The Things You Would Have Said

Dear Rozann,

You don’t know me, but I’m sure you know who I am. I certainly know who you are. It’s September, 2012. Do you remember what happened on September 15th, 1978? I know, that was 34 years ago, but it’s a date I don’t think either one of us can ever forget. 

Do you remember? You were driving a school bus for the school district as a substitute driver. It was late afternoon, about 4:55PM, according to official papers. You were in a hurry because you were running late. The kids said that you got lost a couple of times. You stopped in front of a house to discharge some children, one of them my son, Bryan, age six. They said you were in such a hurry, that you tried to shut the doors before he could exit and caught his foot in them.

After that, the exact details of the event get fuzzy. You said that Bryan crossed in front of the bus, went across the street and into his yard and then came back and bent over in front of the bus to pick up a lunch box and you didn’t see him, even though he was wearing a bright yellow rain slicker. That was quite a distance to cover and get back in front of the opposite side of the bus. If you saw him do all of that, why didn’t you wait until you saw he was safely back in his yard before you started moving the bus again? Some of the other children on the bus stated that they felt the first bump and shouted, “Oh! Oh! Stop! Stop! You’ve hit something!” to which you replied, “It was only a dog” and you kept going. So you first knocked him down and ran over him with the front wheels, but then you kept going, and ran over him with the back wheels. But then, you continued down the street for several more yards, before finally coming to a stop at a stop sign at the end of the street. 

What happened? In those few seconds, did you panic? Was the thought that you had just run over a child so horrific, so unthinkable, that in that instant, your mind told you that if you just kept going, it didn’t happen? Did you think that you could just keep driving, like a hit and run accident and you could get away somehow? Did it finally dawn on you then, when you had to stop at the stop sign, what you had done? Did you look back in your rear-view mirrors and see him lying motionless in the street?

The details are unimportant at this point. What matters is that you killed my son that afternoon. It was Friday, the end of his first week of first grade. He never finished first grade. He never graduated high school. He never married nor had children of his own. He didn’t get a chance to go into the Navy, like two of his brothers and his dad. His life and all of our hopes and dreams for him, ended that Friday afternoon, 34 years ago. They ended because you were in a hurry. They ended because you were careless.

You know, even though we never met, I hated you for a long time. For a long time, I wanted so bad to buy an old school bus and destroy it blow by blow with a sledge hammer, just out of frustration and anger. I know you lost your job, but I lost my son. You took him from me and the rest of his family. I suppose you got another job at some point, but we haven’t been able to replace Bryan. He’s still dead, and you killed him.

But you know what, over the years I realized that as much as I grieved the loss of my son, I didn’t kill him. You did, and that’s something you will have to live with the rest of your life. For that, I honestly feel sorry for you. To know, to live with the fact every day, that you killed a child because you weren’t paying attention, because you were careless. Do you have children? Did you hug them and thank God for them every day after you killed Bryan? Are you still alive? I hope you are still alive. I hope someday you read this letter, or someone who knows you or is related to you, reads this.

Because I wanted you to know that I forgave you. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t an act of Christian faith. It was simply the fact that the weight of hating you all those years was too much of a load for me to carry. I just couldn’t bear it any longer. It wasn’t making the grief any easier. I wasn’t bringing Bryan back. I don’t know what day it was. I don’t know what year it was. I just know that I decided to forgive you. I have no idea how the rest of Bryan’s family feels about you, and I am not speaking for them, I am speaking for myself. I thought about writing a letter to the paper where you and Bryan lived at the time, hoping that you would see my letter and know that I had forgiven you. But I just never did.

I’m sure you are/were a good person. I’m sure it wasn’t racial prejudice that caused you to take away my baby boy. Maybe it was racial prejudice that you never apologized, or if you did, I never heard about it. But this isn’t about race. This is about you and a terrible, awful mistake you made on September 15th, 1978. A mistake you had to, or will, live with the rest of your life. As far as I know, other than losing your job that day, you paid no other price. If you were even given a ticket for careless driving, I never heard about it. You were never charged with any crime that I know of. But I think you’ve paid for your mistake and I forgive you.

 Bryan’s daddy, age 65

Dear Daddy,

It has been two years and a bit now since I heard the news, and yet it sometimes feels like you haven’t been gone for two weeks. They where angry, said you where selfish, but I was just sad for you; Bipolar Disorder makes it sound like you where dysfunctional, but you really weren’t, you where just sick. And everything was taken from you. I don’t know how I would cope if my kids where taken from me, and my house and car, and the pain of the water on your lungs. Maybe the noose and ladder was just a permanent painkiller. 

I miss you a lot, though. I am now 20 and going to start my fourth job soon- it’s a good job and I think you would have been proud of me. I was headhunted! I dated a good guy for a while, someone you would have liked, someone I could bring home. Would you have done what you did if you had known how many dysfunctional relationships I would have ended up in?

And when I find the right one, I want to be married and get it right, something few people in this family seem to be able to do. But sometimes I still don’t feel like I deserve it that good. And if by some miracle I did get married, who will I dance my first dance with?

Mommy isn’t doing too good, either. I know you could never stand each other since the divorce, and even before that. The only memories I have of the two of you together are of arguments. That’s why I don’t want kids. Well I really, really want kids, but I’m scared. I wish I could talk to you again. I still remember your voice and your hug and how I would sit in your workshop as a child while you built masterpieces from wood planks. Anyway, we were all kind of looking after Mom until it became time for each of us to move out. I never told you, never wanted you to worry. But now we are all kind of on our own because the stress of raising an adult is sometimes a bit much. She wasn’t a bad parent, but sometimes just didn’t cook or clean and sometimes wouldn’t get out of bed, either. I don’t think she would take her life but that doesn’t stop her from allowing life to fade away. The other day I walked nine km to visit her and found her in bed, very sick and not haven eaten for a few days. She didn’t accept help offered to her, either, so I called an ambulance ad waited long at the hospital. She ended up in ICU for a while but she is fine now. Why is there no will to live, Daddy?

I have stopped blaming myself for yours and mom’s depression. I have moved out on my own recently and am really growing up: I do the wine evenings and dress up for interviews and have all the right kinds of friends. I haven’t been seen in a bar in a while and am learning to be refined and high class. Sometimes I just want to be a kid again but I know that can’t work, there’s no backup plan for me, no time to play. Anyway I think you would have been proud of me and my sisters. They are doing well, although I wish they where happier. But they are strong and they will be ok.

I hope you are happy where you are, and if you can see me I hope you are proud. May you rest in Peace and Happiness. With all my love and a hope that I will never lose.

Your daughter,
Hope, age 20

Dear Granpa- 

I miss you so much. I wish you were still here. We all miss you. You would have laughed at what I did the other day. I was helping dad on the tractor-he had to fix the telephone pole and I lifted him up in the bucket on the tractor. I went too far and ran into the pole and left a huge gash from the scoop. I know you would have teased me forever. 

I get to drive the black pickup now. I named it Suzy. The speedometer quit on it but dad is fixing it. Our air conditioner quit this week. We are waiting on a part to fix it. Can you believe that I am going to be a freshman!? I am going to do every sport I can. I’m not so sure I’m going to stick with volleyball and track, but I might. I now that I am going to for sure stick with basketball. My coach has been telling me that I have a lot of potential. I hope I do.

Love,
Gracie Lu, age 14

Dear Mom, 

I know it hasn’t been easy raising four kids, mostly by yourself. Yeah Dad is there, but we all know how far his capacity to love anything but alcohol and himself extends. Though you may think you have failed most of the time, especially with me, I need to know that without you, I would never have made it to see my last birthday, or even my thirteenth birthday without you and your love.

All your other kids tell me I am going to give you a heart attack with all the stress I cause you and it hurts me so incredibly bad to think that that one day it might come true and it would be all my fault. The past nine years have been difficult on me (I know you as well) and I guess because of how much I look up to for all your strength, I thought you could handle not only your own problems, but also my depression, drug addiction and all around long and drawn out downward spiral that I am slowly coming out of. No mother ever deserves to see their baby do the things I have done to myself, especially one as beautiful as you. None of the things I have done were ever your fault. I think maybe because you gave me so much love, I was crying out for at least half the love you give me, but from dad. I know I will never be good enough in his eyes no matter how hard I try but I know that no matter who or what I am or the things I do, I have always and will always be good enough for you. 

I don’t know what I would do without you mom. I think I would literally die from heartbreak. I would lose the most important part of myself, I’d lose my home and my strength. You are my best friend, you are my hero, and you are the most incredible, selfless person that I luckily get to call my mom. I hate thinking I take you for granted because I know I do, especially when I don’t treat you like the queen you are. God, my heart is pounding right now. Seriously, the thought of never seeing you again makes it hard for me to breathe, I just start crying and I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s scary because normally when I get a feeling like that, you’ve always been able to calm me down and make me feel better. But what am I going to do when you aren’t here anymore?

I am realizing that I won’t have you forever and the time I do have with you is so precious, I don’t want to take any aspect of you for granted. So from here on out, I will still be honest with you, but instead of making you worry about me all the time, I will really try to create my own happiness and chose not only the right choice but the healthy and right choice for me. I want to make you proud and I want you to always know that anything I ever have achieved or will achieve is all because of you. I may be considered an adult at the age of 21 but I will always wish I was just sitting next to you on the couch watching either (my favorite) Southpark or (your favorite) Desperate Housewives with a piece (or ten) Dove chocolates in our hand.

I love myself because you loved me first. Thank you for everything. 

Lilly Angel, age 21

Dear Alex,

I really do mean dear in the most genuine sense of the word. You mean so much to me - more than you will ever know. You came into my life at just the right time and did so much for me. You truly kept me sane this summer. I told you more than I’ve ever told anybody, but there was still so much I just couldn’t bring myself to say out loud. You are my rock.

We joke about getting married and our lives together…I wouldn’t mind. You know I can’t trust or commit to anybody, but I would be willing to try for you. I love that we can go from talking a mile a minute and arguing about politics to sitting comfortably in the silence, soaking in the joy of us.

I don’t know if there will ever be an “us” the way I would like; eight hours between us is a lot. I don’t know if it’s too much, but I do know that I need you close.

Thank you for all that you’ve done for me, and all that you continue to do. You are my better half, but I will never have the guts to tell you so.

I wish you everything beautiful and joyful in life, Al. You deserve nothing but the absolute best, a love that will both calm and consume you, and happiness that will follow you wherever you go. I can’t tell you how much I want that to be me, but if it’s not I hope she appreciates you as much as I do.

I cherish you. Truly.
Haley, age 19