Page 7 of Last Letters to Ara
I don’t know why I was in such a hurry to get back to my apartment. I’ve done nothing but sit here, staring at the letter until I register that it’s gotten dark enough that I can’t read his handwriting anymore.
I switch on the lamp next to my couch and stare at it some more.
I take a deep breath.
I know I need to do this at some point.
It’s probably just something about the will.
I open the envelope.
Dear Ara,
Tears start spilling the moment I begin reading, blurring my vision. It’s as if I can hear his voice with every word I read. Wiping my tears away, my vision clears enough that I can try again.
Dear Ara,
I can see it now. You’re probably turning into a permanent fixture in that living room of yours, while binging some god-awful teenage angst show and eating too much cereal.
I know you’re probably sad about the fact that I’m no longer there to sit on that damn couch that I wish you’d let me replace, asking silly questions while I pretend to forget the names of those vampire boys you like.
If this letter has been delivered when I intended, then I gave you a week, but now it’s time to go back out into life, even if you think it won’t be the same without your old man.
When you were born, I knew I made a best friend that day. When we lost your mother just a few weeks later, I didn’t think that I could give you everything you needed on my own. I thought for sure losing her and realizing that would make it the worst day of my life.
Well, I was wrong.
The worst day of my life was undeniably when I found out that I would be leaving you too soon. Neither of us would be ready and there wasn’t a damn thing my stubbornness or the medical field could do about it.
You’re probably angry with me, thinking that I should have told you when I found out, but I hope you can forgive me. I wanted the last of our time together not to be sad, but to be exactly as fun as it has been to be your dad. Please don’t worry about not getting to say everything you wanted to.
Our bond has never had to rely on words before, and it doesn’t now. I know how we feel about each other, and you didn’t need to say it out loud for me to know. Our affinity transcends the laws of the physical world, and I will take your love with me wherever I go.
That aside, I knew I couldn’t leave this Earth without feeling like I’ve done something to make it any easier for you. So, I got to thinking.
Remember that movie you made me watch a few years back? The one with that good looking Irish guy who writes letters to his wife? I pretended to hate it, but you caught me crying in the kitchen and I blamed the allergies I’ve never had? You know the one.
Well, the guy in that movie had the right idea. This is the only way I can help you get through this without physically being there. Writing these letters has become the only way I can still be there for my little girl, even when I’m gone.
This is letter number one.
I’m going to send you a letter every single month for the next twelve months. I’ve also stored up a few for the other big moments in your life that I will miss. Don’t worry, you’ll get them at the right times, I’ve made sure of it. I just couldn’t give them to you ahead of time and risk you peeking when you get sad.
Each month, I’m going to give you a task and each month, no matter how difficult, you have to complete the task. It is the only thing I ask of you. It is the only way that you can help me move on to wherever I’m headed to next without an overwhelming sense of guilt.
My task this month is an easy one, but don’t go thinking I’ll be letting you off the hook for the rest of the months, too. But we need to start small. Here is your task for this month:
Get out of your apartment.
Go on a walk and look at the world.
Go to our favorite breakfast place and order the usual.
Remember to appreciate what it’s like to live.
I guess that’s technically four tasks, but come on, they’re small. I know they’ll feel monumental after this loss, but you’ve got to do it. You’ve got to get back out into that world and start making memories again. If there is one thing I’ve learned these past few months, it’s that life is too short.
I know that you already know this, but I should have told you more often.
