Santa Doesn't Live Here ...

Santa Doesn't Live Here ...



December 3, 2002
Dear Santa
It's Timmy. I hope this letter reaches you when you are not busy. I don't want you to be too tired. Did I say thank you for the trucks you brought me last year, Santa? I really meant to. They are so cool, and sometimes I sneak the smallest one under my pillow at night. It helps me have sweet dreams. You give me everything I ask for every year, so I hope you won't think I'm a greedy boy for what I want this year. Here goes: Can you bring me my mommy back, Santa? I'll give up all my toys to other kids, and I'll brush my teeth every night. I'll be the bestest boy you ever knew, if you can just put my mom back in our house. My grandma says Mom went to heaven. Is that close to the North Pole? I really really hope so. It's getting bad here, Santa. Please. All I want for Christmas is my mom.
Thank You!
--Timmy Taylor


December 03, 2002
Dear Timmy
It's Dad. I'm writing you this letter although I'm not sure I'll ever give it to you. I have a small box I'm keeping things in, and for now, that is where this letter will go. I want to explain some things to you, and I'm writing them down just in case I get brave enough to come clean. You are just a child, Timmy. Just a very small child, but every time I look at you, I see your mom. I see her eyes, her smile, and when you laugh, I miss her deeply. I was never prepared to raise you on my own. When the accident took her from us, I lost her and my sense of security all at once. I don't mean to get so angry, Timmy. I know you try really hard to pick up all your toys and not play too loudly. You are a good boy. I don't know if I'll ever be able to explain to you how hard it is to tell your son you're sorry you beat him. There are no words that can make it okay. I know it hurts you, and I saw you flinch a little when I went to hug you goodnight. I'm sorry I've made you afraid of me, Timmy. I'm so so sorry. I'm really gonna try harder to have patience and be the dad you need. Tomorrow's a brand new day, Timmy, and it's almost Christmas. Maybe everything will be okay.
I really do love you,
--Dad


December 07, 2002
Dear Santa,
It's Timmy again. It's been a few days and things are piling up under my tree. I'm startin to get a little bit scared because I don't want anything but my mom. If I get other stuff, is it still possible for her to come home? I bet she looks so pretty now that she probably has wings. I heard that all angels have wings. I know it will be hard to give her back because she is such a nice lady, but we really need her down here, Santa. I'm not doin too good and I'm getting really sad. I cry a lot in my bed, but no too loud because I don't want Dad to hear. He gets so angry. I don't think he loves me anymore, Santa. My mom loved me. I really just want my mom.
Hurry,
--Timmy Taylor


December 10, 2002
Mr. Taylor
My name is Jill Kulifay. I work in the office with your wife's attorney. She told me that if anything ever happened to her, she would want this list sent to you:

1: Don't forget to take Timmy to the orthodontist once a month J

2: Vegetables are not just decoration, please eat them

3: Hug each other several times a day

4: Pray and god will give me messages from you

5: I love you both very much and I am sure you guys are doing amazingly

6: Don't be too hard on Timmy, James. He's still so small and you are his hero.

That is all that was on the list, sir. We will have a hearing soon for her last will and testament to be read with you and the remainder of the family. God bless you in your time of loss,
--Jillian Kulifay


December 10, 2002
Dear Timmy
Here's another one of these letters that will probably just end up in the box in the floorboards. I got a letter today with a little list of stuff in it from your mom. She says we should hug each other several times a day. You flinch when I try to hug you. To be honest, I flinch at the thought of trying. You smile like her. You're only six but you smile like her. Today, I slapped you when you laughed at me spilling my coffee. It wasn't because I was embarrassed; it was because it was her laugh. You don't deserve to have her laugh inside of you. You are just a child. You don't even understand the value of it. You can't appreciate it, but it is there: trapped inside of you. You get to sleep with it at night, holding it close with your knees pulled against your chest in your Spiderman pajamas, while I am left to weep and wish. I just wish you didn't laugh like her. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much. Maybe I could let her go. She said something else, though, Timmy. She said I am your hero. Is that true, Timmy? God, I wanna be better. I'm hurting so much and I don't know what to say to you. Every time I mess up and hit you again, I go buy you a bigger Christmas gift. The tree is getting fuller, and you are looking more and more afraid. Don't be afraid, son. Maybe tomorrow will be better, huh, Timmy? Maybe tomorrow…
--Dad


December 15, 2002
Dear God
I have been writing Santa with my wishes, but I don't think I'm getting through to him. I usually just thank you for my food and stuff, but today I heard Dad prayin to you, so you must be bigger than I thought. I think I heard Dad say that you're the one who has my mom. Boy, are you lucky! She's great, huh? Has she made you a grilled cheese sandwich yet? Mom makes the best grilled cheese ever. I can understand if you want to keep her till you get a sandwich, but can you please send her back to us after you eat? Dad and I are not doing too well. I don't think he wants to hurt me, but it is getting worse and I'm pretty scared. I think he's just too sad now to be my dad. Can you help us, God? You're my last hope.
--Timmy Taylor

December 19, 2002
Mr. Taylor
As you know, we have removed you child from your care. Timmy's teachers were growing concerned and documented each time Timmy appeared for school with bruises or other signs of abuse. We have reason to believe that the child is no longer safe in your home. You will be notified of a court date when you will have the opportunity to voice your explanation or reasoning for Timmy's physical condition. No visitation with the child will be permitted until such hearing takes place. Any and all other inquiries can be answered during normal office hours.
--Joan Johnson, Dept of Child Welfare


December 25, 2002
This is my last letter, Timmy. I'm going to put it in the box, and leave the whole box on the desk. I hope someday it will reach you. I first want to tell you that I am sorry. I am so sorry that I was not able to be what you needed. I couldn't be strong enough, patient enough, kind enough, or loving enough. I was simply not enough of anything. You needed a dad, and I couldn't see past the loss of my wife. I loved your mother so much, and my life without her seemed so empty. I often resented you for your resemblance to her, when I should have been grateful for it. I should have seen that you were like a little piece of her that was still here. The piece I could hug and teach and laugh with and nurture and love. I failed at most of those things. Now, the state has taken you away, and I will not have the chance to be better. I will not have the chance to try again. Mu home is empty, and I miss the reminders of your mom that you used to provide. I miss her smile. Smile for me, Timmy? You probably won't, because if you have this letter, you probably hate me for what I'm doing. By the time you read this, it will be done, and you'll learn to think of me as a coward. I'll just be the coward who swallowed his gun. I have no right to ask you a favor, but I have to ask, Timmy: Can you think of me as just a little more? Think of me as a guy who tried. Think of me as a dad who loved you. Think of me… Just think of me, Timmy. I just have to go to her, son. I can't be alone with this grief. I need her. I'm so sorry for the pain I've caused you, and even more so if this final action causes you more. I love you Timmy. I'll save you a seat right next to your mom.
Love
Dad


December 28, 2002
Dear anyone
My foster family says he's in a better place. What do I do now? ANYBODY OUT THERE?
Timmy Taylor