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 foreign guy on the bus,

Yesterday at mid-day, we met at the bus station and we took the same bus to Bucharest, Romania. I’ve been meaning to say hi to you when we would get off but somehow I’d lost all my courage by then. We gazed at each other for a few seconds and that was it. As you were putting your things back on the bike, I slowly walked away. All the day I’ve been wondering…what if? 

But no worries, all this has taught me a valuable lesson: that life doesn’t wait for you to assume your chances.

So, here it is: HI!

Thank you! Hoping that someday I’ll meet you again.

Cam, age 20

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

Dear Cat,

Thanks for being you. You aren’t offending me every time you do my dishes or my roommates’ dishes, I actually really appreciate it.

You rock. Don’t ever change.

Tess, age 19

Dear Moms and Dads With Empty Arms, 

I was a Labor and Delivery nurse, who also worked in the Special Care Nursery for many years, before retiring. And after more than 30 years, it now occurs to me that some things may have been left unsaid when a baby was born dead, or died shortly after birth. I want to say some of those things that Moms and Dads experiencing this terrible loss might not have heard, but maybe needed to know. If you are still grieving, I hope this gives a voice to whatever pain you are still feeling, whatever you needed to hear and understand, and that it helps you heal and find some peace. Miscarriage, fetal demise and early childhood loss are some of the most painful types of loss.

In the unit where I worked, we delivered around 1000 babies a year and sadly, not all survived. Those were the difficult days, but those were the days that gave a different meaning to my work. Those tiny preemies–babies with serious birth defects, those that were choked by an umbilical cord wound tightly around the neck, too tight to allow brain development, those with deformities not compatible with a longer life, or those too early to survive, and so many more things that may or may not have been anticipated–were given respect, warmth, sometimes holding, talking or singing to them and even prayer.

Frequently, it was my job to stay with the babies because of my many years in the NICU before transferring to Labor & Delivery. It was a mixed blessing. I felt honored to represent the parents, to hold or cuddle the baby, to keep accurate notes, to do what would be important to me under those circumstances. They look so fragile, one can actually see the tiny blood vessels in the skin, the soft spot on the head as it pulsates, the labored breathing, and occasional little twitches. Sometimes they are perfectly formed, but just way too tiny and at other times they are larger, but have some serious problems such as immature lungs or incomplete brain development. There are many reasons for still birth or early demise: from too premature, a knot in the cord, a fibroid tumor on the uterus where the placenta might attach to genetic problems such as downs syndrome, or the trisomes.

Knowing why doesn’t change things, yet most people want to know what happened and if they can prevent it from happening again. And almost all feel guilty, questioning every little twitch, stumble, even wondering if having intercourse during pregnancy could have caused it. Of course we talk to them and try to reassure them that they didn’t cause this tragedy, but acceptance sometimes takes years. And many couples end up divorced some years later or sooner, which then gives them more pain and guilt.

What I want to tell you - parents and siblings and grandparents of the little angels that didn’t make it - is that we cared, we even loved, we tried to make them feel comfortable, warm, safe and cherished for whatever little time they had on this earth. We also wanted to help the moms and dads when we could, when they let us, but what they really wanted was their baby, and we couldn’t give them that. I truly hope that knowing your baby was cared for gently and lovingly, and even loved by the nurses, helps if only just a little. And when a tiny, suffering baby took his or her last breath we cried, too.

Although this letter is addressed to the moms and dads, I know the grandparents and siblings and even aunts, uncles, and cousins experience great sadness at the loss of a newborn or miscarriage , and might benefit from knowing their baby was not alone at the time of death. As our methods of caring for the parents and babies changed over the years, many were able to be with and even take their last breaths in the arms of a mom or dad, or grandparent or aunt. 

I wish you love, acceptance and finally healing.

Sincerely,
LMG, age 65

Dear Adam,

It was very apparent to everyone around us that we had a special kinda love. Something that made me whole. Knowing you would always be there to be my protector, always made me feel like I could conquer the world with no regret. We always told each other “I love you” and you always made me feel so special, so beautiful. I knew you would drop everything to pull me up from my own mess.

And yes, Adam, I knew you were hurting inside. Your eyes were not the same after you came back from the “sand box” but I went with it. I was just so happy to have my Adam back. I let go of the fact that you had a drinking problem. I feel so selfish keeping you that way, drinking with you.

I still do wonder if you are happy with God, if you are safe in God’s arms and with your mother. Adam, I cry every night for a sign from you just to know you are okay. I am pissed that I will never hear your laugh again or see you do that funny dance you do when you like a song. Everyone looks at me like that poor sad girl now, I hate that. I hate that I cry every night. You looked so purple and cold. I am so sorry I didn’t stay, I just couldn’t handle the fact that you were lifeless in a box.

You were my best friend. Thank you for never judging me or my lifestyle, even when it was at it’s worst. I know you were a once in a lifetime friend. I hope you didn’t feel anything, and the hands of God touched you the moment you were ejected from your car. My life will never be the same without you. I always loved you. 

E, age 32

To you who feel you are not succeeding in your life:

It had been years since I had met anyone that I thought had done extraordinary things with their life without having selfish motives. I looked at Fat Cat ball players that hold themselves out as role models for children. I have met countless politicians that say that they are interested in serving the public. Meanwhile they make a lot of money and enrich themselves.

At one time I was a counselor on medical unit for V.I.P.’s in a large urban hospital. It was my job to meet and comfort the prominent and wealthiest individuals in the community: multimillionaires and billionaires. Every time I would meet these men (the vast majority of them were men), they would say, “Get the —- out of here. I don’t need a counselor.” From experience, I knew better. 

I just kept visiting them: several thousand wealthy individuals in total. As they became ill, many of them died suddenly. Yet most had the same progression in their illnesses that we do. The slow gradual decline from cancer, heart disease, and stroke. I knew what was about to happen. Same as with any sick person, they felt increasingly isolated by their disease. Unlike most people, as they grew sicker, they had fewer and fewer visitors from family and loved ones. Inevitably, without exception, each and every one of them went on to say, “Where the —- is everyone? I built this company and made them rich. How come they are not here?” I just kept on visiting. 

Most had several failed marriages. The fourth spouse and the kids from the first three marriages were usually not very interested in visiting. It was me that would come in on my days off and stay late in the evening to the hold the hand of these men as they died. Without exception, those that lived for more that a few days would say to me, “I did not understand my life at all…I would give my entire fortune for one day to live my life differently.” I was the only one present when they died.

I thought I understood what they meant, but I did not until I met you. The truly magnificent heroes are not the titans of industry, but the workers. They are all of you that I have met. Many of you can barely walk. You go to work to support your kids. You put up with the grief your bosses or customers give you, then struggle when your lover leaves and you raise your children alone. All of you know that know the value of each moment of your life. You who joyously give up your precious health, all that you have left. You happily offer your best to your children and family and expect nothing in return. Thank YOU, my heroes. 

Mike, age 60

Dearest Niece,

I did something years ago that I wish I could have taken back. I think it altered our relationship forever. I feel so incredibly guilty but even more so because I have never brought it up to you. It may not have had the effect that I now think it did, but it does lay heavily on my mind. 

When you were in high school, you came home for the holidays and I was visiting your family. You and I were in my car going to McDonalds for some food. We were having a discussion about relationships and got on the topic of why I was not married. I think I said something about how I just haven’t found the right man yet. Then you asked me what I later think was a really important question and I don’t think I handled it well. You asked me if maybe I just wasn’t into men (or something like that). I am very proud of myself that I didn’t act appalled or angry. But I did say something to the effect that “no, I was very much into men and that is what makes it so hard — there are so few of them.”

What I should have done rather than answer in that way was to ask you why you were asking, asked you if you were into men, asked you SOMETHING as a follow-up because I think you were on the brink of coming out to me and I effectively shot you down. I have this notion that you were looking for a Lesbian mentor and, not finding it in me, it weakened our relationship. I should have made it safe for you to come out to me. Instead, I think I made it more difficult.

It took four more years before you came out to the family and me. You and I became more distant, which in part I assign to you being a college student, but I know that night I did something to alter our relationship forever.

I am sorry and I hope that this letter helps to mend some fences.

Your aunt, age 55

Dear Michael, 

My heart breaks every time I think of how suddenly that aortic aneurysm took you from us. You were only 40. I was told you were at the doctor’s office where you worked. You called for transport to the hospital because something didn’t feel right. You were an EMT so I guess you knew. You called David, our brother, to meet you at the hospital. He was the last to speak with you before you went into surgery. David called me and our youngest sibling, Cynde. We lived four hours away from our brothers. Cynde was able to go up that night but I had to wait until the next night. I went in to see you when I got there; you were already on life support. I touched your hand, I cried, and I begged you to stay with us.

You were so still. I spent that night at David’s house. I can still hear him sobbing and calling out to you from the other side of the house. Cynde has never been the same. You and she were closer in age to each other than to David and me. My children, your only niece and nephew, adored their Uncle Michael. Jennifer wishes you were here to know her son, Andy. He’s almost four now. Chris had a Sacred Heart and the date 05-06-04 tattooed on his arm. We have all been cheated of many years with you. You were a wonderful brother and uncle. I pray that there is an afterlife and you have joined Mom and Dad and maybe someday I will see you again. 

It is so hard to accept that you not in this world with me. I can’t believe that I will never hear your voice on the phone saying, “Hey, girl”. I feel robbed of the plans we had to someday visit the Aztec pyramids and to wonder if our ancestors touched that stone or played on that grassy area. I wish I could turn back time to tell you to go get a scan or something before that aneurysm stole your life. I want to hug you again, to laugh with you, but mostly I want to tell you how much I love you.

I miss you.
Your older sister,
Noni, age 60