Frayed Handwritten Letters by Jill Diane Turcotte

February Prompt: Frayed Handwritten Letters

When the doorbell rings unexpectedly, most assume it’s the Girl Guides selling cookies or sports groups asking for empty bottles. I never imagined it would be two police officers letting me know they had identified a body found that morning. That body was my son. He died from a fentanyl overdose. “That can’t be true,” I said. “He’s upstairs sleeping, and he doesn’t do drugs.” My heart shattered when I discovered it was true.

My life changed that day. For weeks, I didn’t get out of bed. It had always been him and me, and now he was gone. “Why?” I repeatedly called out. On the advice of 

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