Letters Home: Section 1, Letter dated December 31

December 31, 1999
Katrina,



I could have sworn that I saw a ghost today, waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase like a long lost friend, waiting for me as if we were going somewhere. It was you, Sister, there at the bottom of the staircase with that secretive grin and charming smile, those sparkling eyes, waiting for me and laughing like we were sneaking out of the house before anyone noticed. Then, you vanished as if you had never been there at all.



My hand is weak as I hold the pen, and the ink shall not much longer stain the paper. I’ve wondered today what you think of my letters, my attempt to leave a legacy of knowledge or, at least, what knowledge I’ve gained over the years. Do you hear me, Sister, my thoughts to leave something good behind? Has it been worth the effort?



The letters I’ve written to you have piled high on the corner of this desk, the paper faded somewhat by the sunlight brightening their place in this old world. Yet, I’ve continued to write these letters that have never been mailed, writing the words I wish that I had written or said to you before Heaven took you from me nearly ten years ago; words I wish I had said in a time when you were still able to tell me of your heart, in a time when I could show you that I’m changing, learning. With each letter I hope that, somehow, the words will find their way to your heart. Perhaps I’m hoping to right some wrongs with these words, confessions in black and white; and, when I’m gone, I hope these words will find their way to a heart like mine once was, a heart waiting at the crossroads and deciding which path to take, hoping that these letters will lead them down the road of hope.



People often ask what they would do if they had only six months to live, a limited amount of time on this Earth to be alive. But, time is always limited, Sister, and waiting can bring about regret because it is far too easy for one to wait too long. I knew that the moment that they told me you were gone. But, I’ve done what I could to make amends, trying to heal relationships with those few souls that are still living, giving, trying to keep my heart open, trying to allow hope to guide each day, to guide my thoughts, and trying to find a way to help others not to make the same mistakes I’ve made. Is it enough?



How will I be remembered or will I be forgotten, I wonder as I look out from behind this protective desk, through the window, and across a field, vacant except for the rays of sunshine dancing on a cold morning. It is the last day of the year, the eve of a new millennium and the winter of a life.



I must go now, my body tires and my spirit is calling me home. And, deep within, I hear you calling to me, I feel the lightweight feather of hope writing upon my heart, and I see the light of home.










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