Every Sunday, I write a letter to Ian. I’ve found it’s cathartic to say what I feel like saying to him. As always, feel free to write a letter of your own. I screen comments, so if you don’t want me to publish it, I can certainly just hold onto it.
Ian,
This week has been eventful and interesting, and very good. I spent it with your family in a cottage on a lake in New York. Your family is amazing and wonderful. I can understand where you got many aspects of your personality that I adored. The week felt like a return to the cocoon of safe mourning for you that I had for that first week after your death. Yesterday, I had to, once again, leave that cocoon and return to the real world. This time it was less shocking, though.
I definitely needed it, and I’m glad I was able to join them. There was a beautiful memorial gathering on Tuesday, where your parents talked about your personality, told stories about you, and various people would pipe in with memories or details when they felt the urge. Another thing that I cherished was the ability to, when thoughts of you overtook me entirely, talk to someone about it, cry with them, comfort each other, and then return to enjoying each other.
On my way to the gathering, I got a message from our friend, the pastor who did your eulogy at your first memorial party. He had an experience where you visited him, and it seemed utterly intentional to him; something he wasn’t pushing, and things that he wouldn’t have necessarily thought. He said you told him that you knew what you did was a mistake, but you didn’t regret it. That where you are now, there are no mistakes, only love. He said that you told him, “Tell them I’m finally fine.”
I broke down crying when I heard that. It was so YOU. I hope he’s right. I hope that that WAS you, and that you’re somewhere where you can finally understand love and how much you were loved. Are loved. I hope.
I connected with several of your cousins, who I hadn’t had a chance to meet before, and they are lovely. I am excited to keep in touch with them.
I’m still, and will likely never stop being, mad at you for keeping me away from your family. I would have loved to be able to get to spend time with them AND you. It would have been so delightful. But I still can’t help but think you knew how they’d react to me, and that’s one of the reasons you set it up so that I would find you. I think I need to believe that to feel like maybe on some level, you did think of me toward the end. Maybe you didn’t, but I’ll never know, so I guess for this situation, I’m taking the advice I got to choose what to believe.
I needed that week away. I think I was more distressed emotionally than I thought I was. I believe that being in contact with the warm, caring people I met this week is going to give me another lifeline. I hope they like me as much as I like them…. though I don’t know if that’s possible.
My world is immeasurably worse without you in it, but these people are helping to improve it again. I hope that you are somewhere where you can see that. I hope you’re happy.
I miss you.
-Iris
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I feel your pain. I would like to have known you too. Sometimes it’s so hard to understand why terrible things happen- Someone once told me years ago,”Kathy you are looking for something that doesn’t exist. There are no answers. The reasons you’re searching for simply aren’t there.” I couldn’t accept that for the longest time- years, really. Sometimes the world simply doesn’t make any sense. But take comfort in this-once the family adopts you, they never let you go. 🙂
I’m glad we at least get the chance now. And yes, I have noticed that they don’t let people go. I love it. I look forward to getting to know everyone better. Thank you again for your hospitality.