Sam, you've got mail

In July when a dear friend shared with me written thoughts of a grieving parent from a New York Times article, I thought what I read made sense.  It is now September and I have painstakingly walked in a few months of David's parent's shoes.   Mail addressed to my 16 year old son Sam has been collecting on the buffet in our dining room since Mother's Day when he died unexpectedly, the victim of a little known synthetic drug targeted to teens.  At first, I opened the mail that came for Sam; from his local high school, national honor society and college recruitment correspondence to gamer subscriptions and financial statements for his college savings accounts.  After countless tears reading how his impressive placement test scores caught colleges' attention to seeing the next video game versions coming out despite the fact that my son is not here to play them and then, personally grappling with closing money accounts for dreams that will never materialize, I no longer open what comes.  Why?  The best I can come up with is that hopes and dreams do not easily dissipate just as memories and a mother's love do not fade away.