Thank you so much for what you’ve done for Yasmine these past few months. You haven’t just been a godsend, you’ve been her savior.
It means so much to be loved, especially when there’s so little of it to be found. I don’t know any other way to put it; she adores you and hangs on every word you tell her.
And I love you as well for accepting me into the family with such kindness all those years ago.
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so emotional, but I thought you’d understand. Things have been so…difficult lately. There’s something I need to share with you-several things, actually-but I’ll wait till you’re here with us.
Yasmine and I will expect you for dinner on Friday. Please take care until then.
I’m sorry it took so long to respond to what you shared with me during dinner, but I felt I should take great care in my response for several reasons. The most obvious is I didn’t know what to say.
I’m stunned. Overwhelmed, really, but…not in a bad way. I’m flattered and happy and concerned, so bear with me if I make no sense as I sort out…well… everything.
I think I understand what you meant…about ‘closeness’ when we last spoke. I’ve wrestled with heartfelt… confession… all my life, so I don’t believe you had a different word in mind during the discussion. I believe it was the subject of love you were meaning to...share. Not familial or platonic love, but ‘love.’
And, yes, familial and platonic love can evolve over time into something…more.
I think most of what we try to do is like telling a story from wish and memory, and the pause between words is often more meaningful than anything that could be said. Maybe in those moments, we share more hope than we realize.
You’re all the family I’ve got, so lets continue to share our…emotions, desires, dreams-souls?-as a family and let the stream lead us.
I love you. Both. Very much. More than you realize.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve said that to anyone.
And despite the…difficulties, you’ve always been a good mother and wife, please don’t doubt that.
You know…I’m not as good with words as you might think. Bobby was always so much more articulate than I am. For me, life is like a story, at least as the tale is told. Some people weave words into something that becomes-I don’t know, emotional, palpable-as if it were some, spell, I guess. Others possess emotion and wrap just enough thought around it to form a story. I live my life like that. So rough edges are not only inevitable, they’re essential. That’s an odd observation, I know, but you should always know what someone is as well as who they are.
And that’s as honest as I’ve ever been about myself.
As for what you’ve heard…yeah, it’s true about what I saw the night I identified the body. I never told this to anyone, probably because things were…disturbed enough and I didn’t want to make them any murkier.
When Bobby died, the markings on his body weren’t just random. I remember them…they resembled what he drew in his favorite books-you know, angels, scepters, stars.
I think he was trying to protect himself…from himself.
He was always convinced every line of reasoning, thought, emotion-whatever- was its own person. I think when he died he tried to protect his good angel from his lesser…devils.
So he carved markings in his flesh to trap the spirits.
It’s not surprising, really. I wonder how many faces we offer the world to hide what we believe.
I promise I’ll talk to Yasmine about your concerns. Some ghosts need laid to rest.
May I take the two of you to dinner tomorrow evening? It would most definitely be my pleasure.
Tell my girl to be happy. And please, take care.
I love you…and I have a favor to ask, please.
Could you answer a question for me?
Was my Dad crazy?
And am I…is there something wrong with me?
Last night I dreamed I saw Daddy. At least, I thought it was a dream. He taught me how to draw angels as if they were real. He said angels were perfect and I should draw them. So we drew them in the air. But I was afraid.
Are angels perfect?
Do you still love me?