Trulogy

Dear M. -

Before you left San Francisco to return to your native England, after we'd worked together in California for so long, you asked me to come visit you in your new home. And I said I would.

I had a vision of coming to the village where you grew up and meeting the people who were so lucky to have known you then. The village, I imagined, was lush green and overcast, the way English gardens are. You were sitting in the pub, making people laugh.

You went back to England with your partner who you'd met in San Francisco, and you were going to start a new life together, there. We were both working for the same company still, but both of us were working from our homes – mine on the west coast of the U.S. and yours in a village in England.

But then I got laid off. And then you were diagnosed with multiple systems atrophy. Then you got laid off too. You were looking for a new job and you found one. Your partner had turned into a jerk and was treating you terribly. I know it was hard for you to try to cheer me up, but you tried anyway. You told me, in an email, that I should watch some episodes of Absolutely Fabulous. We were both going through such hard times. One day when I sent you an email to your hotmail account, it bounced back. And we lost touch.

But I thought of you often. You were my best friend at that job. There's no dearer friend to a woman than a gay man.

I got another job, and then another job. I finally got pregnant. Life went on. And then one day I went to a work event and ran into another one of our former colleagues. He said, “So did you hear about M.?” And I wondered, what news could he have of you? Did you have a new job? A new partner? Had you moved back to the States?

But he told me that you had died a year and a half earlier. I was as in shock as if it had happened five minutes ago.

He told me that you'd drowned while on vacation. Your multiple systems atrophy maybe contributed to it. You were just in your mid-30s.

When I got home I started trying to track down other people who had heard about your death. I kept looking for more information. But I realize now that I was actually looking for someone who would tell me that it was all a big mistake. You weren't actually gone. I could call you on the phone now and arrange my trip to visit you.

But I never found anyone who would say that. And I couldn't find your parents or your sister either. It's harder to track down people in other countries than it is to track down people in the U.S. Eventually I stopped trying and I moved on.

Until a few weeks ago. I found your sister and sent her an email. I told her that K. and I still want to come visit you. We want to see where you grew up. We want to meet your family and friends. We want to take that trip that we never got to take.

And when I heard back from your sister, I felt reconnected to you again.

K. and I are planning a trip to visit your sister next year.

I remember back when we worked together, to be funny, you used to recite the words to “Candle in the Wind” – in that silly, dramatic way you had. And I think about you still, saying those words, and now they make me think of you. But instead of making me cry the way they did a few years ago, today they make me smile again.

love,
J.

To my best brother -

You knew your little sister loved you, but I'm sorry that you never knew how much.  And, aside from you being gone, there is nothing worse than knowing that in your final months, your final days, your final minute on earth, the mental illness that you fought so bravely prevented you from feeling the love of so many hundreds of people who thought you were a great man.

But I think I knew your goodness more than anyone.  I knew because I knew you before you could even talk.  I knew you as the smile and eyes leaning over my crib that I could always trust, the big brother who'd hold me up when I was toddling, take the blame for me when spankings were handed out, kick the hell out of anyone on the playground who you heard teasing me.  I often think it wasn't my own strength that got me through being raised in our crazy house by two alcoholics; it was knowing that you were there to protect me.

But you never knew how much that meant to me, because you never knew how much I needed to be protected.  In these last couple of years, I considered telling you, now that both of us were nearly 40 and you had your own children.  But the old instinct to protect the family from more upheaval kicked in, because I know if I told you, you wouldn't let it go.

When I'd tell my friends in college about my brothers, I had this shorthand: Good Brother and Bad Brother.  You were Good Brother, of course.  You never got credit for it because you were the troublemaker, you were the middle child who acted out all of the pain and dysfunction in our family.  Bad Brother got the credit for being oldest and making money and doing well in school.  You got the shit end of the stick, drinking, getting into fights, getting suspended, dropping out of high school, and then getting hit with bipolar disorder.  But I knew all along that you were the good guy.  You were the guy who got in fights for sticking up with people; you didn't start them.  You were the guy who wore the bruises I earned.  You wore the bruises of our whole family on the outside.

I wore them inside at first, and later in the layers of fat that I wore to protect myself.  Because when our other brother started coming into my room at night, I couldn't tell you.  I knew you might kill him, or if not, you'd do anything to protect me, even if it meant breaking up our family.  And for me, in my crazy kid-of-an-alcoholic way, preserving the tiny shreds of peace in our family was a greater priority to me than preserving my bodily integrity.  I squeezed tears through my closed eyes.  I told no one. 

But even in my darkest, darkest hours, I always knew that I *could* tell you.  Even years after I got him to stop, I knew that I could tell you.  And that knowledge that you would always be there for me, that there was always a net between me and the floor, is what kept me going, what gave me the strength to get out and get safe and get away.  You never knew what you did for me.

It was the greatest gift of my life that we had gotten really close in the past few years.  I will never forgive myself for failing to save you, for not sending you a text that morning, or calling you the night before, or any random thing I might have done that might have changed the outcome of that morning, that might have thrown a tiny slim ray of light into a darkness and despair that must have been darker and deeper and more painful than anything I can imagine, times a thousand.  Because I know you never would have left us willingly.  I know the pain you had already endured, and I know you were bigger and stronger than any pain I can imagine.  But your illness is lethal, and it killed you.

And now, for the first time in my 38 years, I exist in the world without a big brother.  These four months have been the worst of my life because the pain of your loss is with me with every breath.  There have been times in my life when my depression made me feel alone and unloved, but even in the darkest of depressions there was a part of me that knew that that was never true, because I always had you.  I rarely called on you to save me, but I always knew I *could*.  I don't know what I will do without you.  I'm sorry that you never had a moment in your life when you didn't have the pressure to take care of someone else. 

You were the best brother I had, my best friend, and the best man I've ever known.  I only hope that if there is a Heaven, it is one where you can finally know how much you were loved in life.

Boundless love,
Your sister

The Babysitter's Report

I only knew you for a little more than a year.  After you died, leaving your two girls behind, your home was so quiet.  I felt it was strange that I didn’t feel your presence still there.  It felt like you had simply vanished.  I never had a chance to say goodbye, because I couldn’t imagine that you’d be gone quite so fast.  A family member told me you had referred to me as “an angel” for staying so late to take care of your girls those last couple of weeks.  I hope that I was some kind of a comfort to you in your final week at home, and that you might have had just a little bit more peace knowing that I was there for your family.  That was the only thing I could give you.   

I think it’s ironic that we were never incredibly close, but I grew so close to your whole family after/because they lost you. 

I dreamed of you once last year.  We were sitting in your kitchen – I knew it was your ghost, but I wasn’t scared.  You were telling me that you were so glad that I had stayed with your family for so long and planned on staying more, that you knew the girls loved me and I them.  Then you said you had to leave, because the girls were coming home soon, and you didn’t want to scare them.  The dream seemed so real that I am inclined to think that it was really you, just stopping by to check in, giving me a performance evaluation of sorts.

Almost three years have passed.  The girls have struggled, they’ve missed you every day, they’ve had their ups and downs – but they are strong and are doing well.  I mention you often, partly so that they know they can talk about you with me, and I think they enjoy hearing little things that you told me about them.  They have a stepmother now.  She can never replace you, of course, but she is a good person and it is good for them to have her in their lives. You would like her.  They have step-siblings, they have a dog – the apartment is full and loud again.  I will never stop wishing that I could tell you these things, could fill you in on all big and little events of daily life as every babysitter fills in the parents when they come home. But you won’t be coming home – maybe that’s why I find it so hard to leave. 

The Nanny

To my friend,

I’ve known you and loved you since we were 12 years old, giggling over first kisses and meticulously feathering our bangs. You were my partner in skinny-dipping, calling boys, and later in true heartache and house renovations. After 20 years of friendship, I am ashamed of how I behaved in the last six months of your life. I never could have known when I chose to ignore your phone messages and emails that those were my last chances. My last chances to laugh with you, to cry with you, to simply be with you. There are lots of excuses that I could delude myself into calling reasons: your mental illness, my Grandfather’s death, a new pregnancy, a life that just keeps getting crazier. But when I look at myself in the mirror I know that they are just excuses. It’s true that you were crazy and wild and self-absorbed, but you were also beautiful and kind and passionate. Above all, you were my friend, and you deserved better.
 
Now I desperately want to return your calls and I can’t. I think about you every day, wishing I had access to some of your mommy wisdom as I struggle through the adjustment of having a second child. I look at his little face and cry that you will never get to meet him. I cry for your children who have lost the center of their world. I cry for you and the old woman you will never get to become; I was looking forward to being old with you.
 
This is the only way I know how to apologize, the only way I know how to say goodbye.
 
I’m sorry, so sorry. I love you.
 
Your friend.

My dear O. - [name redacted]

You finally were able to stop your suffering.  After all of these year of sorrow and desperation, you found a tiny span of time to end the life you felt had left you long ago.  We can never know what was happening in your mind, but we saw you leave us slowly through the last five years, becoming more and more of an empty shell.  Where did you go?  Why did you quit this life so precious?
 
I will forever remember all the times you helped me through my sorrows and doubts.  You were a beacon for me and now I feel lost.
 
I hope you are happy wherever you are.  I hope you found your smile there and are free of all of your suffering.  I love you, my adoptive mother.

To my dear dog, Snuggles -

Yeah I know, have no idea why I never changed your name from Snuggles to something more Manly, even if  you were a wee thing :) You were the sweetest of dogs I have ever met and a faithful and loving companion to me during my late teens and twenties.  You were so obedient, quick to learn and so wonderful to cuddle. My little man. You followed me everywhere and slept at my feet at night. You were the sweetest little guy )

I am so sorry I released you to the local SPCA when I thought your end was near..  I had called all of the local vets to get quotes on putting you to sleep but all of them were beyond our price range at the time. So hubby took you to the SPCA to be put to sleep.. without me there and no guarantee he would indeed be put to sleep... I will never know what happened to you.  And it has haunted me.  I loved you dearly Snuggy. So sorry I was not stronger for you in the end.  You were either put to sleep or rehomed. It kills me to continue to wonder what happened to you all these years later. I so loved you.

I SO regret not spending the $$ we barely had and having you put to sleep with me there. You so deserved a kindly end to your life and am so sorry and torment myself still that I was not there with you. You were the most wonderful of dogs, so sorry I was not there for you in the end dear Snug's.

But as a result, the two dogs I presently reside with are very loved, have all of their vaccinations yearly and are treated when need be. My older guy has a chronic condition that we pay dearly for but whatever.. So happy to be in the position to be able to AFFORD vet check ups and meds.

Snug's was such a great dog and I miss him even now some 12 years later.. An awesome dog, sniff :(

May he rest in peace and come to me with enthusiasm when I see him again...

mom

I bought a bottle of Amber perfume today. It reminded me of things you used to wear, and I was sorry I couldn't bring it to you as a gift. You'd like it.

and that's about as close as I'll come to saying what needs to be said.

rest in peace.

Dearest GJG,

I should have just gone to the fucking funeral. I know you would have understood the way I understand why only one friend of mine flew East from college to attend my wedding but that doesn’t make it okay. I should have been there. I should have been there to force back tears and smoke cigarettes outside and to say goodbye. I am so sorry.

People didn’t understand our relationship, hell, I didn’t and still don’t entirely but what others are blind to that I do know for sure is how much you will always mean to me. More than I ever told you. I wish I had told you.

You were selfish and stubborn and often perverse. You were Peter Pan and Hugh Hefner and Eddie Murphy and a teenager. You weren’t the World’s Best Husband or Father. You were gay and straight. You made your business cards with  a sepia tone headshot. The text read: “Genius Handyman.” You could sew like no one else I have ever known. You were a good cook but not as good as you thought.

You had face lifts and crooked fingers and sparkling eyes, un-improvable. You had a butt-plug in your shower. I tried not to think about that. You rattled my definitions and challenged my expectations. You were a sober adult. I was so grateful. You could be counted on.

You were in recovery and spoke of all the years you weren’t. Your stories were so raw and you never painted yourself a hero or a victim. You told it like it happened. The stories were crazy but I knew that they had to be true.

I really, really love you. I think of you all the time. I know that would make you smile. You used to say, and thinking of you saying it still makes me smile, “Hilary. All men are pigs!” And you’d mock me, “You don’t mean that!” But you did mean that.

I miss you all the time. I wish I could have hugged you on my wedding day. I wish you could have seen me in my dress and  made some mildly offensive joke about my wearing white. I love you.

Sorry Daddy

  It's been 5 1/2 years since you died and I still feel guilty.  When you went into the hospital, I told them you didn't want to see a priest.  I was afraid it would scare you.  I never dreamed you were going to die.  If I knew, I would have let the priest come and give you last rites.  I told God not to take it out on you - to take it out on me.  It was my fault.
 

Love Always

[name withheld]

So Sorry -

We were childhood friends from grade 5 when I moved away until we were both out of school and making our way.

 I had a 'nervous' breakdown while in my new home city and hid from the world for 6 months at my parents home until I gradually felt stronger.  I was ashamed and did not reach out to you all the times you wanted to connect. I was too insecure, too depressed to be honest. I am so sorry my dear friend, it was always me (and my hang ups) and NOTHING to do with you..  After all these years I want to reach out and let you know.  You have always been such a dear friend to me even if I haven't seen you in 25 years.  One of my life regrets shutting you out like I did...