I can’t believe that it’s been so long since I wrote to you.

I wonder when we stopped writing to each other. Was it around the time I came to stay with you? I remember I gave you such a hard time for those few months. I thought your ideas were archaic, your habits boring, and your faith blind. And now I find myself making the same choices I once ridiculed you for. Your habits, your ideas, and your faith have become mine.

I can see you smile.

I loved spending time with you. When I was young, you’d tell me stories about kings and dark forces, about love and peace. When I grew older we talked about sports, fashion, and academics. Talking to you was like talking to my best friend.

With you, there was no need to pretend, because you had seen me at my worst.
With you, I never felt small, even when I had made the same mistake again.
With you, I never worried about being misunderstood, because you made space for all the versions of me.

My most favorite moment with you was a phone call. I had just had my heart broken, and somehow you called me exactly as I was sitting on the steps crying my heart out, questioning everything around me. As you tried to make sense of what I was saying between sobs, you told me not to worry because the Universe had my back, that ‘it’ already knew what and who I needed in my journey.

When everyone thought my spirituality was a passing fad, you comforted me using my language. I never told you how grateful I was for being by my side. You’ve accepted parts of me that I am not sure even I have accepted.

It’s easy to see now how many moments passed by me where I could have loved you more, where I could have said thank you, where I could have made more memories with you or made you more comfortable. But I am realizing that we get so lost in the imperfections in life, that it eclipses the parts of our lives that are actually worth treasuring.

You were my treasure. My best friend.

I hope you know how much I love you.

Dear Dad,

I’m sorry I didn’t speak at your funeral. There are so many things I wish I would have said, but the grief had a chokehold on my vocal cords. Some say that a sudden loss like yours is paralyzing to those left behind, but for me it was excruciatingly silencing. I’ve been rattling around in that silence since you’ve been gone, filled with an overwhelming sense to share my memories of you with the world – yet emotionally unable to find the words. Much worse than writer’s block, this pain is a writer’s prison.

There is a picture I have of us from the day we went to the city to get your passport. It was a blustery, unforgivingly cold day in mid-November. You called to remind me to wear layers and I implored you to do the same. It was early in the morning – much earlier than I would have preferred – on my day off. My teeth were chattering as we stood on that platform waiting for the train, and you looked over at me and whispered, “Thanks for coming kid.”

I remember every detail of that day. Stopping for a piping hot coffee and buttery croissants to defrost our insides – and to kill some time because you got us there an hour before our appointment, as usual. The tedious hours spent in a dank municipal building, waiting for our number to be called. Dodging unrelenting icy wind needles as we walked for blocks to find a place for lunch. Unknowingly ducking into a vegetarian restaurant and watching you navigate the menu with no complaints. Ordering a glass of potato vodka and toasting to our adventure.

We sipped on more drinks at Penn Station before heading home and both fell asleep on the train, content with your newly acquired passport in hand. I snapped a blurry selfie of us in the parking lot at the train station once we arrived home, and your smile in that picture still makes my heart sing.

Here’s the thing. There was nothing incredibly unique, special, or significantly profound about that day. And that’s just it. You made even the most mundane and sometimes terrible tasks seem enjoyable. There was never a moment that I was in your presence when I did not feel safe and appreciated and loved. Unconditionally loved. In a world of chronic distractions, you were persistently present, you always showed up, and you loved. Admittedly, we laughed a lot too.

The Christmas before you passed was a weird one given the COVID restrictions, and I recall telling you I didn’t think it was a good idea to do our traditional holiday dinner and shopping routine. “Listen to me very carefully,” you said in that stern even-keeled tone that ignited fear in my sternum when I was younger. “This is a tradition we have upheld for over 30 years and there is no way we are stopping now. Wild horses will not keep me from sitting at that table with you tonight.”

And so, at your insistence, we shopped. And long after the mall crowd died down, and the rest of the world returned home to wrap their gifts, we ate. And of course, we drank. I am so grateful for that because unbeknownst to us, it was the end of our tradition. The wild horses were on their way, we just never saw them coming.

I know for certain there are many traits I inherited from you. My big teeth, sarcasm, and wit, a stubborn belief in our convictions, a proclivity for shopping, a fond appreciation for a smooth drink, an indelible generosity, an indisputable work ethic, and a fierce loyalty to the people we love.

I am a bit softer around the edges than you and much more emotional, but what I will always admire about you, and what you have inspired me to be, is the type of person who shows up. For their friends, for their family, for their people. Because you always showed up. In big ways and small ways, in grand gestures and incremental acts of selflessness. The rest of us were just lucky to be the beneficiaries of your presence.

Our world is not the same without you in it.

I’m sorry I didn’t speak at your funeral. Even now as I write this, with the hopes of feeling that burden lifted from my heart, I know it is not enough. But for you, the one person who believed in me when you didn’t always agree with me, who encouraged me when I was incorrigible, who loved me more than the human mind can fathom, and who always showed up… I write one last love letter and hope you understand.

I’m so proud you were my dad.

xxox,
Your little girl

Hey Mom,
I miss you. I’m glad you went on to your new life, and I miss you here.
Sharing your last months and weeks with you hurt. I know you were born
into waiting arms. In the place and time where your new life eagerly awaited
you, in the way all new life is welcomed.
You were the most complicated person I will ever know. You gave the best
gifts and delivered the hardest blows. I will always choose to remember you
as the mom who wanted the best for her family. You did, at any cost.
You were raised in a difficult situation. It left you with scars that you hid.
With trauma that you ignored. With demons on one shoulder and angels on
the other. You raised your sisters. You kept house, kept order, kept peace.
You kept up appearances. You didn’t ask for help, would there have been
help? Mom, I want you to know Grandma was not your responsibility. Mom,
they failed you. Then you failed me. And I love you.
I can’t imagine why you put up the colored curtains. The shear panels that
served as filters so not a single person could see the burden that you bore.
Mental illness is a cruel mistress. You hid her well behind the filters of a
perfectly clean home, a Godly life, a family that looked like a fairy tale all the
time. None of us dared defy the mask we wore for you. To step out from
behind the curtain. You convinced us that we were superior. We were the
ones who did all things right. We were the family who worked hardest and
smartest, who had the most right to celebrate. We claimed the most
tragedy. So many times, I wished I could scream, “but I like muddy shoes”!
I didn’t know that winning that contest was how you kept your train on the
tracks.
I want you to know most of all how you taught me. Your volatile nature
taught me when to duck. It sharpened my sense of self preservation. You
taught me lessons your mother taught you. You taught me to love with
fierceness and commitment. With passion and loyalty. You taught me that
the only person that I could always rely on was me. The sort of
independence you taught meant people will hurt you if you need them.
Mom, it was hard to keep up. The constant push and pull were exhausting.
What you did was grind down all my rough edges. You prepared me for the
trial by fire that would give me the sharpest edge I could have.
I learned to love words and their importance from you. You introduced me
to books. You didn’t care what I read; you once told me that I wouldn’t
know skillful writing if I never read bad writing. Hey mom, that’s true all
around. I learned that words could build nations, that they can start wars. I
learned that there is power in clarity, and refuge in the cloak of ambiguity. I
learned to hide in a book until any storm was over. I learned that in every
book there is a rainbow, a way out and a way home.
You were wise with experience. You were rich in confidence. You were
blessed with endurance. The very qualities that made it impossible to give
you the soft landing that I wanted you to have. There you go teaching me
again. You fought until your thoughts wouldn’t make sense. You fought
death as hard as you could, your brilliant, ravaged brain keeping you from
the poison they served you in the form of food. Your body grew desperately
weak, and through it all your brain fought for conversation, for
remembering. You lived your life the absolute best way for you. You
inspired me to keep fighting to own my life. To live my truth. You taught me
that the soft landing I wanted for you was about me. Your truth was to fight
until the end. It was about you living and dying on your own terms.
Just like you I won’t give up, like you, I will love fiercely. My house will
always be clean with books on the shelf. I will ask for help when I need it, I
will let go of the things that don’t serve me. I will let people see me fail. Your
death has given me the space I needed for clarity. In your new life you are
free from pain, and confusion. I draw you close in my memories, and I hold
you tight. These memories are free from pain and confusion. They are
memories of pure love.
Momma, keep the dogs busy until I see you again. I love you.
Chris

It occurs to me just now that I’ve never actually written you a letter. Do you remember how often we would call each other when the kids were young? Every day sometimes! Actually, I would be the one calling you because I knew you didn’t have the money to spare for long distance calls. You’d answer the phone with the typical, “Hello,” and then when you knew it was me, you’d say, “Hey!” The grin in your voice was so warming!

So let’s start again.

Hey! It’s been awhile! How are you doing? What have you been up to lately? What’s your latest adventure?

It’s weird to ask our old questions, knowing I won’t get to hear your voice responding. You would say, “I’m doing great! Just trying to help my kids get all their homework done. Oh! I have to tell you about the skunk!” And then you’d start giggling, hardly able to tell the story about how you barely escaped getting sprayed by that skunk because you weren’t paying attention. We’d laugh together and I’d ask you how these things always seemed to happen to you. You’d respond, still giggling, “I don’t know! But they sure make good stories!”

You know, I think I can imagine what your responses may be right now to our old questions.

“How are you doing?” I think you’d say, “I’m doing great! This place is amazing. Mom and Dad say hello. So do Granny and Grandad.” I would smile through the tears.

“What have you been up to lately?” “I am so busy! I’ve been helping teach the people who never knew about Jesus. You should see their faces light up! And I try to help my own kids, as they allow. They are still pretty sad and angry that I’m not there so they can’t always feel my help.” I would nod and tell you that I’m trying to keep track of them and trying to be a strength and stabilizing force for them. I’d also tell you that I’m impressed at how well they are supporting each other. You’d agree, and then get that worried, distant look on your face.

“What’s your latest adventure?” A smile and then, “The adventures here aren’t quite as funny as the old ones were. I’ve been able to meet some really amazing people. Our ancestor’s stories are even better from their own mouths!” I imagine you’d have a huge list of people you’ve met there, and I would be asking you to tell me all the details.

Do you remember how our phone conversations ended? “Even though you’re far away, what can I do to help you?” I’d ask. You’d say, “Just keep calling.” “Of course!” I’d respond. Then, “Love you!” from both of us to each other, and we’d hang up.

“Even though you’re far away, what can I do to help you?” I think you’d say, “Stay in your scriptures. Pray all the time. Follow the Prophet.” I’d cock my head in confusion. I’d ask, “How would that help you?” I think your answer would be, “Those things will keep you close to our Savior. When it is your time to leave, you will get to come here and then I can hug you again!”

“Love you!”

Tears streaming down my face, I’d tell you that I’ve already started doing those things better. I saw you turn to the Lord in the many trials you faced–family, employment, health. I would tell you that your determination, your faith, your example of service despite the challenges have shown me how I can be better. A better wife, a better mother and grandmother, a better friend, a better daughter of God. Thank you!

I love you, too!

Until then.

Dear Mom,

My world, my rock, my everything,
Every second I miss your soul,
Since the day I lost your light,
My heart has not felt whole.

I’ve wondered vallies of darkness
And sailed through seas of shame
And crossed caverns of confusion
And over mountains of pain.

On my path I lost some peers,
So all alone I conquered fears,
And through the never ending tears,
I found your gift of hope right here,

Inside my heart, you gave to me,
A gift far greater than anything.
Your little secret seed of hope,
Has help me cope with suffering.

Like a tree, I’ve grown up strong,
And it’s all been thanks to you.
Your seed, your soul, your shining light,
Is what has seen me through,

I know that all this pain,
Has all been for a reason.
It’s taught me that I cannot run,
I must embrace each season.

I promise, mom, your gift is safe,
I’ll cherish it oh so dearly.
Thank you, mom, for all your guidance,
I see my path now clearly.

I am The Tree, I am The Light,
And because I am your son,
I will not keep this gift to myself,
I’ll share it with everyone.

I close my eyes and blow on a dandelion, making a wish to have you here for one more year. I open my eyes and watch as the seeds fly around. You are not here but I feel you are near, watching over me when I cry or feel fear. You will never know when that one more embrace, dance, or moment will be the last. If I had known when I woke you would be gone I would not have let go so fast. You sparkled brighter than any star in the sky, I would give them all to hear you sing one more lullaby. My guardian angel, you are so dear. I am still wishing for you to appear, one final moment to have you right here. One day I will join you for a dance in the sky, until then I will never be the first to let go again or deny a kiss goodbye.

I lost so many; how do I choose to write about just one?
I often feel like I have no pulse, or I am numb.
I embrace the warmth of the bright sun.
This is to my lost loved ones.
I have been blessed to have a life of inspiration.
They taught me how to navigate through aggravation.
I can still feel their presence and see their faces.
How can I feel so sad and at the same time so amazing?
My angels, my lost loves, my broken pieces of my heart turned into a beautiful puzzle.
The puzzles of memories placed in a frame make it emotional and lovable.
If I could get back that one dance, that one kiss, that one hug, I would be more huggable.
If only I could go back in the past and get into that good trouble.
To my lost loved ones, please keep a place for me and make sure it’s fun.
I miss all of you, so many, too many to count, there is no way I could just pick one.
Remember to cherish the now as the past can never become undone.
A big thank you to my lost loved ones.

A Letter Without an Address
My dear baby brother,
It’s been two and a half years since you drew your final breath
Alone and far away.
I wasn’t able to be there to hold your hand
And ease your passage to the spirit world
But even if I could have managed the flight,
I don’t know if I could have borne the reality that you were forever leaving me,
Moving so much farther away from me than the miles that separated us,
Moving so much further than ever before
To a place I could not reach.
Forgive me for my cowardly response.
I could not bear to see you struck down, mind shattered by a sudden devastating stroke.
I could not bear the reality that you were no longer there
And never would be again.
I hear your voice in my mind sometimes
Accompanied by your jests and laughter
And I miss you terribly
But those visits show me that you are still with me,
That our bond transcends this mortal plane,
And our love endures.
Rest in peace , beloved baby brother.
Till we meet again,
Your devoted sister Kathy

I pray and make my wish very clear,
Hoping that one day you will appear.
Conjured up by pink and green fairies;
So that means we can surf through the air.
With a wave of a wand and some pixie dust,
We can go ride unicorns just like we discussed.
Of course, you said no because of your old bones.
But with closed eyes we could sail through the sky like drones.
I would take away your worries and we will have fun,
And no one can stop us because we shine like the sun.
Your presence I wish I can feel to this day,
It’s been almost three years since you’ve gone away.
I wish with everything in me I had a fairy,
I’d fly up to heaven in a magical ferry.
But I can’t be selfish and bring you back,
When you are already home and nothing you lack.
I can’t bring you back with me,
Because you are where you are meant to be.
And if you come with me,
You will never be free.
You believed in me before I did,
Even when I was just a kid.
So, you inspire me to keep going
Even when I feel lost and unknowing.
You showed me how to believe in myself,
By putting myself doubt on the shelf.
I hold you close to my heart,
Because I know your spirit will never depart.
Thank you for being the best you can be
So I can soar and show you who you raised me to be.

Dear You, Not the Fabricated You,

But truly: You

When you breathed your last
I took my first into a life, unknowingly
without you.

I searched for you in other people.
The places you walked – I obsessed to be in.
I didn’t know how to be me.

I wanted to be you,
so you could always be with me.

Your voice is in the waves that humbled me.
You’re in every season now –
no longer frozen in the summer
that stunted my heart.

The closest I have ever felt to your love
was finally being me,
without you.

With Love,
Your daughter who climbed Apple trees to reach your hand

As your eyes closed one last time, the song “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley was playing.

About five years after you passed, at a time when I had felt entirely unraveled, I heard that song playing in a restaurant. All of the noise around me and in my head was silenced. I knew it was you. Now, whenever I hear that song, I think it’s you reminding me that “every little thing is gonna be alright”.

You were my grandfather, but in reality, you were more like my father. For all the times he wasn’t there for me, you were. You were the one to drive me to school, tell me stories, and teach me about your favorite things like flowers, trees, and airplanes. You were the one who showed me Bob Dylan and Mark Knopfler. You were the one behind the video camera making sure my childhood would be remembered and you were the one sitting in the stands at my swim meets with your own stopwatch in hand.

I wish I could talk to you now that I’m an adult; now that I understand a bit more what the world is made of. Sometimes I wish you were here to tell me what to do. The more that I understand, the more I admire the man you were. The more I see the real world, the more I admire the way you walked through it.

One of my favorite stories to tell about you is a time when you were in the National Guard working as an air mechanic. Your boss came to you with a promotion opportunity and you, being always so true to yourself, said to him “who is the best at what I do?”

“Well, you,” he answered.

“Then why would you want to change that?” You said. The integrity you carried yourself with and the passion you had for what you did is unmatched by anyone I’ve ever met.

There is so much about you that I aspire to be. You were the smartest man I ever knew. It seemed like you knew everything about everything. You were sure of yourself, and you stood strong in the person you were.

Whenever I see a feather on the ground, I am drawn to it. I pick it up and I think of you. No particular reason why; perhaps it reminds me of the “Three Little Birds” song. Maybe I am just searching for you everywhere I go, but I like to think of it as you saying “hi” and that you’re still with me.

I will hold you and your memory close to my heart until the day I die. I will live my life in a way that celebrates your honor. I will remember to be brave, gather my feathers, and sing “every little thing is gonna be alright”.

It’s been two months since you passed away. I still can’t comprehend it. I’m still grieving and healing, and it’s hard because I still expect you to come into my room and wake me up with your head bumps. I still hear you saying “ma” instead of “meow,” and I remember how you would always try to steal food when I or your grandma started eating. I miss every part of you. You helped me through so much – depression, and anxiety, and you taught me how to be gentle and care for another, even if it has four legs. You taught me responsibility, and I know you were happy in the end. I miss you so much, to the point where I wouldn’t stop crying for missing you.
I believe you’re up in heaven looking down at me, and asking God for a sign, I received one. On June 7th, 2024, I saw a cloud shaped like a black cat, which made me and grandma cry. We believe that even though you’re not physically here, mentally and emotionally, you are. Then, I asked for another sign, and once again I got it. When my coworker heard about my cat’s passing, she offered me a cat for adoption. I immediately said yes because of the sign of the black cat cloud. The next day, my coworker mentioned adopting a black cat, and then my boyfriend found a purple ball with a black cat on it. I felt like my Mitsu was sending me signs. After all that, in three days, I got sign after sign about a black cat and decided I wanted another cat. My coworker and I went to get the cat, but she wasn’t there as she was a stray. However, we later found four black kittens near a school and managed to catch one of them. After treating and cleaning the kitten, I welcomed it into my home. This whole experience led me to find another baby boy in honor of my Mitsu.

dear grampie,
i saw you again
in my dream last night
you were almost like i remember you
spirits high
body just trying to keep up

i got the lighting just right
to take a picture of you
capture the moment in my memories
with your big smile
eating a juicy steak

i forgot you aren’t here anymore
woke up with a question to ask you
as i wrote it down
i remembered
you’re not here anymore

i remember what you told me the last time we saw each other
follow your passion
you’ll make it work
love matters most