Dear PDR,

I would give my entire life if I could make you happy again. Even if it’s just for a week. I would do anything to make you feel better. To feel like this isn’t the end. I wanted to say all of these things to you that day. To say that I know you are unhappy, and that you use humor to cover up your pain. I see it. I feel it. There isn’t a thing that I wouldn’t give to fix you. I know of the horrors that you have seen, and I want you to let me in. I know I can help. Even if it takes my pain to make you happy. I only wish I could help take away the pain for just a little while.

Love,
Aly, age 21

Dear Lucy Lawless, 

I think you are the most gorgeous woman in Hollywood. In my eyes you are the perfect woman. I myself am an artist and none of the women I draw or write about match you, because you’re just so amazing. I think you are the most talented actress. I love how you have such a great sense of humor and yet you can play such a tough and powerful woman. You caught my attention when you played the butt-kicking warrior princess, Xena. But you won my heart with your acting and ability to get into character. Not only are you a great actress, it also sounds like you’re a great mom as well. Not all actress moms would take a break from acting to raise their kids. To me you are a winner. I also love how you are a big Hollywood star and yet you haven’t forgotten who you are and where you came from. I think it’s awesome how you go back to your home town of New Zealand every now and again to visit your family. If you are reading this, I hope it has opened up your eyes to how wonderful of a person you are and to the people around you. If it weren’t for you, people wouldn’t know your generosity and your ability to act, sing and dance, and make people laugh. Every time I watch, read or hear about you, it puts a smile on my face and helps me forget the bad things happening in my life for that moment of just you. Thanks for making this world a better place. I hope years from now I will still hear great things about you. 

Your number one fan, 

Duhg, age 11

Dear Papa, 

It’s another sleepless night where I find myself writing about you. Contrary to what I initially believed, I still have quite a few more tears left to shed after these past eight and half years without you and without Mom. To this day, I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive myself for not taking care of her as I promised you as you lay in that damn hospital bed dying. I was only 17 at the time and she was already so ill, but how can a daughter not feel guilty after that? She has long since forgotten me and the whole world. And the guilt is what I am left with now as I can no longer take your hand in comfort, hug you, be held by you and have my tears wiped away by you. No, instead I can only cry alone and hope for the day that Mom can be released from her mortal prison to join you in what I can only hope is a happier place.

I know they say no parent should have to bury their child, but I believe no child should have to bury a parent while the other has to be sent to a nursing home. The worst part is knowing that this will always hurt. It may not be the same everyday as it was before and some days may be just like the first, but it will always been lurking in the shadows of my mind waiting for a reminder to bring about the flood of days long gone. It will always be there because I will never stop loving you or missing you or wishing for a moment that I could see your face and hold your hand. The same goes for Mom and the person she was. Only with her, her body remains and yet I must let her go for she has left me long ago.

Now, I can only hope to make you proud by surviving that nightmare and learn to live with the reality of what it means to be daughter to no one living; to learn to thrive as an orphan, a word I absolutely feared the most as a child. There was never a monster under my bed that could make me cry as much as this. Yet, forever I must hold true what I also said to you in that same hospital bed: “You are my hero and heroes never die.“ They never do, because they live on in our hearts.

Forever your loving daughter,
Ness, Age 25

Dear Mrs. Gabriel,

I’ll never forget the beautiful toy railroad set that your son, Horst, got to play with each Christmas. Your husband would only put it out in December, and each time he did, I was invited to share it with Horst. You lived in the same building as me. Your family was Christian.

I’ll also never forget Berlin in 1938 and the tobacco store across the street from our fifth-story building. On Kristallnacht, we could hear the screams of the Jewish owner as the S.S. came to smash his windows and take him out onto the street to hurt him. It was a bloody mess. That same night, all of the synagogues were either burned or completely vandalized.

In fear for my family’s safety, you and your sister came to our place to help protect us. My father was on a business trip in Hamburg and when he called home, my mother said, “Stay in Hamburg, get lost, because the Nazis are here to get you.” You were angels who put themselves in danger in order to help save my family…

Ernest, age 86

 ****

Mitzi,

You were our housekeeper and my nanny for the first six years of my life.

You were the most important person in my young years. I saw more of you than either of my parents. 



Each weekday morning, you walked me to kindergarten and then picked me up again for lunch. We walked towards our apartment at the edge of the Danube Canal through the colorful streets of Vienna. You prepared my lunch, tucked me in for a nap, and later played games with me till you prepared supper. I took your presence and care for granted.

After Kristallnacht, you disappeared from my life and I missed you terribly. I cried and prayed for your return but soon we were forced to leave our apartment and I was sure you would never find us again. One cold February afternoon, there was a knock on our door—a knock always sent shivers of fear into our souls—but when my mother opened the door, it was you, Mitzi. You had a spray of lilies of the valley in your hand and a Happy Birthday greeting on your lips for me. It was my seventh birthday and I was filled with joy for the first time in many months…

Ruth, age 76

 **The full versions of both letters are in the book, The Things You Would Have Said**

Richard C.,

It’s been 30 years since I did the most stupid and selfish act. I was the other man that took your family away from you. Man? I was no man. I was a 24 year old, immature coward with no self-esteem. When I met your wife, I was smitten by her appearance. Unlike a real man, I disregarded the wedding ring she wore. I disrespected the vows you both shared and the commitment of you adopting her daughter. I never had anyone like that pay attention to me. I was warned by friends and family, but I ignored them. I also ignored the phone calls and your attempts to confront me about this.

I asked her to come with me, to run away, not understanding the long standing ramifications that would follow. Like everyone had predicted, it didn’t last long. But that didn’t matter. The damage was done! I had devastated more lives in one single selfish act than I care to remember. At that moment, I wanted nothing but to say how sorry I was. 

You accepted the devastation, you collected yourself and you moved on to have a wonderful family. I would like to say how glad I am for you, but I am not in a position to comment on your life. My only intention is to say how sorry I am to you, your ex-wife, and your adopted daughter. I wish I didn’t do what I did. You have no idea! I have always thought about someday contacting you to say I am truly sorry, but I think that would make matters worse.

I struggle everyday with the guilt. It never leaves, ever. It’s like background music in my head. I had to learn by example, your example. I have to accept, learn, and move on in a positive direction. If ever there was a way to make this up to you I would, without hesitation. If you ever wished me sorrow for what I had done (and who could blame you), your wish had come true multiple times in my life. This maybe the only time I will have the opportunity to apologize to you. Wiling to accept my fate, I would look you straight in the eyes and say I am so, so sorry. 

I wish you everything that is good in life.
M.E., age 53

Dear Beau,

You are the epitome of your namesake. You are beautiful. The most beautiful man that I have ever seen, to be exact. I can remember the first time that our eyes met. My breath caught, and my heart skipped multiple beats. That glance was only for a second, for we didn’t know each other yet. Your message at the college meeting for Christians gave me a lot to think about, and stirred up questions. I mustered the courage to e-mail you, and you responded by saying that you wanted to meet to chat. I was so nervous! I was afraid to say the wrong thing, to make you think that I was strange. But I felt perfectly at ease, once we started talking, and we chatted for over an hour. An absolute wonderful hour. We ended the meeting with a hug, and you squeezed me tight. Most guys have given me one-sided/loose, not as meaningful hugs. But yours was different, and special.

After that first chat, I saw you every week at the scheduled meetings for fellowship. You always had a hug for me, and only me. I never saw you hug any other girl. At Valentine’s Day, there was a big box of roses on the table outside the entrance; everyone was free to help themselves to one. You picked one out and handed it to me. I will never forget the look in your eyes when you gave the rose to me. I was 20 years old, and I had never been given a flower from any man before. I think that was the moment when I fell in love with you. We met regularly to talk about life, God, growing in spirituality. I treasured those talks, because they meant the absolute world to me. You listened carefully and had wisdom to share with me. My friends knew that I loved you, but I tried my very hardest to keep you oblivious to it. You spoke again at the weekly fellowship meeting and you told us your story. I cried when you told it because my heart was breaking for you, what you had gone through. I remember the overwhelming feeling of wanting to hold you when you were at a very dark moment in your story. I told you mine, and we prayed together.

I ended up daydreaming about a future with you even though I knew that wasn’t a wise idea. And I knew in my heart that it wouldn’t be possible. You, with your olive skin and dark eyes, hair. Me, with my white skin, dark blonde hair, and light blue eyes. Physically, we were complete opposites. I told myself that this would be the reason that you would never love me back. And I was right. The day that I decided to tell you my feelings for you, you dropped the bomb that you were seeing your ex-girlfriend. Even though you told me that it had ended badly and had been so hurt by the break-up. Then why would you go back? I didn’t understand then, and I don’t understand now. But I plastered a smile to my face, and told you that I hoped it worked out. I told myself that I would never be good enough, and that all of our moments together meant nothing. That I had built them up in my mind. And for a time, I believed that. It was easier to believe that it was my own fault. You are engaged to your original ex-girlfriend now. Every moment that I shared with you, every talk, every prayer, every hug…all of those memories keep me up at night. I regret with every fiber in my being not telling you how I felt about you. Would something have changed? Would your friendship with me have fizzled due to awkwardness? Maybe you would have changed your mind, and pursued something with me. The unknown is what hurts me, day in and day out.

But somehow, at the same time, I am happy for you, for this life that you are starting that I know will be amazing. I just wish that it was with me.

Laney, age 21

Dear You, 

I used to be so strong. I never cared about what people thought of me. Until you. You broke me. You broke through my barrier. We’d been dating for three days, and you’d already told me you loved me and that I was apparently “your everything.” I told you I loved you, too, cause I meant it.

But I guess you didn’t. Cause you dumped me on the third day of our relationship. You said you’re still in love with your ex. You even told me that. And you used the worst cliché ever: “It’s not you…it’s me.” I cried myself to sleep that night. That was Monday night. It is now Wednesday night. I cried myself to sleep last night, too, as I probably will tonight.

I can’t believe I let you get to me like this. It’s ridiculous, really. I see you every day and all I want to do is die. Literally. I get all hot and all the blood rushes to my face, and I start to go into panic mode and I’m worried everyone around me sees how I react. I’m so scared of how long this is going to last. Your smile, your eyes, the way you walk. It’s like a cute little shuffling. A modest little shuffle to class. I hate that I’m still wounded from you. I hate myself. It’s this prolonged sadness, and what you put me through just made everything so much fucking worse.

Sam, age 14

Dear Andrew,

I’m so sorry. So sorry I don’t have all the answers or the strength to make it better. I don’t know how to fix it, or maybe I just don’t have the courage. I miss you though.

I miss going into your room and watching you play your video games until the wee hours. I miss that tenderness you had, acting so tough one minute and then bringing home an abandoned kitten the next. We were a team then, taking shifts bottle-feeding it until it could eat on its own, finding it a new home. I miss going outside and lying on the grass to talk about the universe under those stars. Grandma coming out and yelling at us for getting our clothes wet was worth those moments.

I miss conspiring with you; planning our modes of attack and rushing out with our toys and potato guns and playing war. Remember when we climbed the roof everyday? Those fields behind the house were ours.

You’re a genius. You’re an idiot. You were so excellent a math; unmatched at checkers; you used strategy and logic and taught me how to wrestle. You’re my big brother and I love you.

And I miss you so fucking much.

Why did you have to leave? I needed you, I looked up to you. You showed morality I never did. You left and the world went to hell. I was proud of you then. If I would have known, I would have stopped you. But then, you were so stubborn I don’t think I would have stood a chance. The point is you left and got broken. We didn’t understand and you just got worse. You’re there, but you’re not him anymore. Sometimes you come back, but then a light flips and everything changes and it’s like you’re dragged back and chained and replaced with someone so violent and I want to scream.

What am I supposed to do? I’ve got you, my fallen hero, and then my sisters and mom who I have to protect. Come back please, beat this fucking demon. I lied. If I had a time machine, I would change something. I would stay home, keep you sane. I would visit you every damn day. I would leave with you, shield you from such hate and neglect and protect you like you protected me.

Why the hell am I the one who has to be looked on with pride while you’re thrown scraps? I don’t want this, I just want you. I just want my big brother, please for the love of God, come back.

I love you always.

Your sister,
Jessica, age 21

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