I dug through a collection of papers. Some bled red with incorrect answers. Some were cheery with birthday wishes. And then there it was. Nestled snug in a plain white envelope adorned with handwriting I knew well. As I slid the note from its envelope, I felt my blood run cold knowing that tears were inevitable. I reclined onto the sofa and prepared myself. I opened the letter.
It was six and a half years ago that I got the phone call that took the air from my lungs. There’s been a lot of life in those years that he’s missed. Moments I’d hoped my whole childhood to share with him. Moments that as they were happening, I couldn’t believe he wasn’t there.
The words blurred on the card stock. Words I’m so thankful I’ve saved. Words I didn’t cherish when he wrote them because I was just an oblivious teenager. Words I’d forgotten he’d written.
Guess who?
Your mom said I could write you a note as you go on this retreat. I was so glad!
I want you to know how proud I am of you and how much I love you. I am so proud because I have seen you grow into a very wonderful person. You have such a great heart, always helping others. You are so sweet and special and I know you will be great in whatever you do in life!
I love you very much and hope that you always know you have a friend in me.
You are so very dear, I want you to know you are always in my heart, thoughts and prayers.
Be good to yourself and always remember the special person you are. Take care.
As I folded the note and tucked it back into its envelope, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. I was lucky to have been so loved by him. I was lucky to have shared so many moments with him. And I am lucky to have this reminder. It struck me as almost painful how much this letter seemed like his send off to me. His charge to go off in the world with or without him and be the person that I am.
It’s been six and a half years since I received the call that took the air from my lungs.
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