Dear Mark,

Sometimes when I enter the doors of church and walk into the room to say my hello’s, I still expect to see you lift your head up and give me a huge smile like you always did. My mind still tricks me into thinking you are going to walk over and instantly ask how I was doing. When my mind tunes back into reality, my heart drops, knowing you aren’t really there.

I wish I had told you how much you really meant to me. You were like a father I didn’t really have and I wish I had told you that. In all honesty, you were the most understanding and heart-filled guy I knew. There wasn’t a single mean bone in you. I want to tell you that I have learned so much from you. You were so wise and always put other people first. 

Hearing about your sickness was devastating but I was happy to hear how much healthier you were getting. Although you missed many weeks of church, you came back strong and confident. Then, the one week I missed church because I was visiting my dad, your time was up and you were gone. When my mom called me to tell me, I couldn’t stop crying. I wish I could have said goodbye. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. You were supposed to live! You were getting better, so what went wrong?

Right now, I wish I could ask you how it is up there, because I know that’s where you ended up. I want to tell you about my basketball games and hear your voice again. I wish you knew that. It didn’t seem like it was your time. You had blessed so many people but we still needed you in our life. Sometimes when I walk in the kitchen and see your picture, I feel as if a baseball is stuck in my throat. Holding back the tears, I hear your beautiful singing voice, singing the songs in church. I hear your laugh, your voice, your breath, as if you were standing right next to me. As if you were still here. 

I miss your annoying jokes that I never understood. As the days add up, I cherish your silly jokes more and more. It’s super hard for me to think about you and not feel the pain that I feel. Knowing you are in a better place and that you did great things while you were here on earth, helps me find a little happiness in your death. You lived a life that people remember you by and admire, and that’s what counts.

I wish you were still here. I wish I could ask you to stay. Knowing I can’t, I appreciate the time I knew you.

Every ounce of my love,
Angelina, age 14

Dear People of Boston,

I’m sorry people let off bombs in your town. If I could go back and stop the bombs I would. I’m sorry you have to deal with all of this. I know this was not expected for the bombs to happen.  Special people in your lives were killed. I was scared to run my 5K but now I’m not. Scary things happen with so much unexpected notice.  People got killed left and right. 

I’m sorry for Martin because he was so young.  To die at the age of eight years old is hard to imagine and I’m sure extremely difficult for his family.  They must struggle and have problems and don’t have a lot of excitement for birthday parties.  So sorry Boston, with all the moms and dads and kids and other people getting hurt.  I hope it does not happen again.  I wish that you had a chance to say goodbye to loved ones or friends and family. 

I’m just sorry to hear that the bombs happened and killed and angered people. Sorry for people in Boston.  Hope now everything is going on good and everything is safe for you. I’m very, very sorry.

Love,
Haven, age 8

Dear good friend,

It’s funny that our friendship started with one random question.
One question about a jacket.
That jacket had a logo that I recognized.
That logo I knew was a summer camp logo, from Camp Baldwin.

Every day you would walk into the classroom with that jacket but I never asked about it, until finally one day we were painting the class mural and I decided what the heck. So I asked the question that would start our friendship.

“Did you go to Camp Baldwin?” I asked.
“Yeah, my mom is the camp director,” you told me.
“Wow, that’s cool. It was the first summer camp I went to.” I told you.

From that day on, I pestered you with questions about the camp. You answered every question with ease.

I don’t think that you know this, but you were my first new friend at this school. I know I never told you this, but thank you for all the laughs throughout our friendship. I have never really had a friend like you. I just wish that I would have asked that question sooner rather than later, because maybe just maybe, we could have had even more laughs and more of those moments when we hear a word and burst out laughing. Only if I would have said those six little words, we could have had a greater friendship. Even though we had our ups and downs (never really downs), we still make the best friends ever. Thank you.

From your friend, age 14

Dear Rose,

I’m writing this letter to tell you how much I’ve missed you. I think of you all the time. Last year Howie told me Larry was taking over and that we’d move to San Diego. Even though I didn’t want to be far from you, I was glad I wasn’t responsible any longer for the house. 

I have missed you dearly. I keep asking Howie to take me to you. Larry is in charge and says, “I’m sorry, not today.”

This last year has been horrible for me. I have fallen down four times and wound up in the hospital. I have been moved two times, and Larry won’t let me live with him. The food is terrible and I have no Jewish People to talk to.

I can’t see or hear very well and, I can’t think clearly or remember well, but Howie and Larry visit all time. Howie gives me a haircut and Larry brings me chocolate. 

For the last two weeks, I’ve been in a nursing home and they won’t let me leave because I am not well yet. Today I feel very sick. I do not know why, it is not like anything I have felt. I told Larry to take me to the hospital. I said that I need to write you a letter. I think I will see you soon.

I want to live, but living like this is miserable. I would rather be with you, Rosie. I love and miss you.

Jack, age 66

Dear Alex,

You were the most amazing person I’ve ever met. It’s been nine years since I heard your squealy laugh, or watched you smile and giggle the moment you heard Blue’s Clues come on TV. But you’re still deep in my heart, and in my thoughts.

I loved you from the moment I met you, and made up my six year old mind to protect you from everything- to keep you safe. You were my best friend, even though you rarely spoke aside from the occasional “I go”, but I knew you were always listening. During the toughest times in my life, I always knew I could make you laugh and giggle, and everything was a little less bleak.

I remember when you’d be laying on your mat on the floor and I wanted to surprise you, so I’d tiptoe down the stairs only to hear you explode with happy squeals. You always knew it was me, and I’d just giggle and kick the wall. You always saw much more than anyone gave you credit for, didn’t you? I regret a lot of what you saw and heard. I regret not being able to stop the fighting from Mom and Dad, or the stupid doctors talking about you like you were just a lump. I tried my best though, and I always tried to cover your ears whenever they said the “D” word.

You were only supposed to be with us for two years, according to the doctors- but, you had other plans. You graced us with your light for six whole years and, as I got older, the more I wanted to protect you. You meant so much to me, and I’m sorry I wasn’t always there. I had to take care of Mom, and we both know how she can be. I used to be so angry. So angry at myself because I couldn’t stop what I knew would eventually come. Like watching a friend get hit by a train in slow motion, but you can’t push them out of the way because your feet are stuck in dry concrete.

I remember when Mom stuck you in that awful hospice. I hated it! I couldn’t see you as often as I wanted, and it got to me. Remember when I sneaked in through the garden? I hated that you were alone a lot of the time as you got sicker. But, of course, I wasn’t in control of that.

I’ve come to terms with a lot of things, and I even finished the book I was reading when Mom called and told me you’d passed. It was that book about the time travelling cat I used to read you. I remember the last time I saw you. You were so tired, but I wanted so badly for you to stay awake so I could sing and play with you. I was only twelve, but I think I knew that I’d never see you again. I’d never be able to hug you, or breathe in the perfume of your hair, or hold you in my arms. I wish I would have been able to go to your funeral. I wish so badly that I could go back in time and be there. I was so angry, and I hated myself for such a long time. But seeing you at the wake was too much for my twelve year old self to handle, and I came down with an intense flu. I used to think that the gods hated me; they took you from me, and now I couldn’t even be present for you? I loved you so much, and I still do. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t help you more than I did. I wanted to wrap myself around you in hopes that no one could ever take you from me. But I know that’s not how it works and it would never had been fair to you.

I’m not angry anymore, but I always miss my sanctuary. I never got to tell you, but you were my best friend. You were my saving grace, turning all of my young anger and hatred toward my life into light and love. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you for being my baby brother.

I still hate good-byes. So…

Later Gator,
Sissy, age 21

Dear Katie,

Yesterday was supposed to be our original wedding day (4/20). I saw this on the CBS Sunday News Morning Show (one of your favorites and mine as well) and instantly thought of you. I understand your disdain and bitterness towards me. I completely failed us, and I hope you will one day think good thoughts of me and our time together. Here are some things I would like to say to you if I had the chance.

1) Thanks for giving me a second chance. I’m sorry I failed us.

2) Thanks for teaching me the meaning of unconditional love and sacrifice. I will always cherish our time together.

3) I wasn’t looking for anyone when I met you but I fell in love because:

You are an angler with the appropriate fishing jacket and flapper
You are a bourbon drinker (albeit a novice one)
You are dedicated to your family and friends
You are an avid reader
You are a dedicated Christian
You are an above-average Karaoke singer
You are a talented sales representative
You are a dog and squirrel lover
You are a brilliant woman with incredible potential
Your gregarious personality is addictive
You are incredibly witty and hilarious
You are my partner and best friend.

I miss you and love you terribly.
Me, age 41

My dear son,

It’s been most of a year now since cancer took you from me.  I had never had to deal with death before, not up close.  I was so occupied in caring for your sickness that I wasn’t prepared for your death.  I wasn’t prepared to have the biggest part of my life ripped away.  It was my job to help you prepare to die, but I didn’t know what to say.  When you needed me most, I couldn’t find anything to give you.  Somehow you were given wisdom and courage equal to the need.  It turned out that you made things easier for me.

None of it makes sense to me, even now.  Some people told me that you had gone to a better place.  You did, of course.  But it’s not for other people to say where you should be.  They have no idea how much it hurt me to hear them say that.  This world wasn’t a very good place for you, even before you got sick, and you knew that better than anyone.  I don’t understand as much about God as I once thought I did, but there are some things I’m still sure about.  As God knows my heart, I never wanted this to happen to you, and I’m sure He didn’t either.

I had never grieved before.  Once in a while I was sorry to see someone go, but that wasn’t grief.  I’ve learned that losses are all different, even among parents, and that everyone grieves in his or her own way.  For me, grief has been almost polite, waiting until I can give it my attention.  When I can be alone and think about you and think about what we went through together, it’s easy to let go and cry.  Grief is always with me and never far from the surface.  I’m not afraid of grieving.  It’s something that makes me feel close to you.  And you deserve my tears.

I’m trying to go on with what’s left of my life here, but it’s really, really hard.  I have a lot of good memories of things we were always doing together—playing with the cats, watching TV, going out to get junk food.  I want to get back to some of the Mario and Zelda video games we played together.  Every Saturday morning when I listen to “Car Talk” on the radio while driving around looking for yard sales, a little bit of you is still riding shotgun with me.

For now, I’m holding on to the good memories and letting go of the bad ones.  Good memories, though, will never be enough.  You’re more than my memories.  Someday, before long, we’ll be back together, the cancer will be gone, and your mind will be clear and peaceful and your own.  I can’t wait to get to know the real you.

Love,
Dad, age 59

After the terrible tragedies that happened this week in Boston and West, Texas, CBS Sunday Morning will air the segment we recorded about regret and the importance of valuing each and every moment that we share with others. Please check your local listings and tune in tomorrow morning! 

Grandpa,

What I would have said was that I love you. What I would have said was how much I appreciate that you were always there for me. There are so many things I would have said, but I just didn’t know how, or when.

The last time I talked to you, you were dressed in white with beeping machines all around you. You looked so weak and scared. And at the time what I didn’t realize was that you weren’t going to come home.

The morning I found out you had passed, all these emotions were running through my head. I felt like I had been holding on to a burning rope for so long, and I finally couldn’t take it anymore, so I let go. When I did, there were scars, scars that will never fade away.

When I think about you, a memory flashes into mind of those summer afternoons when I would come into the house dripping with pool water, to get a drink or whatever else my little mind had to do. You would be sitting in your red chair ready to ask, “How’s the water?” (like you always did) and I would say, “Good” just out of habit. But I can’t tell you how much it meant to me, because I never got the chance. It never really crossed my mind that I should actually sit down and talk to you, because soon you wouldn’t be sitting in your red chair anymore.

When I think about you, I see your crazy brown hair always combed back, and your Harry Potter glasses! I see a tall, strong man who always cracks jokes! When I think about you, I simply see you.

There were so many things I wanted to say to you when you were in the hospital. I wanted to give you a big hug and never let you go, but I couldn’t. No words can explain how much of a hole appears in my chest when I think about all the things I didn’t say to you. I guess now you know some of them, huh?

What I’ve been trying to say is that I love you, and that you’re not forgotten. All this time I have been regretting not saying all the things I could’ve. But now I know I can, and I did. I hope you now know…that you will always be my red chair memory.

Hannah, age 13