The camera moves to Reece, then Koler, and when it swings back to Blue, he looks normal again. But I saw it—that desperate, grief-stricken look.

I wish I had seen it that night, but would it have changed anything? What would I have done, other than ask him if he’s okay? And if I did, what would his answer have been?

“I’m just tired,” as he always says, or “I’m thinking of hurling myself off the roof”?

I’m sure the latter never would have come out of his mouth.

“Mom?”

I tear my eyes away from the screen to see Lyric standing in the bedroom doorway. “Hi, sweetheart. What’s up?”

She steps inside and looks at the TV just before I turn it off.

“Were you watching Blue’s concert?”

I nod. “Yeah, I miss him and just wanted to see him.”

She sits on the floor next to me, in the same position I’m sitting.

“Blue’s not okay, is he?” Her soft voice could have been a horrific scream and it would have had the same gut-wrenching effect on me.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, forcing a smile.

“I guess I kinda feel like something’s wrong inside.”

She knew he looked sad that night. She asked me why he looked so sad, but I didn’t see it. Oh, how I wish I had.

I realize I can’t lie to her anymore. She’s too intuitive—too wise beyond her years—to have blinders pulled over her.

“Well… no. He’s going through a rough time right now. He’s been emotionally exhausted for a long time, and he’s been…confused.” She listens intently, nodding as if she understands, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she does. “He had a very difficult childhood, and the memories of that still hurt him and make him feel sad and sick. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“So he’s in a special hospital for a little while, and they’re helping him rest, and they’re going to give him medicine that will make his head stop hurting and make him not so sad.” I can’t bring myself to tell her he tried to harm himself. Not when she’s looking at me with her huge, hopeful eyes.

“Will I see him again?”

“Yes, definitely. I promise you, he’ll be back. Actually his friend Reece called me this morning, and he said that Blue said to tell you he loves you and he misses you very much.”

“Can I call him and tell him I love and miss him, too?”

“Not yet, but I promise as soon as we can talk to him on the phone, we will.”

Disappointment puts a frown on her face. “Okay. I sorta thought something was wrong when he was writing the bird prints in his book and asked me if I could read it. I hope he feels better soon, I really miss him. Are you still getting married?”

If I have anything to do with it, then hell yes, we’re getting married.

“Of course we are, it’s just postponed until he feels better. Don’t worry, okay? Come here and give me a hug.” Smiling, she crawls across the floor and hugs me, then tells me she’s going to take Mickey in the backyard to teach him how to do new tricks.

It’s not until I hear her outside with the dog that I remember what she said about the bird prints and Blue’s book. Confused, I go to the closet where he keeps some of his things, and sure enough, one of his old journal books are in there. I pull it out and flip through a few pages of journal entries until I get to a page of the scribbles—only now I see they’re not just random scribbles as I’ve always thought. They’re actually bird tracks.

What the hell? Here’s a huge red flag that’s been right in front of me for years and I was completely clueless.

I wonder how many people with mental illness are walking around suffering in silence, smiling on the outside, and doing things like this that their friends and loved ones are just passing off as being weird, never realizing that they might need help.

Maybe I never did enough, or said enough. I always let Blue lead. I always waited for him. That couldn’t have been good for me, or for him.

I grab my phone and send Reece a text:

Me: Can I write Blue a letter? Can you give it to him if I send it to you?

Reece: Yeah…as long as it’s not harsh on him.

Me: OMG no, I’m not going to say anything bad.

Reece: His doctor might read it first, or with him. Just so you know.

Me: I understand. That’s ok.

Reece: Send it to me and I’ll bring it to him next time I see him. Should be in a little over a week.

I go to the kitchen and find a stationary set someone gave me as a gift at the office holiday party a long time ago, and I sit at the table and write a letter: