My grandfather, Howie Lindman, passed away of cancer six months ago. I wrote this letter with no intention to share it, but decided to post it as a part of my grieving process. Thank you for reading.
It is June 8th, Happy birthday! I miss you very much. It has been too long since we have seen each other. It’s been exactly 160 days since the last time we said goodbye.
I wish I could call you and tell you how much I love you.
My heart aches for you.
But I can’t call you anymore.
I thought that with time I’d start to feel better, but as summer approaches I can’t help but think about your perfect lake house you called Serenity. It’s strange to think that Serenity exists without you there. I suppose I have always considered you two as one entity. I’ve been trying to do the countdown the way you always did; the way you would call and report many days until you’d return to Serenity. Well, grandpa, my countdown is at 26 days!
I keep dreaming about you. Sometimes it is a peaceful dream, but more often it is a terrible dream. Normally a dreamland version of our last interaction. Sometimes the scene or situation changes, but it always ends with you leaving. In one dream we were at Serenity. You had a bathing suit on and a towel over your arm. You said to me, “I’m going for one last swim.” I said, “Wait, I’ll join you!” You said, “No, you can’t come!” I said, “Let me just get a towel!” I frantically ran around the cabin looking for a towel, but when I came to join you, you were already gone.
Gone too soon. Stolen from me, from everyone.
In the quiet moments when I’m all alone I sometimes wonder who is going to love me the way you did? Who is going to believe in me the way you did? Who do I have to make proud?
I’m sorry this letter isn’t a happier one. It’s a sad letter, stained with my tears and crinkled with the heaviness in my heart. I were a religious woman, I wonder if I’d feel comforted by your death; maybe I’d feel you were my angel or that I’d behold you again in some afterlife. But I know the finality of what has happened. We will never hold hands, sit in comfortable silence, or stare out into a perfect crisp sunset hovering over the lake ever again. I’m scared because time may heal wounds, but I wonder if that’s only because time fades memories as well. I never want to lose your memory, even if it means staying wounded. I will keep you with me in some way, always.
Please come back.
I love you.