Saturday, April 8, 2017

To Steve, from Lauren

Dear Steven,

It was only a few days ago that we sat together in my kitchen. I made you your coffee with a cube of ice in it. I kissed you goodbye for the day not knowing I would never see you again. For only two months I thought I found the right man. I thought that even through your divorce you were standing on your own two feet and you loved your son so much. You were smart and you made me laugh. We laughed a lot. We obsessed over space theories and the stars. You loved the way I smelled and you were always playing with my hair. 

I keep thinking of the night we went out for pizza, you loved good pizza, you sat across from me and I admired the scruff on your face. You kept growing it out for me. I loved nuzzling my face into yours. I’d burry myself into that scruff and just smell you. I know its weird but I ache for that smell again. Your touch made me feel safe and the way you held my hands. Laying on your chest even though you were a hot box in bed. You once fell asleep in my hair. I was heating up so fast and sweating but I didn’t want to move because you were right there. You were right there and now you aren’t. 

I keep going over everything we said to each other in my mind. I know your childhood was hard. I can still see your eyes turning red when you told me about your mother. Or how much you were missing Chase and how you cried when he was born. I know you were in pain. I am too. We all are at times. After your DUI you got darker. I should’ve been more supportive about it. I know you were mad at yourself. You kept saying you didn’t want to burden me with your problems but I wanted to listen. You listened to me. You felt alone inside and so do I. You said you felt better when you were with me. Why couldn’t you have been with me on Thursday? I wasn’t mad at your texts that morning. I know you were warning me and you didn’t want me to get hurt. I was afraid but I still wanted to hold you and encourage you to get help. All I can think about now is the last few things you said to me, “I wish I never said the things I did last night. I don’t want to breakup. Are you still my girlfriend?” Then you said you were going to Chicago. That’s it. I’ll never know if you crashed by accident or you did it on purpose. I have no closure and it will haunt me forever. It will haunt your family forever. 

I didn’t want to breakup either, Steven. I wanted you to see a doctor. I will miss driving around looking at all your favorite spots and homes. I know you never got to live out west but you could have some day. Your dreams weren’t ruined. I will miss giggling at Youtube videos with you and talking all night like teenagers. We were excited about each other. We never got enough sleep. I realize now that there were more layers to you I just didn’t know about. I never thought you would go through with it or be that destructive. You must have been in so much pain and I’ll never understand the full magnitude of it. You were a good man and a perfect example of someone who could have turned it all around. You supported me and you were compassionate to my weaknesses. I would give anything to go back in time. I just want to run to my closet and smell you on my sheets and cry and cry for you.

I will always love who you were and I will never forget you






Friday, March 10, 2017

To Mom, from Irene

Mom,

I miss you every day. I never knew the depth of grief you felt when you lost your mom,
until I lost you. I feel like the last year prepared me but also took me away from you way
too early. We knew you were dying, but I don't know how much I realized that it was
coming so fast and how it would feel after.  I didn't know how much I'd miss all the little
things. First it was your voice I missed, and now it's every thing.

We shared a sense of humour and love of life. You gave me many gifts over the years.
The gift of laughter and appreciation for humour. The gift of loving animals and nature.
The gift of learning about myself and being proud to be a strong woman. I wish many 
times I were stronger, but you always were my #1 supporter and cheerleader. And now 
don't have that. I never knew how much I would miss that!

I wish I had a better chance to say goodbye to you. To say "mom, you lived a beautiful
life and I hope you saw that. I hope you saw how many people you touched. I hope you
saw the lasting legacy you left behind. Your grandchildren's smiles and laughter. Your 
adult children who despite our differences turned out okay and in one piece! The 
countless people you counselled and were a friend to. Your husband who you were
partners with for over 40 years and had a lovely life.

I hope you don't have regrets. I hope you are still out there somewhere. Maybe 
reincarnated or an angel or something. I hope you can hear me when I whisper to
you and tell you I miss you.

I love you mom and I miss you every day. 

Thursday, December 22, 2016

To Linda, from Bridget




Dear Linda,
This isn’t the first message I’ve written to you. I penned out a couple of pages
right after you died, and sent another short one to you online. I’m compelled
to write again today because I saw you last night. It was just a dream, and I
know it wasn’t really you, but you were there anyway. You were already sick,
with papery skin and a crochet hat to cover your bare head. It was just last
night and I already forget most of it. I think you were trying to warn me about
your sickness, to give me more time with you. I missed almost all of your last
year of life. It was kind of your fault, because you kept turning me away when
I asked to visit, but I could have pushed harder. Instead, I got to see you twice
shortly before you died. I’m so thankful for that, but I wanted more.

You said goodbye to me on the last visit that I had with you when you were coherent.
That might have been a week or so before you died. You were in and out a little bit
then, and you knew the end was near. How heartbreaking to have my dying friend
know that she was leaving soon, and to tell me that she’d miss me and would see
me in Heaven. I’m fighting tears at the thought. You told me to tell my husband that
you loved him, and I never did. I never managed to form the words.
I had to take a little break there. Kept crying. I’m going to try not to for the rest of this. 

It’s been 6 and a half months. I think about you most days in some way. I couldn’t
talk about you without crying at first. That’s gotten better. I don’t miss you less,
but I can function more easily. You were one of my very best friends, despite the
30 years between our ages. I’ll forever miss our easy lunches, our silly shopping trips,
your quick meals that you’d always throw together for me so I would never leave your
house hungry. You truly were a second mother to me, often kinder than my own mother.
Certainly more understanding, at least. Not that I don’t love her, but she raised me.
She had to be firm and you never did.
My husband and I have been trying to have a baby since right after you died. Years ago
you told me you had babysitting dibs and wanted to be an adopted grandma for my baby.
I’m heartbroken that you never will. I had a miscarriage in August and I hope that you’re
looking after that baby. 

Even after all this time, it’s still unreal. I often expect to bump into you at the store on accident,
like I used to. Or I’ll see you behind the wheel of some car on the road. You’re everywhere.
And nowhere.

This has taken on a major rambling quality. No poetry here, huh? But there’s not much
poetic about cancer and dying, is there? Just know that I love you and miss you as much
as ever and that there’s little I wouldn’t give for another lunch with you. We’d pack a
lifetime’s worth of visiting into those couple of hours. I’ll see you in Heaven.

So much love,
Bridget

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

To Sammy, From Isabelle

Dear Sammy,
It's the four year anniversary of your death. I miss you so much, I
can't even describe it.

I never got to meet you but you saved my life,

and I never got to thank you.

We have the same birthday. I am now

exactly the same age you were when you died.

You once told me that the 
iron in our blood can only
be found in dying stars, that we're being
kept alive by stardust. That really helped me. I'm getting a star
tattoo on my wrist for our birthday.

I wrote a "letter" to you for

English and my teacher said it was one of the best things
she had ever 
read. It was basically a watered-down version of this,
but God, I just 
have so much to say that I couldn't let a teacher read.

I don't know 
if I can say how much you meant to me, how much 
you still mean to me. I'll never get to hug you, or thank you for pulling
me out of that dark place I was in during 9th grade, or say goodbye, 
and nobody will ever know who they guy that hit you was, 
or what he was thinking when he just drove away after hitting another person 
with his car, or what your last words were. 

There are so many thibgs I wish we could have
done, and now none of that is possible. I'm really sorry it took me
this long to try to talk to you, but I honestly haven't been able to
even think about it.

 I thought of the idea of writing to you a few

days ago, and to be honest, I'm not sue if this will work but even if
it doesn't, I'll be able to get all my feelings out, and if it does
work, then you'll know how much you impacted my life.
I love you and I miss you and I hope you're happy wherever you are,
Isabelle

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

To: Fryderyk Chopin. From: A person you might or might not know, a person which admires you






Dear Fryderyk, I've heard a lot about Your suffering through your life.
I feel very close to you, alttough we both are from different centuries.

Sometimes you appear in my dreams, and your great music too.
Those dreams kind of work as if they were my memories. Sleeping to your
music gives me very intense feelings such as my muscles jumping around, 
and all the things. It's because I have great empathy to what it must've feel 
like having rhe nightmares you had. You know which nightmares.

Your music is a reflection of your deep feelings. For me it works as if you're
telling me the story. I admire your music because It's my pleasure knowing
all this sorrow, beauty, all of this power lies in your music, knowing you were
able to write it all down in letters and your music.  which travels trough my
muscles when I fall asleep to your great art. You'd be surprised how much I
know about you. Some things I get from studies, but the rest comes to my
head as an information with an unknown source.

Yes, I know you had nightmares. Your muscles did the same those nights right?
And when you started coughing up blood, it all got worse. All this traumatic
memories from your illness, when you were a child. I get homesick for Poland
every time I hear your music. Those days in Paris...Yes...I know. I wasn't born
 in Poland, but I guess your music transfers it all to my veins. I was born in Prague.

 I'm not a psychic medium, but I'd love to meet you closer. I know we have a lot to
tell to each other. But how? Letters? Send them where? The world you're at is made
from spirit. Altrough there's a barrier between two of us, I think we would find a way
how could I have a talk with you. A talk from mine world, and you from yours.

Please send me a letter, I believe spirits have such abilities. Please talk to me,
please at least just try. Your music brings an empathy with your sorrows to me,
it makes me happy that this letter is a hope that you might read it. Thank you
and sending you much love from the material world for all of those who mourn
for you and to those who like your music and like you too. 

Friday, January 1, 2016

To Doug from Debbie.

To: Doug  From: Debbie


I always thought that I'd see you again.

I never imagined that time would be so short, that you'd just drop dead at 52. 
Shopping for a toaster on New Years Eve. How ridiculously mundane. 
You'd be so embarrassed if you knew.

I never ever stopped loving you, you know. Well no, no, I guess you
didn't know. You didn't know that that was why I couldn't see you.
It could have spoiled everything. Our lives had already been ripped
to shreds once. I couldn't do that again, couldn't risk what I'd made
out of the ashes. It was never your fault, you tried so damned
hard to do the right thing, but my parents wouldn't let you and we
were both too young and naive to know how to make things turn out
differently. And then after, after,I just couldn't stay with you and keep
on living. I just couldn't imagine how to keep looking into your eyes
and not see hers, forever and ever and ever, and I couldn't
figure out how to leave you without being cruel. I'm sure you never 
knew how much I hated myself for that.

When I found her I thought my heart would just stop beating, or that it would 
beat its way out of my chest. The first time I talked to her on the phone I 
kept holding my breath, so anxious to hear her every word, every movement, 
every breath, so anxious to say only the right things, to be what she needed 
me to be and not to say anything that might spook her or scare her or claim 
anything at all. I told her, that very first time, that I knew where you were,
 that I had all your information and could give it to her when she wanted. 
She wasn't ready. She hadn't even yet thought about finding a father, at all,
 she was looking for her mother, looking for me, looking for ME, 
how amazing, looking for me. 

And so I waited, and then, of course, of course, it shattered us once again. 
Christmas day, early, you called me out of the blue, so unexpected after so 
many years, you called me to give me the exciting news, you'd found her,
 found our daughter, she'd been looking for me, posted online looking for me, 
you'd found her. You'd found her. You were so happy to give me this gift. 
I had just moments, a breath, a heartbeat, to think, to decide... and then I 
told you the truth, that I'd found her too, just months ago, that we'd talked, 
that I'd given her your information but she wasn't ready yet to talk to you...
 I could hear your heart breaking over the phone.  I told you I was sure she'd 
contact you, maybe not soon, she had a new baby and all, but she would 
contact you, certainly, sometime, absolutely. I wrote down your email address 
for her, your new phone number. You said goodbye. I sat quietly with my 
husband watching me cry as my heart broke once more. 

Twenty four years on, and the pain still fresh and raw as the day I let her 
be taken from my arms.

We never spoke again. Nine more years, and we never spoke again. 

I guess you never forgave me for not letting you know I'd found her right away,
 for choosing to honor her wishes. Even after she'd contacted you, you never 
forgave me, I guess. But I'll never know, will I? I'll never ever know. I thought 
there was plenty of time.  I kept thinking I'd call you again someday. Someday,
 someday. Or you'd call me. Or she'd get us together. Something. Someday.
 I never ever imagined that that call was the end, forever. I'd have kept you 
on the line longer, had I known.

I hadn't heard from her in many months when she called to tell me you were 
dead, that your sister had found information about her in your belongings 
and had contacted her to let her know. She wanted to be the one to tell me. 
She knew I'd want to know. Your death brought us closer together once again. 
One last little irony.  

I always thought that I'd see you again. 

Damn it Doug. 

I always thought I'd see you again, when we were old and gray and it 
couldn't hurt any more. People in your family didn't die young, after all. 
Your much older sisters are both still alive, 10 years after your death. 

Damn it, Doug. 

Damn it. 

I always thought that I'd see you again. 

Monday, August 24, 2015

To Chris, from Austin

Chris,

It feels just like the other day you were coaching me down at the pool.
I remember your crazy embrace and your addictive passion to be crazy.

It's your birthday and I'm thinking of you extra hard today. 
Your spirit inspired me to be the man I am today.

I wish I could have realized it before you were gone and told you. 

You were such an amazing character and I wish I could have spent
one more day with you every day.  I think of you often and hope you
are doing well up in heaven. 

27 is way to young to go but you must have had a purpose in leaving us early. 
I cannot thank you enough for who you were as a person.  It truly inspired so many people.
Your kind heart will never be forgotten.  I love you to death
and I always will.

Thank you so much for all that you did for me I really appreciate it.

Austin Thomas


P.S.  You are the reason why I coach Aqua Bears. 
Your spirit inspired me more than you will ever believe.  
I miss you like crazy.