes calling one night when we were camping in the hills just beyond Sitting Bull Falls New Mexico. I had heard them before but not with you. Before they were like dogs yipping and disturbing the night. “Listen”, you said and were so pleased with their calling. You just looked at me and smiled as they called. With you, the calls were songs in the desert night. As they sang you told me about a dedication that J. Frank Dobie had written in one of your books. It said, “May you always live where you can hear the coyotes sing”. I’d not have understood that had I…

You should see the sculpture I made. Maybe it’s a sculpture. A hanging sculpture. It started off being like a “dream catcher” – like the one you bought for me at the Papago Indian Reservation south of Tucson. Then it grew and became something else. Something more. The catcher part became a small human figure. It is made of glass and cord twisted and knotted. The figure lays on its side. Around it are hanging bits of crystal and glass. Most are clear, shaped like drops and some are cut to catch the light so they glisten in even faint light. All of the ones towards the bottom are red…

Your mother has to be the sweetest person I ever met. When she came to town that first time, you didn’t really say what you had told her about me. I figured that you would probably have told her at least the highlights — well, I mean the low lights, of course. Everyone, even you, seems to always do that. I do understand that but wish it wasn’t so. I know that everyone just wants to keep people from saying what they think would be the wrong thing, from asking some innocent questions that might affect me in ways it really doesn’t. That’s a blessing and a curse, of course.…

Okay, Mikey, I’ve got the giggles this morning. One of our old songs was playing, Taxi, by Harry Chapin. I still love that song. It made me realize this morning that I need to add another job title to my resume. Actress. Through the years, just like Harry’s old girlfriend and Taxi, I’ve been acting happy. That’s my recurring role. OH, my goodness! I just realized that there’s another job title I can add to my resume from the same song. For just like the taxi driver I’ve learned to be a pilot–for like him I fly so high when I’m stoned. So many giggles for this cloudy, dismal morning.…

Mikey, I’m scribbling in the dark tonight. Sending words to you is where I still turn. I can see his eyes. They are green eyes just like mine. They look at me without blinking. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t cry anymore. He just looks at me with my green eyes. I can’t move. I know it will do no good. I can’t reach him or touch him. The evil won’t let me. Each time I try, he stomps on my broken fingers again or kicks me so hard it lifts me off the ground. No matter what, I can just see his eyes. I can see his eyes now even…