The Things You Would Have Said

Dear Tim,  

I don’t believe there is a day that goes by that I do not think of you.   These past years have been filled with discoveries, specifically my journey to awareness.  What strikes me now is how unaware I was for so many years–all the years of your life.  All it takes is the experimental drinking that all teens do; you crossed the line and couldn’t stop.  I wish I had known about these things and offered to help. You were so often alone–working summer jobs, living in the horrible room upstairs in Metuchen, staying on Cape Cod when we moved, working in Alabama–away from all of us.  It pains me to know how much you must have suffered.  We all loved you–we just didn’t do enough.  I deeply wish I knew enough then to have given you what you needed and deserved.  Family secrets just kill our souls.

I love you, Tim.  You are with me always.  

Love,

Mom, age 73

Dear Miss Smith,

Thank you for teaching me to read. I wanted so badly to learn. My Dad was a great inspiration. He had lots of books and he always read them. He seemed to know everything about everything and I wanted to be just like him. Still, you were the one who did the hard work of leading me and two dozen other squirmy first graders through the maze of letters, step by step, and taught us how the letters made words and the words made sentences.

Thank you for not laughing like the kids did when I got that word wrong when it was my turn to read. At that point “horse” and “house” looked a lot alike to me. You made learning to read fun and exciting for me. Consequently, I grew up loving to read. I read for pleasure as well as for learning. Often it was more pleasure than learning, then later I wised up and learned to buckle down to really study. As Dr. Seuss told us:

“The more that you read,
The more things you will know.
The more that you learn,
The more places you’ll go."

Reading has taken me many places through the years. Books took me to Australia, to Alaska and the Arctic Circle, to Antarctica and to the Middle East, all before I graduated high school. You had a hand in all that, Miss Smith. The learning that came with reading took me to many more places after high school. I’ve been all over America, and to Central America, to Africa and, yes, to Vietnam. Incidently, I’ve seen poverty on four continents now, and though the cultures differed, the poverty looked pretty much the same. I want to help do something about that. You’ve had a hand in all that, too.

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Dear Dad,

My memories of you in my life were few, but I held onto them because they are all I ever had. You left when we were so young, but I remember your quotes so vividly. “You are never going to amount to anything” or “You are going to be one of those that smoke cigarettes”. Sadly Dad, that’s all I can remember being said by you.

How would you feel knowing I had to learn all of life’s lessons from watching others, or from what I saw on television? I didn’t even know if I know how to shave correctly; that’s why I still use an electric razor. I had to learn what was against the law by being arrested for it. I had to learn what it meant to work hard by going to a boot camp. I had to learn how to be a good husband by marrying a wonderful and patient wife. And finally Dad, I had to learn to be a good Father by trusting in my faith.

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Dear Tip,

I never told you that I love you, but I do. It took me thirty-seven years to admit that to myself, so don’t know that I will ever be able to tell you.  At the time, you were such a bright spot in a young adult life that hadn’t had seen a lot to be joyful about. I was immature and troubled, yet you seemed to not notice that. You were magical in your adultness, combined with your childlike enthusiasm for pretty much every adventure and experience that was new and good in the world that surrounded us.

You cooked for me, charmed me, made me laugh, took me on adventures, shared movies with subtitles, traded riddles, let me experiment with your 35 mm camera, kept my feet warm, made love to me often and well, brought me daisies, played guitar for me, wrote me post cards from around the world, complimented me extravagantly, and made me so very happy, and–after a lifetime compressed into a half-year–broke my heart when your ex blew into town for a visit. We got back together on and off for several years afterward, and we still enjoyed each other, but I was guarded and untrusting, protecting my wounded pride and heart. I never knew during any of those years whether I was just a “rebound” girl after your broken engagement or how much of your heart was invested in our relationship. Eventually, you met and married someone else. And, it appears you are living happily ever after in that life.

Even though it seems silly, I would still like to know if you loved me, or even came close to loving me.  

Debbie, age 59

Craig,

I’m so sorry that for he past 40+ years I have been blaming you for my heart break.  I have learned you can’t MAKE someone love you.  I hope your pecker didn’t fall off as I had hoped.

M

Dear Meggie,

I’m real sorry that I never knew you when you were alive.  I met you a long time ago when I was the detective that put the case together that resulted in the conviction of the man who murdered you.  He was a man without any natural affection; he had promised to marry your mother to gain access to you. He deceived her so completely that your mom had told me that she would never be able to trust another man again.  You mom has always been trusting; she just trusted the wrong person.

It was a real bad time for your mom.  She never knew the pain that she discovered by trusting the wrong person to watch over you.   She still feels guilty, but I told her that you probably knew that it was a mistake.  She still loves you.

Before the man’s trial I met with your mom and her sister once a week for coffee; just to talk.  Your mom was such a wonderful person and I was really impressed with the strength of her faith that she showed at such a time.

That’s why I asked her to marry me.  Your mom has been the most wonderful wife that you could ever imagine for the past 27 years.   You have a wonderful half brother, he’s so much like your mom. He’s 25 years old now.

I want you to know that for the rest of my life I will be taking care of your mom and half brother.  It’s really a two way street; they spend a lot of time taking care of me too.

Nothing like what happened will ever happen again; I promise.

I just want you to know that you are still missed.

Love ya,

Daddy Bill, age 58

Dear Karen,

When my parents told me that you had skin cancer, I chose not to believe them.  That day when I saw you at the library, I was heartbroken. The same day I saw you, I learned a lesson. It was that you can’t hide from your fears; they’ll find you. Karen, I couldn’t believe you looked that bad.  You barely had any hair. I haven’t seen you since, but you taught me a lesson and I’m sorry I tried to hide from you.

Warmly,

Indigo, age 9

Dear Ralph,

This isn’t easy. It has been so long since we’ve spoken that I have trouble finding the right words to convey how I feel. That day mom threw you in the garbage still haunts my memory like the Patrick Swayze to my Demi Moore. I tried my best to disguise my remorse when I looked into your little mouse eyes for the last time, but behind my placid exterior I was distraught. You were my best friend, but I let you go as if you were nothing more than a cheap prize at the county fair.  You have to understand, I was almost 13 years old. I was starting to grow whiskers on my chin and notice breasts. I was becoming a man. I couldn’t be caught with a stuffed animal – it would ruin me! It is true that for the past six months I had been stuffing you under my bed during the day, your pink felt head mingling with the dust bunnies surrounding my Archie comics and Pokemon cards. However, you must recall that I always pulled you out at night. It was a secret relationship, yes, but it was still a relationship! That has to mean something! At night we were pals, fending off nightmares of forgetting to wear pants to school, or imagining figures within the amorphous globs floating inside of my lava lamp. We once saw Thomas Jefferson, remember?

Mom was right when she pulled you out from under my bed and said you were tattered and dirty. Your once immaculate corduroy pants were now gray and worn, and a habit of chewing on your ear had resulted in a permanent drool stain. Split seams leaked stuffing underneath your arms and your tail had long ago played chew toy to the evil family cat. But none of that mattered. You were just worn in, perfectly aged like a well-oiled baseball mitt. Still, I let her toss you in the dumpster simply because she said, “Stuffed animals are for little boys.” Part of my childhood innocence retreated into the depths of my subconscious that day, but I have managed to drag it out of the abyss in order to make things right. Ralph the stuffed mouse, wherever you are now, whether it is snout down in a landfill or eating little cubes of gruyere in the sky, I just want to say that I’m sorry.

Your Friend,

Tyler, age 20

Dear Mommy,

Sometimes when I write these kinds of notes, I wish they got to you wherever you are. You’ve been on my mind lately. There are so many things I was grateful for. I never had much time to tell you I loved you. Or when you gave me things, I never gave enough thanks. Mommy, I miss you, and in this letter I’m going to tell you that I never said “I love you” enough. So, I love you non-stop!

Mommy, I never said thank you for sharing that chocolate ice cream that you bought because mine fell. Thank you for sitting in the back seat of the car when I was lonely. Non-stop thanks. I didn’t give you as many hugs as I should have. Non-stop hugs. I feel like saying one of the most important things of all. I miss you. Non-stop missing. Your spirit is always with me.

Love,

Peanut, age 10

Dear Christopher Chandler,

It is hard to even know where to begin. Should I start by talking about how we met so many years ago, about how the distance between us grew until it was unreachable, or about how you were taken from everyone that loved you?

In eighth grade I was a terribly shy girl. I didn’t have many (any) friends, I flew under the radar, and I was miserable. When you’re in middle school the only thing that matters is whether you have friends or not. I was practically a leper; no one would talk to me. That all changed in science class when you wanted to sit next to me, when you talked to me, when you changed my life. I know that it started because you thought I was smart and because you wanted someone to do your work for you but as we changed projects and changed seats and moved around the classroom, we became friends. And you, you were so popular, so outgoing, everyone loved you. When you became my friend people started talking to me. I wasn’t a social outcast. Over the course of the year I developed social skills and friends who I cherish still, to this day. I don’t think you knew what you were doing, or ever realized how you had changed my life.

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Dear Heath Ledger,

I am really very much so sorry that you died. I wish I could see you at least once. I think you were the best actor I’ve ever seen. You were great at being a good, friendly character, and great at being a horrible, nasty killer.

Sincerely,

Gannon, age 10

Dear Dad,

I don’t know what it means when I get that look from my family and they say “you act like your daddy”.  In a way it makes me happy, but the distant look of pain in their eyes makes me wonder how you hurt them.  My mother tells me I got a lot of different traits and characteristics from you, but that look…that look makes me wonder if those are good traits or bad ones.  I am not angry at you for never being there for me and I’m not angry at you for that look I get.  I am just curious as to what happened to you in your life that could lead you into making the decisions you made.  I am frustrated I didn’t know you so I could learn from your mistakes.

Carl, age 24

Dear Liam,

I never told you that I threw your frisbee on the roof. It was an accident. I was throwing it to you and it was windy and it curved. I was going to get you a new one but I couldn’t find the place. So I’m sorry.

From,

Erik, age 9

Dear Yolanda,

Fifty years ago, you and I went to Roosevelt Elementary school.  You were a bit older than me and in the special ed class due to your blindness.  I have thought of you often over the years, and felt very mad at myself for teasing you and poking at you.  Sometimes you would cry.  I am so ashamed of myself for treating you that way.  It was so unkind and down right mean.  I am so sorry and wish I could ask you forgiveness.  I wish I could tell you how very sorry I am. Perhaps somehow you will know.

Annie , age 61

Daddy,

First of all, I love you more than you know. That isn’t to say you haven’t hurt me, because you have. I worry about you, because you have become apathetic and stoic towards me, and I feel it really has strained our relationship, moreso than it already was. In a word, our relationship is gradually becoming filled with dispassion, and that hurts.

I wanted to let you know….I am so proud of myself, even if you never will be. I feel sexy and beautiful, and I feel like I have worth—something that you never inspired me to have. Surely you will get over my being gay; that takes time, and I can wait, because fighting over sexual preferences is just absurd and it has nothing to do with how you should treat me.

All I ever wanted in life, Dad, was to be a person. I wanted to transcend, to be more than I am. I wanted to shine for those who are dear to me. I wanted to be a person who people would look up to and be proud of. I also wanted to be proud of myself. I wanted to create a life for myself filled with civility and compassion, but when I tried, you would tell me that that was uncalled for.

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Dear Ms. Schmidt,

I remember all the times during class when I would goof off and not pay attention.  But you told me that it is not good and that goofing off in school is entertaining now, but later you will regret it if you don’t pay attention.

I never had the time to tell you how big of a difference it has made because I pay attention a lot more than I used to.  I really appreciate this because ever since first grade, I have been getting better report cards.

Sincerely,

Becky, age 10

Hey Mom,

I would have liked to say:
Thank you for my excellent upbringing.
Thank you for always letting your children have a say in the consequences of our actions. 
Thank you for always listening. 
Thank you for always having my back. 
Thank you for teaching me to question everything. 
Thank you for making me look up the answer to my every question in the encyclopedia. 
Thank you for raising us without television. 
Thank you for your faith. 
Thank you for my early love of Elvis and everything that has lead to. 
Thank you for putting up with my petulant behavior. 
Thank you for not letting on about all the things I didn’t know you knew. 
Thank you for letting me have a ‘73 big block Charger for my first vehicle. 
Thank you for making me earn my own pocket money at the age of twelve. 
Thank you for letting me play my records as loud as I could in our little house. 
Thank you for understanding when I flunked out of college. 
Thank you for being by my side as I received my Master’s degree. 
Thank you for my brothers, here and gone. 
Thank you for your 22 years of service to our community of suicide survivors. 
Thank you for showing me grace in grief. I’m sorry I did not show you any. 
Thank you for showing me what 49 years of marriage can be. 

Thank you for everything you did for my children. All success in their lives will stem in great part from your unending support of them and the confidence you instilled in them. 

Thank you for your lifetime of sacrifices so that I have been able to reap the life you desired for me. 

G, age 46