Dear Ian,
This will be our last correspondence. It won’t reach you, because I don’t have your address, and even if I did, the post man doesn’t deliver there. It seems only fitting that my good-bye be in a letter. Over the last 24 years, this has been our main form of communication.
When I was fifteen and you were already off to college, I was so surprised that you would take the time to write to me, long letters detailing how you were doing. I wish I knew where I put the tape loaded with every single greatest song there ever was and each one reminds me of you to this day without fail. Fifteen wasn’t an easy time for me, and I clung to your friendship, because it was pure and honest and good and kind. We had good times together, the kind that swell in my memory as I write this to you.
By the time I had moved to San Francisco in ‘98, you had disappeared. There was a long time that we were out of touch and no one knew where you were. In the winter of 2000 (addendum: found a letter and it was actually winter of '98), I had come home for the holidays to visit family – and like everyone else ended up at the same bar to share a drink and catch up with old friends. Half way through the night you appeared in your black leather jacket. Shocked to see you, we embraced and talked for the rest of the evening. From that moment forward, we picked up where we had left off, and the letters began again. This time, instead of Boston you were in upstate New York and you were making the highest grades and gearing up to be a lawyer. I still laugh. It’s so fitting, yet it’s so ironic.
I have so many vivid memories. Sitting in your room. We were both shy. You expanded my mind. I didn’t know half the things you were talking about but you didn’t judge me for being naïve you just handed me a book to read. My best friend Michelle would always complain after we had hung out together. If the conversations became too intellectual, she knew I had been spending time with you, and she and I were anything but. We were clowns. That’s what made my friendship with you so special to me. There was total utter acceptance despite all of our differences, our age, our intellect, our talents, our personalities.
You had a piercing stare and a steady soul. I always needed God, you relied on your Higher self. Again, you respected our differences.
We didn’t get a proper good bye because in this high speed world of technology, all my recent emails from you were lost, and I no longer had your address. Since we only wrote to each a few times a year, I have been wondering where you were and if I would finally receive a note from you soon. The last we were in contact you were the happiest I had ever heard you to be. Kayaking, enjoying your living as a lawyer, loving the lake by your house, boasting about your sister, heading to Martha’s Vineyard to be with family. I just imagined that your happiness spawned a great relationship with someone and that you were preoccupied, busy living life.
I never could have imagined that I would find out that eight months ago you passed away, and that 16 months ago, you had been diagnosed with cancer.
My mind is racing: did you tell me? Did I overlook a letter? Was there something subtle that you said? When was our last contact? I can’t even go back to the old emails, because they’re gone.
All I can do is mourn and trust that for some reason that isn’t clear now, this is how it was meant to be. My heart aches. The tears won’t stop. And I’m going to miss you so very dearly. And I’m going to always regret not having been able to share a proper farewell.
Thank you for your respect and your friendship. You are so very special to me, and I’ll cherish our time together with all my heart. I know you’re at peace where you belong.
Love,
Sandy