Dear Ma,

I tried sending you a postcard, did it go through? We are in Spain right now, and it is absolutely amazing. The architecture is breathtaking! The food is amazing and the people are so nice. They are even nice to me when I am in one of my “moods.” I am loving every single moment of it, but I miss you. Everywhere I turn, there is something that I would like to show you. Yesterday, I went exploring and I saw one of those bull racing arenas, or whatever they are called. Everyone was cheering, drinking and having a good time. But I just could not bring myself to do it too, because I knew that if you were here, you would have scolded the hell out of me. Oh, I miss you. I carry a photograph of you in my jeans everywhere I go. Hoping it will make me feel closer to you, but it hasn’t worked yet. I even taped the holes on my jeans that you always complained about, so your picture would not fall.  I could hear it clearly in my head while I bought the silver duct tape, you were saying how similar to a homeless person I look, when I am in my ripped jeans. I always pretended that I was annoyed, but deep inside I liked when you cared for me.
         

Today, we are playing in an arena of over 72,000 people and I am terrified. Management told me it was sold out, and there were people already camping outside to be the first ones to get in. How can our music have so many fans if all we do is critisize the government and write some songs about love? I don't know but I owe everything to them. I remember you loved it just as much as I do, but you did not like all the drinking that happened backstage. Sorry, I still do it, but it is only because you left me. Which, by the way, was a really mean move, but whatever, I guess it wasn't really your fault, but cancer's.  It has been eight months, I guess I should be over it, but the truth is that I am not. I am not sure I will ever be. Okay, no tears today, moving on.
         

My hair is longer and darker now, but I like it. On the more exciting songs, I can flip my hair around like all those rock stars that I used to watch with you. I wear black eyeliner sometimes. In the beginning, it was just to hide the dark circles and redness on my eyes but now, I quite like it. The band is okay, and they are incentivating me to stop sending postcards and letters to you. I tell them to go to hell, but maybe they are right. It has been eight months, and I already got some letters and phone calls from the mail company about all the letters piling outside your house. I ignore it, because if I don't it means it is true, you really are gone. And I can't handle that right now, not just now.
         

We recorded a new song this week and I wrote it for you. It is called the "Last Goodbye", and I think this letter is it. I know I look completely ridiculous sending letters and postcards to my long-gone mother, but I can't help it. I never knew that losing you was going to be like losing a part of me, my fall. I love you and miss you. I will bring you flowers when I get back home.

With love, your son,

Billie