The Things You Would Have Said
Month
Dear Mother,
I chose a picture taken of you and Dad in 1956 standing by a Christmas tree for my “December” frame at the office. In the picture, Dad is planting a great big smooch on your cheek, and your brilliant smile reminds me of everything I want to remember about you. Don’t worry, I haven’t stopped being your daughter these past 21 years. If cancer hadn’t stopped you, you’d be 95 now, and you could see for yourself how much like you I am. Yes, I still wear Dad’s stubborn streak, and I’m not extraverted, not even close to his never-met-a-stranger ways. Like you, I’m content with a small collection of friends and prefer staying home. You continue to influence my choices—and I haven’t forgotten who I am.
Dear Dad,
I don’t really know how to tell you that I don’t want to see you because I’m scared of you. Of course I know how to say it (clearly I just did), but I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to be another one to break your heart like mum did and I don’t want to make you sadder and lonelier than you are now. I know you wouldn’t even understand why I’m scared of you because you don’t remember the last time. I know it was just me and the boy I told years later. Dad, I’m glad you don’t remember.
Dear Devon,
Life is going to be hard and upsetting. You’re going to get mad at the world, and sometimes you’re going to get mad at your mom, me, a friend, or a girl. You can come to me anytime. I’m your father and your friend. For help, a problem, love, or just for someone to talk to. I’m here.
It is because of you and your mom that I changed my life. You two make me feel like a million dollars. I love you more than there is love in this world. I will not judge you. I know how it feels to be judged, hopeless, alone. I was that most of my life until we had you. Now I want to live. I am happy. You and your mom are my life, my soul, my love, my world, and I just want to say thank you. I will be there until the end.
Love,
Your father and friend, age 27
Dear Husband,
You are still very much the same man I married and that is my joy and my burden. As we pass into our 21st year of marriage, I wonder why things have turned out the way they have.
Why don’t we have more harmony in our lives? Why is communicating with you so difficult? I see all the jokes about nagging wives and realize it is probably exactly what I am experiencing. I do not feel that I am a nag and you probably do not feel that you are lazy. However, unless I ask you to do things, they don’t get done. Housework, yard work, laundry, and every other necessary task in our life, you are content to ignore.
We don’t go out much but when we do have time together, you are indecisive. I must make the plans or we will do nothing. When we need to make a decision while you’re your response is always “I don’t know”. How is it possible that you have no opinions on so many things?
We have an eighteen year old child who will soon be leaving home. I wonder if you want to spend the next twenty-one years together. I wonder if I do.
Dear Amanda,
I wish I told you more often that I’m sorry for blaming you for things and for bothering you. And for eating your food. I’m also proud of you for all your smart thinking and calmness. For example, when we got to school, I was supposed to walk you to your classroom but I didn’t. So when you got there, there was no teacher. You stayed calm and went to the gym–your first time ever! When I heard about that I felt sorry and very proud of you and I didn’t acknowledge that. So I’m very sorry for that, and good job.
Amanda, you’re very special to me because of your kindness. Like yesterday when there were no Kit Kat candies left and you gave me your own. I feel very thankful for that and I don’t say that enough. So thank you for all the things you’ve done and I love you very much.
Sincerely,
Luis, age 10
There are so many words I never got to say, so many laughs I never got to share, so many unsmoked cigarettes in my pack. If you were still around, I would tell you how when you walked in a room, everyone noticed. Not only because you’re gorgeous, or that you were bronzed and tall, not only because your hair was long and golden, but because you had a presence that everyone couldn’t help but notice, and your smile was contagious. Although we were never really close, I’ll miss meeting you quickly before class to get our nicotine, many times missing the first bell. I’ll miss helping you with your Spanish homework (or sometimes just doing it for you) every fifth period.