Ghost Letter
Hey.
So it was just the holidays and I thought maybe I should send you a ghost letter, like those holiday letters people send to friends but nobody reads? The ones where you tell everyone what you and your family have been doing, how much the kids have grown and what they have accomplished? The ones that say “our lives are better than yours in so many ways. Here. Read them. Because holidays aren’t hard enough already.”
Our lives ARE better than yours, because we are living. I think about this when things feel difficult, when the kids are crying, or my body is in pain... at least I am living. At least I am here. You are not.
We are living in a new home, without your ghost in it. I am not afraid of the basement here. I love this home. It has wood floors and comfy pillows everywhere and a backyard with a brook running through it. That is all I need.
I am with him, still. The man that made me feel loved and un-lonely after years of lonely and only. It has not been easy, but it has been love. Complicated, intense love. People say I deserve “easy” after our marriage. It has not been easy, but it has been love. I don’t think I know or understand easy love.
I was in the car the other day and I don’t know how it came up but I told our middle boy, who is now 7, that I thought he looked the most like you. I think Ember had asked who she looks most like, and I said your mother. It’s true. Oren then asked who he looks most like, and he really does look the most like you. So I said it, I said he looks like you, and without missing a beat he said “you mean I am going to kill myself when I’m 43 years old??”
God, I hope not. I am worried, though.
(Jesus fucking Christ, Chris. Look what you have done).
Last night Oren was worried about what he is going to be when he grows up. He asked how he is going to decide, and where he will be going to college, and what if he is not smart enough.
He is so smart. So smart. His teacher said she thinks he may have photographic memory.
I told him how smart he is and that he has no reason to worry. He told me climate change may ruin the world before he grows up anyways.
I am worried about his worry.
Our baby is almost four. He was 18 months when you killed yourself, which means it has been two and a half years since you died, which means most of his life he has had only me as a parent.
I calculate these things in my head all the time.
You would never know Erez has something to be sad about. He is so joyful. He dances all the time, he laughs all the time. His teacher says he finds the giggles in everything. He is sweet and protective of me and so loving. But he also wants you to come back to hold him like a baby, because those are the photos he sees. He sees photos of you holding him and he asks me when he can be a baby again so you can come back and hold him.
(Jesus fucking Christ, Chris. Look what you have done).
Ember is making friends and is drawing (she is such a great artist, you would be amazed) and imagining all the time. She is as she was when you were alive, just much more grown up, and she has more worries in her heart. She has more understanding of things, and more words, and more worries. But she is making friends, and she is smiling, and she just wants to know we will be ok.
We all have more worries. You have created worries that we carry with us all the time, and they make us different from other people. It is not just your absence, it is the absence of predictability that plagues us. We are all changed. We are all different from ourselves and from other people.
But at least we are alive.
So it was just the holidays and I thought maybe I should send you a ghost letter, like those holiday letters people send to friends but nobody reads? The ones where you tell everyone what you and your family have been doing, how much the kids have grown and what they have accomplished? The ones that say “our lives are better than yours in so many ways. Here. Read them. Because holidays aren’t hard enough already.”
Our lives ARE better than yours, because we are living. I think about this when things feel difficult, when the kids are crying, or my body is in pain... at least I am living. At least I am here. You are not.
We are living in a new home, without your ghost in it. I am not afraid of the basement here. I love this home. It has wood floors and comfy pillows everywhere and a backyard with a brook running through it. That is all I need.
I am with him, still. The man that made me feel loved and un-lonely after years of lonely and only. It has not been easy, but it has been love. Complicated, intense love. People say I deserve “easy” after our marriage. It has not been easy, but it has been love. I don’t think I know or understand easy love.
I was in the car the other day and I don’t know how it came up but I told our middle boy, who is now 7, that I thought he looked the most like you. I think Ember had asked who she looks most like, and I said your mother. It’s true. Oren then asked who he looks most like, and he really does look the most like you. So I said it, I said he looks like you, and without missing a beat he said “you mean I am going to kill myself when I’m 43 years old??”
God, I hope not. I am worried, though.
(Jesus fucking Christ, Chris. Look what you have done).
Last night Oren was worried about what he is going to be when he grows up. He asked how he is going to decide, and where he will be going to college, and what if he is not smart enough.
He is so smart. So smart. His teacher said she thinks he may have photographic memory.
I told him how smart he is and that he has no reason to worry. He told me climate change may ruin the world before he grows up anyways.
I am worried about his worry.
Our baby is almost four. He was 18 months when you killed yourself, which means it has been two and a half years since you died, which means most of his life he has had only me as a parent.
I calculate these things in my head all the time.
You would never know Erez has something to be sad about. He is so joyful. He dances all the time, he laughs all the time. His teacher says he finds the giggles in everything. He is sweet and protective of me and so loving. But he also wants you to come back to hold him like a baby, because those are the photos he sees. He sees photos of you holding him and he asks me when he can be a baby again so you can come back and hold him.
(Jesus fucking Christ, Chris. Look what you have done).
Ember is making friends and is drawing (she is such a great artist, you would be amazed) and imagining all the time. She is as she was when you were alive, just much more grown up, and she has more worries in her heart. She has more understanding of things, and more words, and more worries. But she is making friends, and she is smiling, and she just wants to know we will be ok.
We all have more worries. You have created worries that we carry with us all the time, and they make us different from other people. It is not just your absence, it is the absence of predictability that plagues us. We are all changed. We are all different from ourselves and from other people.
But at least we are alive.
I sense your pain as a parent. Sadly, I also identify with the pain that created your situation.
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry. It is weird because I write in part knowing that people will identify with what the kids and I have been through, but I am always sad when people write and say they do. I hate that there are so many of us...
DeleteMy husband killed himself when my twins were 3. I feel your pain, and my heart goes out to you.
ReplyDeleteI am so sorry. I know for me the raising of my youngest without his father being at all present in his life has been the most challenging. I hope you are doing ok, I hope your children are doing ok, and I hope you have a support network that has helped you through this. Sending lots of love and strength.
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