The Things You Would Have Said
Month
Dear Stormy,
I miss you so much. I haven’t seen you since Christmas in 2007. I know you’re doing okay living with your daddy, but to me, it feels like I’ve lost you forever. He took you away from me, and I’m trying so hard to get you back. But it seems like every time I try, something else happens.
They tell me that you don’t want to see me. I know why. They told you things that weren’t true, and you’re just a little girl, and you don’t want to believe that they would lie to you. But they are, baby girl, and I just pray that someday you will get to hear the truth.
I cry for you every night. You were the most beautiful baby, and you are the most beautiful girl in the world. I miss your hugs, I miss how you would put makeup on me and fix my hair. I miss cuddling up with you to watch t.v. I miss seeing you grow, learning new things in school. I miss having our girl’s time out, when it was just you and me, without your brothers or your daddy.
I want to hold you so bad, sweet girl. I know that you have had a very hard time, and I know they haven’t made it easy on you, telling you that I don’t want you and that I don’t love you. It’s not true, baby girl, and I am trying so hard to get you back with me. Your mommy loves you more than anything in the world.
Someday, when you are older, I hope that you can see everything as it really is, and that you will understand that everyone has done what they did because they love you so much and want you all to themselves.
I miss you, angel baby, and I can’t wait to see you again.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Bird,
I just cannot get used to the sun coming up on a world without you in it. No boy of just 22 should ever have to leave so suddenly, or so violently.
I’m sure you’re planning on coming back and haunting me; it’s just the sort of thing you’d do. I will always miss your sick jokes and your silly facial hair, and your ability to be totally unflattering. No girl likes to hear that you admire her “sturdy legs”, but my God you made me laugh.
You’re being cremated Sunday. Me and Sam are mixing a bit of your ashes into the ink for our tattoos. I’m getting my paw prints filled in, he is getting a falcon. You’d better be tearing up heaven by the time I get there. I look forward to seeing you again, even if I’m old.
Love from your best friend,
Little Bear, age 22
To the Man who Lived on Cheyenne Boulevard,
Man on Cheyenne, I think you’re a hero, and you probably have no idea why. I could never walk up to your door and tell you this, and my confession could be a little incriminating, but I want your kids to know that they have one kick-ass papa. It’s been a while since we’ve crossed paths, and we have never met face to face, but I’m sure you’d know what I was referring to the second I said the magic word.
Snowman.
You know what I’m talking about. That legendary battle between the Man on Cheyenne and a group of punk high school kids who had nothing better to do on a Friday night. And although you may feel like you ultimately lost the battle, you put up the most valiant effort of any man in town.
I know it sounds cruel. And the second I thought about the effect on people’s children, I didn’t want to do it anymore. But was it ever fun. To see high school boys propel their bodies through a six feet tall snowman is pretty entertaining to watch. All you could see was a cloud of snow and a giggling kid running back towards the car. It was something to pass the time on a Friday night.
But you wouldn’t stand for it. I don’t know why you felt so compelled to protect that snowman. Maybe you did it for your kids because you didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on their faces. Maybe you hated that a bunch of punk kids were running around and trespassing on your property. Whatever the reason, I just wanted to say, job well done.
I doubt you’ll ever know what really happened that fateful night your snowman finally lost its head, and you likely woke up the next morning thinking that you lost the battle. But Man on Cheyenne, I think the scorecard was in your favor.
It was the middle of the winter, pretty late on a Friday night, and we were driving around looking for trouble. We were driving down Cheyenne, and lo and behold you had built another snowman after we had knocked the last one down the week before. One of my friends slowed down to stop the car. He asked who was going to do it. I stated that I was out of the picture, but another friend stepped in to my dismay. I silently held in my displeasure, and I regret that I wasn’t more vocal.
My buddy got out of the car, quietly closed the door, and took off on a dead sprint towards the snowman. He launched himself into the air at the snowman, and then he simply bounced off. We didn’t understand it, but it was hilarious. You had completely watered it down and transformed the snowman into an iceman! He got up, looked at the snowman with a quizzical look on his face, and tried to knock it down. Sure he was able to knock off a chunk here and there, but you definitely got the best of him. Over the next week, the attacker complained about shoulder discomfort fairly often. He even drove by your house to see you watering the snowman down again!
I thought you ought to know that on that night, you got the best of a bunch of punk high school kids. Touché, Man on Cheyenne. I tip my hat to you.
From,
Your neighbor, age 23
Dear Younger Self,
I need to warn you about some things that you will regret for a long time if you don’t figure some stuff out now. Stop doing all the smoking and the drinking. Stop falling for losers and don’t be a wimp about Michael van Winkle. Tell him how you feel before he leaves for training. Tell Mom and about your depression or talk to others about it; you will save a lot of pain. Do not sneak out with Smink at three in the morning. The cops will be patrolling and you will get caught. Try to be nicer to mom even if she does make you want to pull your hair out.
You will move in with dad when you’re a junior and fall in love with a boy named David right before you leave. You’re not sure what to do with him. Trust your instincts; they will save you more than once in your life. Big Tommy is going to die in a car crash. You’ll feel it deep in your bones. You won’t go to the funeral. Mom is going to have a boyfriend you will come to hate. You are going to do better in school and you will really want to go to college, so quit slacking and get your grades up.
I won’t say anymore. Just know that I love you and you will love you. Do not change who, how, and what you are. You’re a good person and very loved. Keep the peace you find within yourself forever. Always keep your mind and heart open.
Tons of love, peace, and good vibes,
Emily, age 18
Dear Mom,
Mom, I like you, but why won’t you buy me what I want?
Love,
Alexa, age 8
To anyone without HOPE,
When I was a child I did childish things. I ran and played as if the world existed only for my amusement. But there is a deeper story. My parents were caretakers, but they had no emotional investment in me as a distinct living being. When I did something right or learned something new, it went unnoticed. But when I acted out, maybe seeking attention or as a cry for help, they focused their displeasure on me as if I was a burden that they would just soon have disappear.
My mother, who I spent most of my childhood with, was never there. So I basically raised myself. I sought role models in the people around me. Unfortunately, those around me were no better off than I was. We encouraged even wilder acts to impress each other with our bravery and coolness. My mom, although she later professed a belief in Christ, never taught me about any sort of spirituality.
My father, who is a veteran of a foreign war and suffers from PTSD, never but once put hands on me. Instead, he would sit me down and lecture me for hours as if a small child could grasp the adult concepts that he would expound on.
At seventeen, I left home for good. I found what I thought was a place to belong on the streets of downtown Portland. I discovered that I would be accepted if I could do more drugs, commit better paying crimes, or beat up tougher bullies. Inevitably, this lead me to prison, not once but twice.
This vicious cycle lasted until I was 36 years old. At that time, I entered a Tx program called the VOA MRC. I spent seven months and one week there. For the first time in my life, I completed what I started. When I graduated, I thought I was cured of my issues. It only took me a couple of weeks to fall back into my old ways.
After lots of money spent and many phone calls later from my counselor, I re-entered the MRC. When I was to a NA Meeting that week, I was told there was only one thing I had to change. I asked, “What’s that?” and he replied, “Everything”.
So that is what I am doing. The single biggest change I have made is that I have found a spirituality that allows me to feel worthwhile without sending me on a guilt trip.
So you see, even for the worst of us there is HOPE. Never doubt and never give up!
Travis, age 37
Dear Sean,
You became my best friend the night we met. We laughed and laughed for hours, like we had been friends forever. Every weekend was spent with you. We could literally be doing nothing and be 100% happy. Just being in your company was enough.
I loved you like a brother. I could count on you for anything. No matter what was going wrong in my life you were always there for me. Then, I went away for college and you stayed behind in high school. We slowly started to drift apart, even though we claimed we would be friends forever. You gradually started to go down a path that no one was proud of. And ultimately, you lost all of my respect. I thought that you were a better person than this. I loved you so much. You were my best friend for life.
You have no idea how much I miss you. Instead of thinking about the moments we have spent that I cherish most, my only thoughts of you now are of disappointment and sorrow. My heart hurts when I think about your life now. I know that you are a better person than this. You don’t know how many times I have cried about you.
I miss you so damn much, Sean. I want you back in my life. I want my best friend back.
Love,
Jordan, age 20
To my son and daughter that died in the accident,
I would have told you both every day how much enjoyment you brought into my life and how I simply would never have imagined life without either one of you.
How I would love you unconditionally, and had I known then what I know now, there would never have been the word “no” in our household. I could always gone without some little thing to give you more of what you wanted.
I would have arranged work and personal time to involve myself more in your day to day lives. There would have been more hugs and kisses. More talks about how happy I was when you were born. How I admired you both so much, for your accomplishments in life and your ability to go with the flow.
How I miss Kathy’s sweet little voice and Shawn’s “Gotta have the last word." How I miss walking down the cereal aisle at the grocery store–knowing you were picking the cereal with the toys and not for the nutritional values– knowing it would sit in the cupboard until stale once the toy was retrieved. How I even miss the sounds of you both arguing amongst yourselves, over petty things.
How I miss you both so very very much.
Mom, age 60
.Dear Bonnie,
I often sit down and think what my life would be like right now if we were still together. I wonder how my life would be if I didn’t get stressed out, depressed and angry at myself for no reason. I wonder how things would have gone if I got help for my depression sooner. I’m sure that my life would have been much happier.
Having your love in my life for the short time that I did changed my life for the better. I couldn’t wait to hear your voice on the phone at night. You were my best friend and I ruined that. I know that your life has gone in a different direction, and you are with someone new that you really care about. I will always envy him and how he will get to hold you at night, kiss you in the morning, hold your hand when walking. I really miss holding your hand.
I have been able to stumble through these past couple of years concentrating on my career and new businesses. Work is the only thing that takes my mind off of you, even if it is only for a few seconds. My love for you and what we once had just hasn’t faded. I have been working so very hard on all of those faults that made you leave me. I am a better man because of it, but am still saddened that all of that work won’t bring me any closer to your heart.
Every night I wish I had you to say “I love you” too. I wish I could look at my calendar and see another trip to Denver to look forward to. One more chance is all that I think about. I don’t know if you can grasp just how much I have changed. My patience and emotions have turned around completely, but my love has been forever constant.
With all of my love,
Patrick, age 26
Dear Gran,
I love you so much. I know you know that. I like to think we had a special relationship, but to be honest, I think all of your grandchildren feel that way. That says something about the kind person you are, and your generous spirit. I’ve never heard you say a disparaging word about anyone. I wish I could say that same about myself.
The reason I’m writing is because I have always felt horrible for not standing up for you that day. You had spent years taking care of Grandpa as his health failed, and you struggled with your own health concerns. That weekend trip to your hometown was such a treat for you. There was that slot machine in the lobby, and Mom convinced you to go out with her and play it. You always had a bit of a gambler in you, and you were having a ball. I sat there in the bar, waiting for you, and did nothing as I heard the young man come in from the lobby and call you an old bat, and make fun of your posture and your hesitant movements. He wanted to use the machine, and called you a hog. I sat there tongue-tied as I listened to him make fun of you in front of his friends and everyone laughing at his impression of you bent over the machine like a question mark.
I know you didn’t hear what he said, but I did.
Since then, I have never forgotten my failure to open my mouth and say something to shame him. To tell him how hard you worked, to explain the reason you were bent over so close to the keys was because your eyesight had all but been robbed by a relentless disease. To tell him that you were selfless, to describe how you were the center of our family and beloved by so many.
I wish I had the courage to say what I was thinking.
I’ve never forgotten that day.
I’m sorry.
Your granddaughter, age 36
Dear Pap,
We think about you and miss you all of the time, especially Grandma. You’ve been gone for nearly half of my life now, which hasn’t been very long but feels like an eternity to all of us. I think I feel that way particularly because I was so young and our goodbye was cut so short. I hope that when I broke down in the ICU that you didn’t get upset. I’m sorry that all I was able to squeak out was, “I love you” because there was so much more I wanted you to know.
You were our rock to hold us all together in life. As a child you were always my hero, and even more so after Mom and Dad divorced because you and Grandma were the only two people there for me and Mom. I remember how you used to make me laugh by sticking out your teeth and Grandma yelling at you to stop doing it. You had a great sense of humor too. I smile every time I think about one of the jokes you would tell us or the different funny things you used say to get a laugh out of us.
You did so many wonderful, thoughtful things for us too, like when you would buy each of us a Valentine’s heart full of chocolate for Valentine’s Day. I found my old “Cookie Card” the other day and started smiling and tearing up. I miss those days of when you would take me shopping with you after I came home from school and use the “Cookie Card” to get me a cookie at the grocery store. It was the small things like that that made you so unique. You were so thoughtful and considerate of all of us in many ways. I miss watching the news with you and how you would help explain to me what was going on in the world. No matter how many questions I had, you always answered them even if I was a bit of a pest.
I remember when I was finally old enough to drive and I would drive out to the cemetery and sit with you, especially in the evenings. It felt as though you were actually there and I felt better every time I left to come home. I could sit there and talk about everything and it seemed as though you knew and understood me. I especially enjoyed sitting up there with you and watching the sun go down, almost as though we were sharing the end of each one of those days together.
I feel guilty at times though because I can’t remember the sound of your voice in my mind. I feel like I’m an awful person because it just seems like that’s one of those things you are supposed to remember after someone you loved so much has passed away. I know if I look around enough at Grandma’s house I can find the home movies with you on them, but I still feel terrible knowing that if I really concentrate and try to listen for you in my own mind, I still can’t hear you. Some nights before I go to bed, I pray that maybe in my sleep you’ll come whisper in my ear so I can remember on my own again, like I should be able to. I know you would forgive me, but I can’t forgive myself for not remembering.
Please know that we love you with all the power and strength of our hearts and souls. We’ve missed you every day that you’ve been gone from us. I hope you really know just how much I truly loved you, Pap. I’m keeping my ears open and hoping that maybe tonight is the night when I finally hear your voice on my own again.
With all of my love,
Cookie Card Girl, age 28
To the lady who filled up her water bottle with beer at the grocery store,
Had I been able to talk to you, I would have said it’s ok to have bad days, but drinking and driving isn’t going to make anything better. Let me give you a ride home and get you the help you need before you hurt or kill yourself or someone else.
Meg, age 25
Dear Nina,
I’ll always remember the call. The call saying that you probably wouldn’t make it through the next few days. The call that made my heart break into a million pieces, way too soon.
Now, two months later, there is never a day when I don’t think about you. Everything I see, everywhere I go, something reminds me of you. And it kills me every time that I never got to say goodbye. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.
I’m sorry I didn’t go see you that Tuesday night, even though I promised you I would. I’m sorry that the next day was when you slipped into a coma and never came back. I’m sorry that one of the last things you said to me was, “It’s okay babycakes, come whenever you want, I’m not going anywhere.” I’m sorry that you were wrong. You were going somewhere, and it wasn’t fair, nobody was ready.
I’m sorry that I’ll never see you smile again, that I’ll never hear you laugh. You’re still number three on my phone’s “favorite’s” list right after my mom and dad, but I’m sorry you’ll never answer when I call. I’m sorry we’ll never go on another one of our famous adventures, or that I’ll never laugh so hard at your incredible sense of humor and wit, or those killer death glares you used to give your mom. I’m sorry that sometimes I put school and practice above going to see you.
I’m sorry that the last time I heard your voice was on my birthday, just a few days before you passed. You didn’t want to interrupt my birthday celebrations so you said goodbye. I’m sorry that I didn’t know it was goodbye forever. I’m sorry I hung up that phone.
I’m sorry that when Chloe called in tears, I was across the country for the weekend, that I couldn’t be there to hold your hand as you took your last breath. I’m sorry that if you could, for whatever reason, sense the people who came to say goodbye, I was not one of them. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.
But most of all, I’m sorry that my life will go on, but yours will not. I’m sorry that you had to go so young, it’s just not fair. As I go off to college, it’s so unfair to think that you will never get to experience it–the moment that we had been waiting for for the past four years. I remember you once told me, in the midst of all the high school drama, “Don’t worry, these are no where near the best days of our lives.” You’ll always be in my heart, Nina. And maybe, one day you’ll give just a portion of the strength that you had in your lifetime to help me move on. But, for now, I cannot imagine the best days of my life without you.
You will always be my best friend, my partner in crime, my poppyseed, tunamalt, and whatever other weird names we came up with for each other. I’ll always remember all the good times, the crazy drives, stickshifting, and the ridiculous “express” T’s in Boston. I’ll remember your “whoops” expression and all our hilarious moments. Our many, many brownies and our “brilliant” plans that somehow never really quite worked out.
Your courageous fight to the end will always inspire me. You were so full of life, and you never lost hope. Everyday you inspire me, inspire me to never lose hope that I will see you again. I miss you, Nina. I miss you more than I could ever imagine. And most of all, I wish I would have said, just one more time, I love you.
S, age 18
To Sandra,
I was five. I spoke a different language and was very shy.
The first time I saw you, I was struck by lightening. I was speechless. You had red hair and were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
My fantasy was to rescue you from harm, as Superman.
One day, you chose me in a game of Farmer in the Dell. I was overwhelmed when you chose me, and still speechless.
The fantasy lasted five years. Then one day, our family moved away.
What seemed a lifetime later, when I was fifteen and dating my soon-to-be wife, I took what was a rare trip on a Chicago CTA bus. It happened to take me passed the street where you lived.
You got on that bus. You were more beautiful than I could have imagined. You sat on a seat that was right behind the back exit of the bus. You were right in front of me. I looked at your profile as you looked straight ahead. Did you recognize me as I did you?
The bus was almost empty and we rode along Pulaski Avenue in silence. All was silent. I said nothing. I was thunder struck and speechless again. You got off the bus.
I am in my late sixties, with grown grandchildren, and think of you.
Paul, age 65
Dear Junior,
When I see your little sisters, I see you. You took care of them. You sheltered them when your mom screamed at you. You let no one hurt them. Junior, you solely took care of your sisters. I was there watching all this happen those eight years I knew you.
That January day you left, the first person I saw was your sister. She looked at me, desperate to grasp reality. I looked back and she burst out crying. I cried with her. Like babies, we cried. While your oldest little sister cried, “Why him?!”, your youngest sister kept asking, “Where’s Junior?” Your dad cried. Your mom cried even worse. She cried knowing she treated you horribly.
Junior, almost two years ago you died leaving your sisters’ vulnerable. Your mom doesn’t understand them like you understood them. Even though you made some bad choices, you were a role model to them.
We miss you, Junior.
Your little cousin,
Oscar, age 16
Scott,
I know we had our daughter when we were young and things did not work out between us, but this isn’t about us. It’s about our 13 year old daughter and the life your missing out on. I don’t understand what happened or why you don’t call her or come see her. I have told you a thousand times that she doesn’t need the money, just your time. But you can’t give her that. All I want to know is why? She is your only child. Don’t you want to see her grow up? You know she started junior high this year. She is no longer a little girl, she is now a young woman. Does that even matter?
You know I used to blame your girlfriend for you not coming to see her. But I have come to realize that it’s not her, it’s you. She is a beautiful girl. And if I say so myself, I think I am doing a great job with her!
One day you are going to look back and wonder where all the time went and what happened to your little girl. Don’t you want to see her graduate? How about walk down the aisle? I just wonder what must be going through your head or what is so important that you are too busy.
You know what is sad? She used to always ask about you. When were you going to come by or call. But after so long of not hearing from you, I guess she just got tired of waiting for you.
Well, I just wanted to let you know that I am taking care of our little girl and she is still in the same place if ever you want to see or talk to her.
Marie, age 33
Today we remember veterans, of which I am one. It is good to have such a day, but it will always fall short. That is because unless you have been there you just can’t understand (it’s that way about a lot of things). But, it is still nice when someone says “thanks for serving” when you know they don’t have to.
John, age 62
Dear Sean,
It’s been a little over two years since we were together. I can’t say I ever think of you anymore unless I am giving relationship advice to friends to explain the pain I went through when I dated you, and what to do to get out of such relationship. Honestly, I hated you for a while, but that hate turned into a peace. Because for the scum that you are, I learned the following things.
I am a young girl who became a young woman. I am worth the love I give. I am an amazing catch. Finally, I am not crazy. I am human.
You lied and I lied. We pretended we were both different people. I lied because I was embarrassed and ashamed, you lied because that’s all you knew how to do and you were afraid to show anyone the real you, not even me. We said a lot of serious things, we said we would get married. But I could never picture a life with you, and if I did picture a life with you, it was one I vowed I wouldn’t live.
After I thought all was finally over, two years of fear and anxiety over your lies of cancer, cheating, and drugs, you lied again. But this was worse because the things you said were degrading and offensive and the most hurtful things anyone has ever said to me. The ironic thing was is I never had sex with you. Not once. And you had the audacity to spread the cruelest rumors I could even imagine.
But I still in a way have to thank you. I learned to be myself and know I can be loved for being me. I found that person who gets me for exactly who I am. We don’t fight, we laugh. We don’t cry, we rejoice in our happiness. I will marry this amazing man. So in the sickest of ways, I thank you and God because if hell didn’t happen in our relationship, then I never would have know how heavenly love can be.
Lauren, Age 21
Dear Dad,
Sure would have been nice if you could have found some way to interact with the ten kids you had.
Guess you just liked sex, not kids.
Your daughter, age 60
Dear Brad,
It’s been a month and a half and I still sometimes think that you’re just still overseas. Like this is normal, that in a few months you’ll come home and everything will be like we talked about. But every once in a while I remember, and it feels like I’ve been hit, and I can’t breathe and I’m scared because I know that I have to do this by myself. Without you. I’m angry. I asked you not to go back but all you said was that you had to. For what? What did you prove? I’m alone and you’re gone. Everything has changed, and I’m scared and alone, and I just miss you. If I had known that this was going to happen I would have made you stay. I would have said yes. I never would have let you leave. I love you and I miss you.
S, age 30
Dear Boots,
I just want to say right off that if I said or did something to hurt you, I’m sorry. Ever since that night when you left me I have wondered what made you go. Was it choice? Or was there a better home for you where your humans treated you better than I ever did? Sometimes I wish that maybe I could have seen you die because that would have given me a sense of closure instead of the mixture of grief, guilt, shame, regret and anger that I felt for not knowing.
I constantly find myself pondering over what happened to you. What would have happened if I had not let you out that night? Would everything still be the same as before? I really want you to know that you have caused me a lot of stress and sorrow. If you are still out there, I hope you feel ashamed of yourself for never bothering to come back. And if you did die that night, I just want to ask what happened?
Ever since that night that you disappeared, I have been full of so many emotions. So many that my bucket has over filled many times, each time causing me to cry harder than the first. When I eventually admitted to myself that you were not coming back after two weeks, I instantly shut myself off. I never felt a hint of happiness when someone tried to cheer me up. I would tear up whenever anyone would ask what was wrong. But despite my heartache, I slowly began to open up again. Even though I have opened up again and have stitched up some of my open wounds, I will never be the same again without you in my life.
Living without you has been extremely hard. I miss waking up to you sleeping next to my head. I miss your furry coat brushing against my legs when you want out. I miss our frequent short conversations, where you would respond with the sweetest meow. Even to this day when I open up a tuna can, I look around expecting to see you running up and begging for a pinch of the smelly tuna.
Even though I know it would be a miracle for you to show up after four months, I still find myself checking outside our door each night and calling for you down our drive way. I still tear up whenever I find a photo or a video of you. Even though finding them makes me sad at first, a smile tends to form on my lips as I remember the good times and memories we had together.
One thing I have learned through this whole experience is that if something sweet, like candy, lasted forever it would slowly start to seem normal to us and we would become accustomed to it. But if we suddenly lost that sweet, we would then realize how good it was to have that constant comfort and we would long to have it again.
Missing you,
Marina, age 14
Dear Jim,
I know you are up there somewhere, having the time of your life. I miss you dearly and often. Some days, when I stare at that wall in my living room and see your air force picture, I cry. Not only do I cry because I’m sad you’re gone, but I’m enraged you chose the easy way out.
You had everything going for you. You could play guitar, speak different languages, and you were so smart. I still remember when you taught me how to draw on the sidewalk with chalk. And the time when we would hang out in grandma’s basement eating pizza-flavored pringles and telling ghost stories or playing house with your sister. You were my most favorite cousin and my hero. But most importantly you were my best friend, and you still are.
I still wonder today why you decided to kill yourself. It didn’t solve anything for us. But when I think about it, maybe it helped solve something for you. I try to keep from crying because you didn’t like seeing people cry and you always told us our tears would freeze. Mommy, Uncle Dan, Uncle Jermey, Grandma, and most importantly, Uncle Bob, miss you. Mommy cries sometimes when we’re talking about you. I hate to see everyone hurting and I know you do too.
Just keep watch over us and keep us all safe, buddy. We all love you, and your spirit and smile will live on in our hearts and in our memories. Keep strong up there, trooper.
With more love than all of the stars in our sky,
Kayla, age 14
Dear D.,
I miss you all the time. You used to be the sister that I felt connected to, the one that understood frustration with our other siblings and parents. We were the closest geographically, and the closest in our interests.
Somewhere along the line, I became less useful to you, though, and you have closed the gate. I have wished that we could exchange emails, but you never answer. Pictures, recipes, whatever; it is connection.
You very rarely call me, and it is never to just catch up. You never accept invitations to come to our home and very rarely agree to go anywhere with me. A trip to the fabric store was all about what you needed. You could have cared less about my projects.
When I turned 60, I faced a variety of crises alone. It was stunningly painful to realize that I didn’t have a sister.
I wish that I had a sister that valued me, was interested in what I was doing, my welfare. I wish that you understood that phone lines do actually work to my house, and that the roads work in both directions.
I miss the old D.
Sister J, age 61
Dear Kirsten the cat,
I wish you could have lived longer. You were only a kitten when you died. I remember when you would bat at Percy’s head every time he would walk by you. I also remember how you would fall asleep in my lap. You were a funny cat.
You would run up to the fire and when you got to where the sparks almost touched you, you would lay down and warm up. Remember when we thought you were a girl but you were actually a boy?
I will always love you.
From,
Nolan, age 8
Father,
I remember fights in the house for as long as I can remember. I remember cowering in fear in my room, plagued with nightmares. I always got these terrifying dreams of dinosaurs and giants whenever you and mother would start fighting while I was sleeping. These nightmares, whenever I got them, taught me how to be strong. I remember running though the forests I created, the houses and cities, lavish and huge, to escape the monsters that represented you. I never could, and I would always wake whenever the T-Rex got me; whenever I felt myself being consumed by the jaws and snapping, gnashing teeth of this violent prehistoric creature.
In a way, I thank you. You taught me to be strong. I also found myself standing in front of you, in front of you and mother, screaming at you to stop. To stop because your baby girl was scared. Because I hated the fighting. I knew at a very young age fights like the ones you and mother had weren’t normal. They happened too often and you left too frequently.
Sister moved out, and left me to fend for myself at a young age. Much too young for a girl like me. Part of me loathes her for it–you forced her to leave. She wanted out of that house as much as I wanted out of life. Your baby girl, at 11 years old, inflicting self-harm and wanting to die every time a fight erupted, every time she didn’t do well enough that she knew her precious Daddy would get mad at her.
Despite what you put me through, I think your breaking moment was when I informed you about my tendencies that lead your baby girl to hurt herself. I was 13, standing in front of you showing you the scars on her wrists, and what do you do? You screamed at me. You scream at me while I was standing there at my weakest point, your telling me I had no right.
In a way, I hate you. I hate what you’ve put your family through, what you’ve done to me. I have trouble trusting men now, thinking they’ll be like you, bound to hurt me. I have a hard time opening up to people because of you telling me I had no right to react the way I did.
But all in all, I love you. You’re my father and I need you. You’ve led me through elementary, high school and now to college. You’re seeing through to make sure that I do what I want. Despite everything you’ve put me through, you’re being a Dad. I remember when the house burnt down and I saw you cry for the first time. How you held me close and told me “It’ll be alright, baby girl. Everything will be okay,” and how I trusted you so blindly because I didn’t know what else to do. I trusted you because I knew that you didn’t know what else to do, either.
Despite my hard time opening up to people, I’ve found someone that adores me right now, and I adore him. I’m starting to rely on him more and more. He holds me close, like you did the day of the fire. He’s seeing me through to what I want to do, just like you.
I could never tell you any of this because we aren’t close. But I know we are more alike than anything else. You’ve taken care of me for 18 years, and despite how scared of you I was when I was younger and what you’ve done to me mentally, I love you.
From,
Your Baby Girl, age 18
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