To my beautiful son Hunter:
It has been four weeks since you decided to end your unbearable pain and suffering. The excruciating ache we feel in our hearts because you are no longer physically with us makes it feel so much longer. Every morning the realization sets in that we are now a family of three and I cry for you. I walk past your pictures hanging on the wall and I cry for you. I walk into your bedroom and see your clothes hanging in the closet and I cry for you. I see your unworn hockey skates sitting on the shelf and I cry for you. I snuggle with your favorite John Deere sweatshirt that still smells like you and I cry for you. I read and re-read your final letter to us and I cry for you. Hunter, you are on my mind the minute I wake up, the last moment before bed and every other moment in-between. I just cannot stop crying for you...I keep re-playing that fateful day over and over in my head. What if I would not have cancelled your dentist appointment. What if I would have stayed home with you after coming home for lunch. What if you would not have received those horribly cruel text messages that were so upsetting to you the night before you took you own life. What if your dad and I truly knew the depths of your despair and sadness. What if we would have known earlier that what we were trying to do to help you was not enough. What if we would have been aware of the information you were confiding in to your friends. What if...I could have...I should have...torment me on a daily basis. I cannot understand why you kept the magnitude of your pain hidden from your dad and I. We are the ones who are suppose to help you, protect you, and be someone to confide in when needed. Why not this? We would have done everything in our power to help you if we just would have known what you were keeping from us. All of my hopes and dreams for you on this physical earth ended on February 16, 2017. I will never get to see you get your driver's license. I will never get to see you graduate from high school. I will never get to see you off to college. I will never get to be one of your proud parents at your wedding. I will never get to see the beautiful children you may have had some day. I will never get to see you play in another hockey game - what a gifted athlete you were. I will never get to see the many many moments of just how intelligent you genuinely were. The possibilities for you my son were endless, but taken away much too soon from this evil disease of depression and the malicious bullying by some high school students. I just wish kids really understood the profound impact of their words - whether spoken, in a text, in a post, in a tweet, etc...How just being KIND can sincerely change someone's life and how being UNKIND can also affect someone (and their family) just as much - especially if someone is already in pain and suffering. As I go back to the words I wrote for your funeral: Words can only be forgiven, not forgotten. And as your beautiful, brave sister said in her letter, "Why can't kids just be nice?" Such a simple concept. Such a simple choice to make everyday. I hope I get my wish Hunter James Nordlof - for children, teenagers and adults to make the conscious decision everyday to just BE KIND. That your death will help bring awareness to the disease of depression and the potential outcome of bullying. I pray that out of our horrific tragedy you will save someone else's life so no other family in our community has to endure this unimaginable grief and loss. My sincere hope is that not one person ever takes one second of their life for granted because in an instant it can be forever changed. I cannot put into words how desperately I wish I could get the opportunity to hug you one last time, kiss you one last time and tell you I LOVE YOU one last time. How proud and privileged your dad and I are to have you as our son even if it was for only 16 short years. You will be forever in our hearts and always on our minds...until we meet again.