I was her caregiver but only as a volunteer and only in a volunteer's capacity.  There wasn't a lot I was allowed to do - I was mostly there for companionship.  I believe that made your mother trust me more and her trust helped to compensate for all I could not do.  I was there because I wanted to be and she knew it.  There was no money involved and she knew that I received little in the way of appreciation.  I continued to volunteer simply for the pleasure that her company -amongst others- brought me.  I was equally lonely, having never married and we needed each other.  At least, we both needed someone and we'd always considered the timing of our friendship to be nothing short of a miracle.

It would be absurd to think that your mother shared everything with me but how much more could there be?  Hers was such a tale of sadness and woe that I cannot imagine what else there is.

Now, I don't believe that you deserve this package of letters.  You most certainly do not deserve anything that your mother labored over so intensely and lovingly.  But she made me promise to send these letters to you as her last outpouring of love and I suppose, her last plea for compassion and understanding.  I'm convinced that it's a futile effort and a complete waste of my time and the last of your mother's energy.  For her, though, I would do anything, including putting my own angst and grief aside.
I beg of you not to burn or destroy these letters.  In memory of the woman who gave you life, please return them instead!