The Things You Would Have Said

Dear Dan,

You’re the best big brother anyone could ask for. I wrote my college essay about you and now I’m at the same school you were at. Mom asks to see my paper all the time but I don’t want her to know how much I ache. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m not. I miss you.

I wish you were here to visit with. College sucks.

I wish you could meet my girlfriend. I think you two would’ve gotten along pretty well. It’s not the same sharing memories of you with someone who doesn’t understand how great your laugh was or how heartwarming it was to see your smile.

It’s been over 3 years, but I’ve never gotten over this. So much has happened since then.  I learned how to drive, I wrestled a few varsity matches (but i only won once), I quit the team, Ibought a fish tank (I wonder if you would like fish as much as I do), I got a girlfriend who’s worth my time, I graduated.

I just learned to not think about how you’re not here. To think that you’re still at school and you only visited for that one summer, even though you already graduated. But now that I’m at your favorite place and I’m not here just to visit you…it hurts. It hurts so bad. I just want to be woken up from this nightmare. I want to hug you like we used to hug. To make jokes and laugh together.

My biggest fear is forgetting your face. We have pictures, but they’re nowhere near the same. I dont understand how the pain of losing you feels like yesterday, but the joy of knowing you feels decades ago.

Why did it have to be you? This family is lost without you. Life sucks…and to think that I’m an optimist. Ha.

I hope it’s better where you are.

With all the love a brother can give,

M, age 18

Dear my older sister,

I know it has been years since our mother has hurt you in so many ways, but it still gets to me about how brave you were and how sacred I was.  You were always there for me and our brother. You would put us to sleep and tuck us in while mom was in school and dad was working, reading me a story and snuggling me until I was dreaming peacefully. That never lasted long though. Although I was the youngest, only 6, it always killed me inside when I awoke to hear you mom and dad screaming at each other. I never did anything besides lying there crying until either someone left or I was so exhausted. in the morning.  I always acted clueless and happy like I didn’t hear the screaming and hate coming from the kitchen. All you ever thought about was me and our brother, putting us before you all the time. I never saw any resentment in your eyes towards us.

Then one day when you were 16 and I was 10 and our brother was 13, I was at a friends and he was in his room most likely getting high which had become his escape, you got in a huge fight. I don’t really know the specifics but there was something to do with knives. She threw you out. All you were wearing was a pair of underpants and a shirt. She threw you out with nothing and you had to walk all the way to your best friend’s house. I don’t know what dad did, but he obviously chose her over you.

I will always be thankful to your friend and their parents for taking you in and taking care of you.  You went through some bad times but always showed how strong you were, and how protective and loving you were about us. Now you’re 22 and in a great relationship with a man I truly adore and who has gone through somewhat of the same upbringing as you and who completely understands.  You have only shown me love and as long as I live, you will be my best friend who I trust with my life, literally.  To be honest, I look up to you.

Thank you for everything.

I love you so much.

-Me, age 15

Grampy, 

I’m leaving for college tomorrow. Everything seems so surreal. I know you would know exactly what to say right now, and that you would have the perfect advice. I know, how proud you would be of me.  The truth is, if you were here right now, everything would be different. You always made everything different somehow. I miss you. I know that you will be with me at school. I love you so much.

Thank you for inspiring me to be better than i ever thought I could be.

I love you.

Jackie, age 18

Over the course of this project, I have felt more and more compelled to connect with writers on an even deeper level.  After reading such powerful letters, I have found myself wanting to know more: about their own story, their relationship with the person in which they wrote, and how they are growing on their journey.  Though I have personally formed bonds and relationships with these writers, I wanted readers to be able to learn more about them as well.  

Thus, I have added some new features that will launch today as well as next week that enables us all to get a little closer and lean on each other that much more.  I have asked writers if they would be willing to either record audio of themselves reading their letter, or video record themselves as they read the letter.  The response has been tremendous, and I can’t wait to show you some of the videos that people have made as a tribute to those they lost.  

I think that providing an option of audio and/or video will make the site even more meaningful, allowing us to hear and see the emotion and the person behind each of these letters.  Doing this is completely optional, and writers are more than welcome to only submit a letter.  However, as a writer, if you feel inspired to share even more, I want to provide the space for you to do so. 

I’d love to hear what you think about these new features over the course of the week! Keep following and supporting The Things You Would Have Said!

Dear Lakshya, 

I wanted to thank you for the help you gave me in 2nd grade.  You helped me get more imaginative.  You also gave me more ideas to build. 

I also want to thank you for inspiring me to play with Legos. I am really happy that you’re going to a better school now. 

Thank you again for how you helped me in 2nd grade. 

Sincerely, 

Venkat, age 10

Dear Parents,

Today is my birthday and I just wanted to tell you that I don’t know whether I can love you anymore. This is probably a huge blow to your quixotic perception of our life together. Our relationship was and will always be toxic to my well-being– I am just too scared to cut you out of my life because I don’t know if I am strong enough yet. So at least for the time being, I will go on pretending to be the happy daughter that you thought you molded and contained into submission forever and ever. Whether it was the lies you told me in order to keep me “protected” or how you purposely kept me from any sort of contact with other family members or any sort of past or heritage to be proud of, I am now suffering the consequences.

I cannot walk down the street without fearing for my life; I constantly turn around wondering if the person you told me to hide from would be right behind me. I don’t know how to have friends or be social because you would never let me be a kid– I always had to be within your circle of friends, within your life– an extension of you. You never let me grow and discover. I never knew how to think beyond the bubble that the three of us lived within. School was my only home, but then the whole incident sophomore and junior year really made me lose faith in ever finding a safe place to escape to ever again.

Sure, there were a few good times between us, but the bad times were just so bad that I cannot go on trying to believe and hope that there will be more good times ahead. Because that is really no way to live: falsely dreaming for a life where I am loved and cared for in the ways I need to be by all of the people who are supposed to love me.

Did you know that I used to cut myself? Did you know that I tried to kill myself 4 times? Did you know that the only reasons I didn’t was because I didn’t want to die knowing that you would distort the story of my life without my consent, and I didn’t want to die without knowing what it felt like to actually live. What do you think about that?

Thanks for bringing me into the world scared and thanks for making me the fucked up person I am today, on my birthday.

- Your daughter who just wants to get away, age 19

Dear Mike, 

The last time I saw you, you lovingly shook my shoulder as I sat on the rocking chair at mom and dad’s house.  And you said goodbye to your 9-month old niece, my daughter. I don’t recall saying goodbye to you, although I’m sure I did. 

But I do remember thinking the shoulder rub was your way of saying that you loved me, which you could never do, and how strange it was for you to say goodbye to my daughter, which you never did.  

When I guessed, correctly, that you took your own life three days later, I think back to that Sunday afternoon.  If I had said something else–anything else–would it have made a difference?  I’m sorry I did not recognize the depth of your pain, and I will forever miss you growing old with me. 

Denise, age 38

Dear Angel - 

It has been almost four months since I lost you to a hit and run driver.  I keep remembering how blessed I was to have seen you the day before you died.  How ironic is that considering that you and I often went months without seeing each other?  After all, you were a grown woman of 38.  I keep struggling not to feel like a failure as a mother and to convince myself that I did not let you down.  It is a daily struggle.  I remember you saying to me so many times that you felt I was a good mother, my only sin being that I was not strict enough and made your life too easy.  You told me that you never had to work hard and everything came too easy.  I’m sorry if I failed to convey to you the importance of growing up, working hard and becoming self-sufficient. 

You see, your grandfather was so strict on me that I guess I didn’t want you to have to live in a constant state of fear of me like I did of him when I was young.  I realize now that my becoming a mother at a young age disadvantaged you because I wanted to be both your mother and friend, which really didn’t mesh well.  I did the best that I could at the time and tried to make sure that you never wanted for anything.  I supported your independence at an early age and tried to instill in you a sense of courage.  I often think it backfired as you proved a very difficult child to control even when you a teenager.  Your independence somehow never translated into drive.  If I let you down here, please know how sorry I am, Angel.  No matter your life choices, I was always proud to be your mother. Even when you gave birth to Kelly at age 23, I tried to make that easy for you.  When it was clear at birth that you were not up to the task of raising her, I stepped in raising her as my own child and your sister.  You often told me that you had her for me because you knew that I could not have any more children.  Yet, sometimes I felt that you resented me for doing this.  You used to ask me sometimes who I loved the most–you or Kelly.

Please know this: I carried you in my body for nine months and I have always loved you since the day you were born, no matter how much you might have doubted that.  You will never know the pain and heartbreak I feel knowing that I will never see you again in this world.  I love you, have always loved you and will until the day I die.  I joined your Church because I feel closer to God there.  I feel your spirit is present too. You will always be my baby and I hold you in my heart always.  Kelly loves you, too.  I miss you terribly and hope you rest with the angels. 

Love, 

Mommy, age 56

Hi Dad - 

Can I call you Dad?  It sounds kind of weird since I never had any practice saying it.  I wish that I could have known you during my life.  You and Mom were married for 10 years with no kids, then along I come and–Bam!–within two years you’re divorced and mom and I moved thousands of miles away.  I guess it’s best that I didn’t remember you because then I didn’t miss you.  But I really missed the idea of you, of a strong and loving Dad out there who could protect me when I was small and scared.  I missed that a whole lot.  Not having you in my life affected the relationships I had with boys and later men throughout my life.  You probably didn’t think it would matter, but it did.

When I got older, Mom told me about your alcoholism and mental illness.  Manic depression, she said; I think they call it Bi-polar disorder today.  I have had my own struggles with substance abuse and depression.  Do you know children of alcoholics who aren’t raised by their alcoholic parent still have way higher rates of addiction?  It’s wired into the genetic code.  I guess that knowing about those factors makes it easier to understand why you stayed out of my life all those years, save for the occasional birthday or Christmas card.  I always treasured any card or letter from you, and I still have them packed away in boxes with the rest of my childhood mementos.  It makes it a little easier, Dad, but it doesn’t completely explain it all away.

Maybe if I had been a boy you would have wanted to stick around awhile longer.  Mom said that you just really didn’t know what to do with a little baby girl.  You love them, Dad.  That’s what you do.  You give them your love so they are secure and can give healthy love to others.  I’m still working on that one.  I haven’t done very well in my relationships, but I did successfully raise a daughter as a single mom, and now I am a grandmother to a fine little baby boy.  I try to spend a lot of time around him so that he will hopefully have some happy memories of his early years with me.  I’m really pretty sick with Hepatitis C and Cirrhosis, even though I try to hide it as best I can.  I know my time here is short so I try to make good memories for my daughter and grandson.

I wish I had good memories of you, Dad.  The only time I saw you was right before you died in the hospital in Boston, and you had had your leg amputated and were suffering from dementia. I was never sure if you knew who I was or not.  But I did try to be there for you once I knew that you were dying.  It was hard traveling thousands of miles to Boston in the dead of winter, but I really hope you knew it was me at least for a moment or two.  And if so, I hope you weren’t too disappointed.

Hey Dad, maybe when I die I will see you again someday.  Maybe we can talk about all of this stuff and work it out so it doesn’t hurt me anymore.  I’d really like that, Dad.

Your Daughter,

Elizabeth Ann, age 46

Dear Tom,

On Monday night, you called to say goodnight around seven and and we said goodnight to each other. You were tired from playing golf and from attending the business meeting. An hour later, you called screaming, telling me to meet you at the hospital because you had a headache. I thought it was just another trip to the hospital about your diabetes and didn’t feel panic until the doctor told me to tell you how much I loved you. They were calling the flight for life to take you to the Minneapolis trauma center.

What?  

I went into survival mode from that point and fought hard for you, Tom, standing in front of sometimes fifteen doctors, asking question after question, wanting one of them to tell me everything was going to be okay. But they just stared at me and muffled through, telling me what the next step would be. I could see the hope in their eyes was leaving slowly but I pushed, fought and hoped they would find the aneurysm. But they never did. You were already suffering from kidney failure and your body just couldn’t handle the surgeries.
 
Before you left, you woke up one time and we told each other we loved one another. What a gift that was.  But even then I didn’t know it would be the last time we would speak together. I miss you so much. 
 
You said I would be fine, but I don’t feel fine. I really don’t know what to do with myself. We were married for 19 years and I have to tell you, grieving really sucks. You know I am not a big crier, but I am determined to get through this and come out healthy.  Diane had to take you in her van in order to get you to your funeral on time. She was amazing and the only time she panicked was stopping for gas. If you wonder if that women loves us, well this proves it. At some point during the trip, she realized your clothes were hanging in the back and now had to deal with the image of you being butt naked in her van. Tom, you just have to laugh about this one, really. 
 
Honey, I so need you but know you are in heaven because of your faith in Jesus Christ. How does one start their life over, I don’t have a clue.  So sad right now.

Your wife, age 55

Hi Keys, 

I should have told you that your band sucked. 

Loved you,

K, age 38

Dear Tim,

It seems strange to think that I’m older than you now. And yet, it seems like this was always the way it was. I’ve taken to calling Dave the eldest now, not because I’ve forgotten you, but because that’s what he is. You have a younger sister now. She’s 5 now, and loves school, just like you did. Dave is at University, and seems to be enjoying it, but I worry about him. Could you look in and check on him once in a while? I think he needs someone he looks up to, to give him a nudge. Your parents are still lovely. I hug your Mum for you every time I see her, and I think she knows it’s on your behalf. It’s the kind of thing you can just feel, isn’t it?

Do you remember that day when we sat in my garden and you told me about everything you wanted to do with your life? I do. I always will. Because six months later, your chance to do any of it ended. So I’m doing some of it for you. I’m at University, and I’m making new friends, constantly and enjoying my studies. I take every day of my life as a blessing, because I finally understand my own mortality. I’m sorry you died. I know you didn’t want to. I hope it wasn’t awful. It must have been scary for you though. 

I wish I’d been able to visit you in hospital. I would’ve brought you a card and a cake, and told you how great you were. That way, I like to think maybe you wouldn’t have been alone at the end. I still think about you most days, even though it’s been 7 years. But it’s only been 7 years. You’d be 22 by now. Unbelievable, right? Your family still celebrate your birthday. I hope that makes you smile. I do too, but no-one knows I do. Not many of my friends know about you now. But I think that’s right. You’re none of their business. 

Even now, everytime I feel sad about things, I remember one of the last things you said to me: “On top of it all, now I have to pee in a bag.” It makes me smile and reminds me that some people, people like you, can find something to laugh about even in the most dire situations. So don’t you worry, lovely, no one is ever going to forget you. Everytime I hear ‘Summertime’ I cry. I don’t think that will ever change.

Bye Tim. 

Meg, age 20

Dear Mom, 

I was only 21 years old but that is no excuse. To this day, I am angry with myself for being too selfish, or too uneducated, about what you needed after being diagnosed with breast cancer—the first time around. After your masectomy, I should have done more to help you, like accompany you to your chemo treatments (I can’t even remember who, if anyone, did go with you) or just spend more quality time with you.  You handled cancer with solitude and grace. But I should have been there for you. 

Now, I make up for it by offering my services to friends in need and visiting your sister once a month to help her out. It makes me feel like I’m helping you. I wish you hadn’t gone so soon; I was still so young and you didn’t get a chance to help me through failed relationships, meet your two grandchildren or see me get married (finally, at 42!).  Maybe family was not allowed at the chemo appointments all those years ago; I don’t know. But I was there for you in the end, taking turns with my sister sleeping in the bed next to yours in the hospital, rubbing your legs, holding your hand, swiping your mouth with water. 

When the cancer spread to your brain, I knew inside that shell of a body, my mother was still there. But we could no longer talk, laugh or cry together. I so wish you were still physically in my life even though I know you are here in spirit. When girlfriends complain about their mothers, I thank God you were mine. Still to this day, 28 years later, I ask why it had to be you and not someone who didn’t want to, or someone who didn’t deserve to, live any longer. 

I miss you so much,  

Patricia Ann, age 49 

Take a moment today and write a letter to someone that passed during the September 11th attacks. Or write a letter to someone that risked their lives for ours. Let us never forget what they all did for us!

Dear Drama Director,

You took me, an awkward little freshman, and included me in your first show at St. Joe’s. It was an amazing experience, and I thank you for it. I was taught so much and was just so grateful to be a part of this newborn drama club. I felt like I was a part of something big, something exciting. Like a family.

And when time came for auditions for the spring musical, I felt comfortable auditioning for the first time in my life. I thought that since I was a part of this family, I would have a little bit easier time making it in. But when I walked in to sing…I started on the wrong key. It took my confidence and threw it out the window. It was my fault, and I completely accept that.

You never gave me a callback. I don’t know how much you thought about it, but I cried for hours when my name wasn’t on that list. Hours. It was like I had been in a family, and they had disowned me. I was the only member of the fall cast who had auditioned not to make the spring musical. That list crippled me. I didn’t make that show, and all I could think about was how much I must have sucked not to get even a callback. That I was so bad, you didn’t even want to give me another chance.

Now it’s time to audition again, and I’m scared. Last year, I was open for the rejection, because I had such a small chance to begin with. This year, I almost feel like I have to guard myself, and make myself believe you don’t want me in your shows anymore, because if I have to deal with the rejection in the spring again, I may give up acting altogether.

I know you didn’t mean it. I know you probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it if I hadn’t backed out of stage crew. But it hurts even now. And I just needed you to let me know that I was still in the family.

From,
The Student You Forgot, age 16

Dear Roxie, 

I have always been wanting to say that I am sorry for tormenting you.  I am also sorry for taking your bone.  I know you don’t like that.  You are a very nice dog and have very strong feelings.  I hope you forgive me. 

Your owner,

Ric, age 9

Dear Grandpa,

Even though I haven’t met you, I bet you were a loving father.  I wish I ventured on your journey to freedom with you when you escaped from the communists in Vietnam.  We could have visited all the different countries that rejected you because they weren’t accepting refugees.  I would be able to see the Indonesian ocean guards, who guarded their land and refused to let your boat dock.  I would have also witnessed all the food, houses, and games in Malaysia, where you sought your refuge.

At the last minute of your escape from Vietnam, why did you have to abandon your family?  My mom told me that you had an argument with Grandma, who wanted you to leave your mistress.  She was destroying your relationship.  But you didn’t listen to Grandma; instead, you left your family.  Grandma had to take care of the children herself.  I feel sad knowing you left your wife and children behind.  If you had stayed with your family, my mom wouldn’t have missed you nor would she feel incomplete.

My mom really misses you now that you’re gone.  You visited my mom in her dreams.  I wish you could visit me in my dreams as well.  When you visit me, you could explain to me why you did the things you did to your family.  In my dreams, we could get to know each other and I could keep you company.  Please come to me in my dreams.

I love you.

Love,

Jason, age 10

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

Papa Grande, 

It’s been too long since I wrote something for you.

I never thanked you for all the advice and everything we learned together. I’m sorry I never visit you but you know you are in my heart and soul from the morning coffee to our night tea. 

Each morning I stare at your favorite armchair and I keep wondering what made that place so special for you. I sit there every once in a while and keep looking through the same window, trying to evoke all the thoughts you left lingering. As hard as I try, I can only feel your absence and your deep voice saying “check-mate” in front of an old chess board that represented my childhood and your wisdom. 

I love you, please keep the chess ready for when I there. Then we will have all the time to finish our last game that still sits at your study, gathering dust, longing and memories.

Your grandson.

Germán - 26

Dear Anna,

From your experience of reading books and articles and watching television, most people look at suicide and believe it is an act of selfishness. Sending this letter to you is one of your realizations. You refused to go to any kind of therapy because you thought you didn’t need it. You’re so young. You don’t understand that you have your whole life. You have over 70 years left of your life, and that doesn’t mean anything to you? You’re stupid. You’re stupid for thinking that nobody loved you. You’re stupid for thinking that it would be better for your family. You’re stupid for rejecting therapy. You’re stupid for not telling anyone. I’m sending this to explain to myself (you) how that would impact the things you leave behind…

Your mother and father. How could they live? After everything both of them have done for you. After all the work and money and love they gave to you. They built you to be a fine young woman who received more love than she deserved. Imagine how they would react. Imagine how they would cry for you. No matter how much you hurt and how much you hate, I know that you’re heart isn’t dark. I know that because I’m you. You love your family so much more than you could understand. Seeing your parents hurt like that is more than you would ever know.

Your sister and brother. How could Ellen move on? You’re her younger sister. She would have guilt on her shoulders forever. You know how she gets. She would never forgive herself even though she had no power over anything. She would feel as if it was all her fault. And Evan, what would he do with himself? He waits forever for you to come home from boarding school, just to hug you and hang out with you. And what about Adam? You know he loves you. You know it. Even though everything that has happened, he still loves you. That should be enough. I don’t need to get into the details of his hurt that he would possess if anything happened to you. His time at Hill would never be the same. He wouldn’t be able to move on.

Which brings me to another point. Your future. You go to a private boarding school that famous people’s children went to. How can you be unhappy some people would ask? You’re selfish. You take things for granted, it’s true. You don’t understand what you have going for you. Your future is so bright. YOU are so bright. Take a look back on what you have. Look at who you have and then ask yourself, “Why would I want to end this all? Why would I want to leave my family, my friends, and my future here?” Every time you get into your feelings and cut deeper into your thoughts, stop. Stop crying, and think about your family. Read this letter that I wrote to you- myself.

Listen to yourself and your family. Go to therapy. You won’t believe how much it helps. Know that people love you. People who barely know you love you. Do it for Ryan. He wouldn’t understand. You have never seen him cry before, and you don’t want the first time to be because of you. He is getting worse and worse with his Down Syndrome and his new diseases, and he needs you to be here. Don’t leave everyone behind clueless. Stay here. You love them, and they love you.

Thanks,
You/Anna , age 15