Page 149 of Last Letters to Ara
I want to thank you for the big moments and the little ones. The times you went swimming with me even if you were exhausted after work. The times you cooked me breakfast before school and listened to everything I had to say. For figuring out how to reach me after death, picking me up from rock bottom and putting me on the path that would save my life.
I will cherish every single moment we shared, but most of all I will cherish your character. The way you raised me and became my greatest friend along the way. The way you walked through life with courage, patience, and good will. I can only hope to do the same.
My fellow readers talk about fictional characters all the time, how much they wished that people like them would exist in real life. Well, I know firsthand that at least one has existed, and I was lucky enough to be the person whose life you lived in. Your character deserves to be written into a book, permanently etched into this world forever.
I hope one day, wherever you go next, you find the bits and pieces I left in this world for you. You’ll know the ones.
No matter how many letters I write or what I manage to achieve, it will never be enough to express my love for you, or how honored I am to have had you as my dad, my best friend.
If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t waste it on goodbyes. If I could see you one last time, I would hug you because I miss your hugs. I would rest my head on your shoulder because I miss the comfort and safety that came with it. I would walk out of my old bedroom to smell the breakfast you made and hear you say good morning. I’d never feared that there would come a morning where you wouldn’t be there, and maybe it made me complacent.
I promise to never be complacent again. I will treasure every moment as it happens (even the tough ones). I will appreciate every single person I love, and I’m going to take a hell of a lot more pictures.
I want you to know that you succeeded. I am happy. Not in that shallow surface way either, but truly happy. I’ll never stop wishing for you to be able to see it, but I promise to live every moment as well as you did.
The journey isn’t over, I will have to wake up every day and put my mind to it, overcoming every barrier as it comes my way, but I know I will.
I am so proud of the life I am building, and I know the best is yet to come.
I love you so much, Dad.
I miss you every single day.
Thank you for leading me back to the light.
Love,
Ara
P.S. May we meet again.
Ara - Two Years Later
MINDLESSLY TOYING WITHthe ring on my left hand, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous right now. Not because of who is waiting for me at the end of the aisle, I’ll never be more sure of anything in life, but making it down the damn aisle, in this damn dress, without falling on my face? It will be a miracle if I can pull it off.
Lou (who is probably off somewhere screaming about something that needs to be perfected) and I went to three bridal appointments in search ofthe one. It was one depressing “Thank you so much for your time, but I think I have to keep looking” after another. After the third appointment, Lou physically smacked me upside the head and asked why on Earth I wouldn’t be making my own dress. Weirdly, I hadn’t thought of it.
Then the idea hit me. A simple satin bodice giving off the classic, timeless elegance with thick V-neck straps, while adding a plunging neckline and even lower back, leaving the skirt as the main event. Layered ivory tulle, beginning at my waist in true ballgown fashion, and continuing down into a train that runs the entire length of the staircase outside of my bridal suite. I’d thought I’d finished it, but I felt it was missing just a tiny bit of something, so I sprayed a thin layer of silver glitter on the tulle, creating a subtle shimmer when the light hits it just right.
Theo, thankfully, handled the suit for himself and his best man, Connor. For Lou, I’d thought of making her a Maid of Honor dress, but realized that I needed her for something much more important. She’d cried like a baby when I asked her to be the one to walk me down the aisle and give me away. I let her decide what she wanted to wear, which was a formal corset jumpsuit that I’d made for her.
The wedding was supposed to be under ten people.Total.
Just our little family, which has gotten closer and grown in number, and a handful of others. Then I realized there were more people in my life who deserved to be invited. Dave, of course, was always going to come. Then there was Dan and Joel from the café, the latter greeting me with tears, and the former with a hug, when I showed up at the café that day to drop off their invites. They weren’t surprised to hear about my success, which is wild, because sometimes I still don’t believe it myself.
Then there was Jane, who played such a pivotal role in getting that cowed girl who walked into her material store that day to realize her true potential. Lou’s family, whom I’ve grown even closer to over the past two years. Ivy who has become a friend and partner in taking over the fashion world. All of my models, all of my staff, and that’s just the bride’s side.
Case in point, that aisle is enemy number one.
The ceremony doesn’t start for another hour, but I wanted to be ready early, which means I have sixty more minutes to imagine mopping the floor with my face in front of hundreds of witnesses.
Thankfully, a knock at the door interrupts my spiraling thoughts, probably some poor soul Lou sent here to check on me. I open the door to find Dave, jolly as ever, and I try not to let my heart jump with hope.
One thing I’ve learned over the past two years is that loss may become less poignant over time, but it doesn’t necessarily get easier. Healing doesn’t mean the sadness goes away entirely. There will always be the moments where I become crippled with grief, but they are less frequent and nestled between many more smiles.
I hadn’t let myself get my hopes up. I haven’t received a letter in over two years, and so many things could have prevented this letter from being delivered and so much mystery still remained on how my dad had managed to get them delivered so religiously in the first place.
“Is it a letter?”
