Dear Whoever Likes To Read My Letters,                                                                                                                             2.24.2012.

“A person who can write a long letter with ease, cannot write ill.” -Jane Austen

“A Train was born without any effort – if was like writing a letter to a friend.” -Billy Strayhorn

“Even when I have to write a simple letter I’m scared stiff as if faced with looming seasickness.” -Gustav Klimt

“After the writer’s death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter.” -Jean Cocteau

                                   Ya know what I think? I think so many things but here’s what on my mind this moment. I think that funerals are for the family and not for the person who’s being buried. I think that whoever is messed up enough to keep a dying person alive on a machine for the rest of their life, is selfish. I think that a dead man’s last wishes should be honored. I can give you three reasons of proof for each one of these thoughts.

I think…

  • funerals are for the family and friends and not for the person who’s being buried.
  1.  They give the family and friends closure.
  2.  The person being buried is already gone.
  3. There’s always a party. You think dead people party much? I do but not on earth.
  •  that whoever is messed up enough to keep a dying person alive on a machine for the rest of their life is selfish.
  1.   The dying person isn’t really living if he has to stay hospitalized on a machine to live.
  2.  The dying person is probably in a lot of pain, with or without meds, even on the machine, and if the family is just keeping the person around because they can’t part with him, is selfish. Because they’re making said person live in pain just so they can stay content and not embrace the inevitable change death brings.
  3. The people see the pain that the person is in and choose to let them suffer.
  • a dead (wo)man’s last wishes should be honored.
  1. He’s gonna die. He ain’t gonna keep bugging you for stuff after (s)he’s finally gone.
  2. It’s honor. You’re honoring the person’s life by carrying out the last wants of them.
  3. If not to honor them it’s a way to carry them on in the surviving people’s lives. They, themselves cannot go on, but their wishes can.

I don’t really know why I wanted to talk about that today but that’s just what I ended up with. So onto my other letter.


Dear Dad,                                                                                                                                                                  2.24.’12.

          How’ve you been? Hopefully better than me. I finished that writing thing and entered it. A lot of people liked it. And my teacher even read it to Hannah’s seventh grade class. I helped a girl find God today, Daddy. It was surreal. I held Hannah too, after revival was over, I didn’t give a rat’s a** about the no touching rule. That was me. She was crying because Luke’s dad died. You know that. That happened before you were gone. But she was crying also because Luke’s uncle now has the same thing and the chemo treatment to kill it, affects his kidneys and his kidneys suck off the bat. I learned last year in science that kidneys filter your blood. Uncle G has bad kidney’s too right? And that’s why Cousin’s girlfriend gave up one of hers right? I want to do something like that for someone today. Maybe a kidney, maybe a lung, most definitely blood though. As soon as I get over my fear of needles and looking at my own blood being drawn out of me.

         I hope I made you smile. I’m sorry I haven’t written you in a couple days. I’ve been busy and I’m gonna be even busier the next few days. My birthday’s in 3-4ish days, can you believe that? I remember you asking me how old I was every time my birthday rolled around and before I could answer you’d ask 3? Or 4? No older than 5 surely. And you’d smile. Before I always thought you were being mean but now I know that you were definitely not trying to flatter me. What 7yr old wants to be younger? Little kids look forward to being older. So if it wasn’t flattery, what was it? I know now. It’s that I’d always be your little girl no matter how old I got.  For that makes me smile a small somewhat sad smile. I love you, Dad. I do. I always will. That will never change. I love your little code messages like that one that nobody ever got. That I never got. Till now.

        Soccer tryouts weren’t this week. But they’re supposed to be next Monday and Tuesday. On my birthday. I’m excited. I’m a little nervous though. You’d never guess I was either though by the blank stare on my face right now. Tomorrow we’re going to Dylan’s birthday party, I think. And then I believe on Sunday, we’re going to visit’s Kris’ memorial. I cry just thinking about it. Because the last time I was there I was with you. You and I paused the longest. Nobody understood but me and you. We were in sync in that way. The last place I was even remotely similar to that of Kris’ memorial was when you took me shooting. Remember that? I do. You were always telling me survival tips. Remember how we got stuck in the sand in your brand new truck? I do. Danny helped us out, remember? Then we drove a little further and started shooting again this time with Danny. I remember you guys talking when you thought I couldn’t hear, saying how good an aim I have and how women have a thing for the automatic. I smiled and leisurely squeezed off more rounds. Danny has offered to take us shooting. I want Sister and Mom to learn how to shoot but then I want to be selfish. I want to be selfish and just keep our shooting as a you and I thing, a special thing just between you and me. However, I do want them to be able to protect themselves.

            Another thing that was between me and you is the wood. I want to get back to splitting and if possible I want to keep the business going. However, I split the wood. Uncle A and Uncle B see no reason to keep the splitter or conveyor around and there goes even more of you that I can still use. So deciding to wait on splitting, I wandered around the shop. I do that sometimes now. I found that log. The one we made those coasters out of? I want to make those and sell or give them away. Maybe even make a trademark stamp and make it official. Do you know what type of tree that log was off of? Do you remember what saw you used to cut it with? I don’t. This is why I need you here. To teach me the things you didn’t get to teach me yet, to show me how to do the things you always just did for me. To watch wrestling with me, to watch Bonanza with me. To kick or toss a ball around with me. To listen to my newest paragraph of my story. To laugh at my little scream of terror as my chickens came towards me. To fence in the newest hole in the dog pen. To keep the peace between me and Sister and me and Mom. And more importantly, ask me what’s wrong when nobody else knew I was upset. That’s what i miss about you. How nobody else understood me but you did. And now I don’t have you. Now nobody gets it. Now I’m alone. There’s nobody sitting out there with me in the shop no more. I’m not keeping anybody company anymore. I miss you.                           -Love you forever and always, eshy

Psssst, Dad. P.S. The world is full of 747’s. I think I got a chuckle out of you. 

Well thanks for tuning in and reading today’s letter, folks. Come back again soon.     -The Determined, eshy,