You left me one year after your son left me. On the wee wee hours of May 2nd. I don’t know if Roger felt lonely up there; you sure did feel lonely down here. There was too much empty space in your basket, which you both had shared from the day he was born.
I didn’t love you as you deserved to be loved, I didn’t love you as I knew you loved me. Roger was the sick one, the little one and I know I spoiled him much more. And you did deserve my love. Knowing that I couldn’t give it to you as freely as you bestowed yours upon me is my punishment and I will always regret it.
I know it’s too late; it has always been too late. But I was sorry, I am sorry, and wherever you are, Haya, I hope you will forgive me.
I loved you too, my hairy lady, even if my heart was given to the tramp.