Dear Death

Dear Death,

            It’s funny to start a letter with “dear” when the you who I am writing to is not dear to me.  Not in this case.  I know that death can be a blessing, but really you’re only a blessing to those you take, not the ones you leave behind. You took him from me when he was too young and so was I. I was so young that it didn’t occur to me that I would miss him still, fifteen years later. That I could walk down the street and see a picture on a billboard of a mountain lake and I would be seventeen again.  We would be jumping from the docks of his cabin into Lake Champlain, our hands grasped so tightly, knowing we could never, ever let go.  We hit the water, laughing and screaming in joy. We rise about the surface and grasp each other in tight hug, treading water while we kissed in the summer sunshine. We felt invincible.

            But you knew we were not invincible. No one is.  Youth protects us from the fear of death. And, then as we age the fear that blossoms, becomes lesser, and we come to accept that the end is inevitable – but you never gave him that chance, did you.  You took him from us before he could wizen and accept his fate.  He still felt invincible.

            I will have my whole life to miss him. He died at nineteen years old, and there has not been one day that has passed that he hasn’t manifested himself in some way.  Maybe I should thank you, Death.  Perhaps if he were living, I would not even think of him anymore. Perhaps, if he was still alive, he’d be married with children in some town in New York, a big Irish Setter running in the yard, and I wouldn’t even remember his name.  It was because he died, and died so young, without knowing how I felt about him, that I am the way I am today.  I won’t thank you for taking him from me.  I won’t thank you for taking him from his mother, who died soon after, or his father. His grief was bigger than he was, and could not be contained. I can’t thank you for taking such a bright and happy and smart young man from this world. 

            I will say thank you for one thing only.  Thank you for showing me that life is so very, very precious.  I never told him how much I loved and admired him.  I will feel the guilt of that omission for my whole life. His death was an accident, I know, and he was loved and admired by many.  I am sure he didn’t feel the lack of my love to any great extent.  It was me who missed out by not telling him the truth – that he was my person – and now I am worried that there is no other. So, Death, everyday I tell the people I love that they matter to me.  I won’t hang up the phone without telling my parents or my brother or my best friend: “I love you.”  I won’t thank you for anything else.

            Chad E. Dennison: 1976-1997.  What a short time to hear his laughter, and to see his eyebrows waggle when he was up to something.  I only knew him for three years, and I have never once wished that I had not met him. He was worth knowing, and worth losing. So, my dearest Death, now you know a little bit about the grief you leave behind when you take someone – I wonder if you think of it at all? I will thank you for one more thing.  Thank you for not taking him that day at the lake, when we jumped together, hand in hand. Thank you for giving us that moment – just that one moment – when we were invincible.

Sincerely,

Julie