Letter 10/31/21

10/31/21

Dear Unnamed,

If you were still here, would you be proud of me? Would you laugh at my jokes and think I’m witty? Would we call each other every Saturday morning while we both drink our coffee in towns over 1,500 miles apart?

I would like to believe all these unknowns would be a “yes“. Part of it is that I am always starved for approval, but mostly it’s just because I miss you and I’m so stuck in the “could have been“s instead of the “what is“ realm.

See, you left me when I was 14. I was still a child. But I am 20 now and I am growing into a woman. I can’t help but wonder if we would still be close, if thinking of me would make you smile, if you would tell the waitress at the diner that your grand daughter just hit over 300 reads and is brilliant. Would you think I’m brilliant? I think you would. You always called me a smart cookie. You always believed in me. You were always my biggest fan. I think you still would be if you were here with me now.

I want to talk to you about literature, music, and philosophy. I want to know if you believe in heaven and hell or God and abortion. I want to know if you believe in souls. I want to know you. But I’ll never get that chance.

It makes me sad knowing you won’t be at my college graduation, or be at my wedding, or meet my baby, or see me get my PhD. I want you to be a part of my life, but only your memory can be.

I miss you every day and want so desperately for you to be here. I want to call you every week and for you to tell me funny stories about the squirrels in your backyard. I want the chance to tell you goodbye and thank you and I love you.

Love,

Yours