Letters Home; Section 1, Letter dated October 10

October 10
Katrina,



Snowflakes are falling outside, intermingled with the raindrops as if the rain is teaching the new snow of the season how to fall, how to softly touch the ground, how to say hello to the Earth as if the Earth is being playfully awakened from a night of sleep. In the fields, the horses run, their manes blowing in the winds, running for the sheer exhilaration of the feeling of freedom, of being alive. Most of the birds have flown further south for the cold winter months, but a few remain, and they sit upon branches of the trees, the empty water fountain, and on the ground glancing up to enjoy the beautiful snow before returning to their preparations for winter.



The Earth and the animals know how to prepare for winter just as they prepare for each season. The Earth calls upon all its elements for help, the trees warming the Earth with their leaves, branches becoming homes for woodland animals, and the Earth repaying the favor by nourishing them all throughout the winter months. The animals work in small groups, gathering food to help them through the winter, gathering twigs and leaves to add to the warmth of their winter abodes.



Life, my dear Sister, requires teamwork, an interactive dependency upon one another. We need one another for teaching and learning, for keeping spirits high and reminding each other of the important aspects of life, and we need each other for compassion and assistance now and again. For many years, Katrina, I forgot this lesson.



While Betsy was still alive, my hardening heart somehow remained somewhat hopeful that love would find me and that I would somehow find what I needed to heal the hole inside, yet I forgot my responsibility to the success of those matters. Betsy found hope each day, seeking it out like searching for just the right apples for a pie, and she reminded me each day of the power of hope, of healing. But after Betsy died, after I saw you leave for the last time, hope began to dim like a candle burning out.



When hope is fading, one begins to care less about the journey towards the future; one begins to care less about taking the journey at all. Days begin to blur as monotonous activities fill hours simply to pass time as opposed to treasuring it, making use of it for a better tomorrow. I began to care little for social functions, charitable events, or the goings on in town. I became less willing to take financial risks and concerned less with getting to know new business associates or complimenting the familiar ones on their success with glamorous parties and delightful dinners.



Some of Father’s business dealings continued on as they always had, businessmen contractually obligated to certain responsibilities remaining in their deals with The Oak. Other businessmen who had worked many years with Father remained as well out of gratitude or comfort in the familiar. Other deals failed or never occurred at all, the exception being new businessmen who knew and needed the fortune of The Oak to support their deals. Yet, somehow, The Oak survived as did Father’s business, and I always satisfied my responsibility to the business but not to his reputation, not to the human side of business.



Within a few years, I began remaining here at The Oak, rarely, if ever, leaving its boundaries. There were no parties, no dinners, no social events held here at The Oak and I attended none elsewhere and, in time, to none was I invited. I was as alone as I could possibly be on this property with all the caretakers about the house, the fields. The only saving grace I may have, Katrina, from all those years is that, as Father did, I always took care of those who took care of The Oak. No, I didn’t lose all hope or goodness.



Have you ever watched the squirrels in the springtime? I can usually see them outside the window, their acrobats on the branches and on the ground amusing. The squirrels will dance about for one another, their heads moving about as if they’re talking, sharing the best locations to find nuts, extending their little arms and standing for emphasis. The squirrels seem to understand the importance of their interaction, each one offering something of importance to the other. The squirrels depend on each other to aid in survival, to brighten the day, to share the load to be gathered, to make the business of each day pleasant more than simply bearable.



The squirrels understand the necessity of teamwork in life, a lesson I cared not about for many years, my contact with others as minimal as I could make it--not out of hatred but out of fear of being hurt again in the deepest parts of my heart and in new ways I was certain someone would find. To protect myself, I stayed away from those I felt might have caused me harm, and I stayed away from you. In the end, I was harmed, harmed at the center of my soul by the only person I thought I could trust: Myself.



Do my reasons excuse my actions, actions that broke the first unwritten rule of humanity, the rule that explains the importance of our actions, the dependency upon each other, and the effect our actions have upon others? Will my regret grant me pardon? Was I or will I be punished somehow for not helping others or for some other rule broken? Or, was there no one helping me? How is it, Sister, that a soul arrives at a fork in the road and chooses the path to walk alone?



Forever,
Christina




This work is fictional. Any resemblance to actual situations or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional.