I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since we said goodbye. Since I held you in my arms and carried you out of the house. To say I miss you is an understatement. I think about you every day. I wonder what you would be like now, almost fourteen. I wonder if your hair would have come back curly. I know you didn’t want that. You just wanted your hair to be like it was before cancer. You just wanted to be normal.
I’m sorry you got cancer. I need you to know that I didn’t lie to you when we talked about winning. I always believed we would. It never crossed my mind that you would die. Maybe it’s stupid to be optimistic about stuff, I don’t know. We all have different outlooks on life and mine is a little like Pollyanna… or Paddington. Remember how I read his books to you and Jenna at bed time? Paddington always thought the best of situations and people, even of Mr. Curry. Maybe I’m like that simple, stuffed bear.
From the very beginning, I thought we would win. Even on your very last morning when I prayed in the basement, I believed God would change it. I don’t understand why he didn’t. I’ve asked him but he doesn’t answer. I prayed so hard that he would make you well or take me instead. Wouldn’t healing you have been the best way to let this world know he was still around? It’s the story I would have written. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this whole mess, it is that I don’t hold the pen.
Sometimes I feel like I’m stuffed in this big, black bag that he gets to shake around but I’m sealed off inside so he doesn’t have to hear me when I scream. I know it isn’t right, but it is how I feel and no one gets to tell me how to feel (I learned that from your mommy). It’s just so weird thinking about God now. It’s like he is a million miles away one minute and so close I can’t see past him the next. If you run into him today up there, tell him I’m not mad at him. I just don’t understand his plan and why you had to go to him and not stay with me. No, I’m not mad, but I am actually a little afraid of him. Of course, he’ll probably just laugh and say it is right for me to be afraid. He is God, after all.
Christmas was lame without you. Nobody here believes anymore, you were the last one who still thought… Oops! I’ve said too much. But I guess you know by now. December was a double whammy of missing you and the loss of Christmas magic. We still put the tree out and hung your stocking and all of your special ornaments. I still complained about hauling the decorations up and down the stairs. Some things never change.
I’ll finish this letter soon and you might get some letters from other friends. They say it helps a person grieve to write a letter like this, but I don’t know about that. I’m not sure anything really helps. My heart has a Kylie-sized hole that no amount of paper can patch.
You and me for always,