Hunting for my seam ripper reminded me to look for a thank you card, which led me to cleaning out the small writing desk in the dining room. A stray Scrabble tile, Lego squares, tattered newspaper clippings elicited a wry smile from me as I found them squirreled away in the cubbyholes of the desk, then my hands found an innocent folded sheet of paper. It looked liked a printed email from years ago, twenty to be exact when I looked at the printed footer. My breath caught as I read the words “Dear Mom and Dad.”
A letter from Justin dated July 6, 1998, he would have been thirteen. My hazy memory tells me that it was written from a summer science camp that Justin attended in the Deep Creek Lake area in Maryland. Justin was intelligent and had an insatiable appetite for learning and exploration. He hid his intelligence, girls are not the only ones teased and bullied for being smart. He was teased most of his life, sometimes I still hate his bullies, they came in both child and adult form.
Reading his letter, I hear his voice, excited and filled with energy. He was an accomplished letter writer at thirteen, weaving together humorous anecdotes and small details that had one smiling from the first sentence. His absence leaves an ache, a longing that never goes away. Below is his letter.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I wish you could have seen the experiment we did today. Meteor Dropping. My team filled a balloon with water, pebbles (to simulate debris) and flour. I’m going to have to wash my shirt due to the mess.
We signed up for mission duties for when we visit the CSC. I could pick three from the total of eight or so. I’m hoping for pilot, or remote handling radioactive (simulated) isotopes with the robot arm!
I just about figured out my graphing calculator. There are more buttons on this than…I don’t know. Mom would have a field day with one of these (all those buttons.)
I love dorm living. One of my friends brought enough food for the fifth division of the United States Marines. The cafe food is surprisingly edible. Today’s breakfast included sausage, toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Today’s lunch was an interesting assortment of burgers and fries. They have a little bar for adding condiments to the food.
Tomorrow is bottle rocket day, followed by telescope day. I started on the image processing program today. What a blast. Although most of the activities were pixel hunting (yawn) once we got to the lighting and color changing, it became fun.
This message is probably longer then the Constitution by now, so I’ll send this now and talk to you later.
Love, Justin.
Drinking coffee, I stare at the contents of the desk, there is a vice grip around my head and the clarity I possessed for organizing is slipping away. Justin will be dead eight years on September 27th. Finding the letter is a treasure, but it sharpens the razor edge of longing. Memories cut and leave us bleeding.
Did I appreciate the gifts that I had in my sons? Both charming, both wicked smart, they shared a dry sense of humor, there were times I dared not catch their eye for fear of laughing. Was I observant of their dignity as human beings, did I interact with them with full knowledge of the brevity of life?
Holding the letter in my hands, feeling the smoothness of the paper, I allow it to fall back into its folds. My coffee cup is empty, my glasses and face tear stained, the dogs are stacking up behind my desk chair reminding me that it is time for their midday squirrel chase, its hard to leave you though. The veil grew thin for a few moments, but the fog of grief grows thick again and I am once again on the other side of you.
Omg Terri. The letter. Your last lines. The cutting of memories, the thinning veil that fogs up again thickly. Your writing here cuts as well, it singers and burns. Sending you love.
Dear Dana, thank you so much for your note! I think of you often and the work you are doing on your memoir, what a enormous task of research and exploration. And how exhausting it must be when you find an unopened box of memories and they need to be sorted out. I am beginning to understand just what a journey it is to write a memoir and what a gift you will give your children by your labor of love. Thank you again for reading and taking the time to write a note. Wishing you a beautiful Autumn with crisp clear mornings for coffee and writing.
Oh, Terri, this is so beautiful. I always appreciate getting to know Justin a little more through your posts, and when you describe your ache I can feel it bleeding through the words. I can’t help but think that Justin would be so touched to read what you write about him, and about your feelings as you process and live with the profound loss his death left. Thank you, as always, for your beautifully written shares.
Thank you Melinda for reading and getting to know Justin. One of the greatest gifts a bereaved parent can receive is the knowledge that their lives are not forgotten. Thank you for this continued gift you share as you walk with me through this journey.