It’s been a while since I wrote or talked to you. I’ve been trying to let you go, trying to get on with my life, but I’m tired of being upbeat. I just want to be me, however I feel at the moment. I’m tired of trying not to think of you just so I won’t be sad. I’m tired of not having anyone to talk to, which is strange because I now have more people to talk to than I have had in years, but we don’t say much of anything, just talk about the minutiae of our lives. I’m tired of not having anyone who understands. For example, if I tell anyone of my small infirmities, they just tell me to go to doctors, and we know that’s not much of an answer. You often had an answer, and if you didn’t, you simply listened to my worries, which made me feel better.
I miss you, not just because I’m tired you’re gone, but because of you. I’m going to St. Simons Island to give a speech at a writers’ conference, and you’re not here to send me off, to see my new clothes, to wish me well. Odd to think I’m taking only a couple of garments you have ever seen. Most of my clothes are new since you’ve been gone.
I wish I knew why things worked out the way they did. Or maybe I don’t. I just wish . . . I wish . . . that you were here, happy, rich, and loving me. I guess that’s what I wish. But perhaps you’re better of where you are. If so, where does that leave me?
I know it doesn’t sound that way, but I really do try to be upbeat and not to be sad all the time, but it’s wearying. It’s going to be worse when I get back from St. Simons. I won’t be coming home to you and a hug and a smile. I’ll be coming back here to my father’s house.
Funny, I wasn’t going to write to you again, but it does make me feel close to you, if only for a minute.
I miss you, Jeff. I love you. I want to go home. Please?
Damn it! I hate this. Are you okay? Are you taking care of yourself? Do you miss me? I guess I’m glad for the upsurges of grief. At least I know I still remember.
Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Unfinished, Madame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.
November 12, 2014 at 9:38 pm
So painful, so honest…..
November 13, 2014 at 7:52 am
Even in your grief, you are a sensitive and articulate writer!
November 13, 2014 at 4:52 pm
You’re very kind. Thank you!
June 30, 2018 at 12:22 pm
You are more open with the world than I could ever be. I’d hide in an attic filled with books, wine, a PC, and a TV and never say anything to anyone about a tragedy in my family. I applaud your approach.
June 30, 2018 at 12:56 pm
This is an old letter. I just retitled it. But yeah, sometimes it surprises me that I’m as open as I am about the way I feel. I never intended this blog to be personal — it was meant to be sort of an author-ish thing — but after Jeff died, I was so angry at the simplistic way grief and grievers were portrayed in books and movies, and the way the so-called experts hadn’t a clue what grief really felt like, that the words just spilled out. Of course, if I had an attic, I might be up there. I suppose in a way, this blog is my attic. Or ivory tower. Or something akin to Rapunzel’s tower, and I’m letting down my hair.
June 30, 2018 at 4:43 pm
When the words spill out, there’s not much we can do about it.