I’m standing on the edge of the riverbank. Once again, I’m wearing only my pink underwear. Can you see me?
I gaze across the dark water. It looks deceivingly peaceful. You can’t see the undertow from here, or the speed of the water. Can’t see more than a foot under.
It’s a hot, beautiful day in September. No pulp-mill smell. A slow breeze is blowing through my hair. Is that you?
I’ve got to say good-bye to you now. There’s no point writing this letter anymore, not in my head, and not on paper. Letters are for the living, and anyway, this isn’t a love letter. I made that clear from the beginning.
I hear a caw and look up. There’s a crow on the branch above me. Maybe it’s Little Man. He can fly now, of course, but I can’t tell if it’s him or some other crow. I caw back at him and he looks down at me, cocks his head to one side. I want to think it’s him.
Did you see Little Man that day you stood on this bank?
You hid your sadness for so long. Now I remember the times when you thought I wasn’t watching you, when your eyes glazed over and the smile fell from your cheeks and your shoulders drooped and I’d say, “Chris?” You’d turn to me and you’d smile and pretend you were all good and I made myself pretend too.
When I look across the water, standing in this spot where you stood, I can’t help but imagine that gigantic step you took into the cold water. Did you change your mind at the last minute? Is that why one foot landed by the edge of the water? And then, you couldn’t slow your forward trajectory? Maybe you tried to swim back, but it was too fast. The river is easy to underestimate, especially at that time of year. Did it thrust you toward the rapids? Did you choke? Did you struggle? Did you hit your head early or did you suffer?
It didn’t have to end like this.
When you were in the rapids, you must have had a moment of regret. Maybe you wanted to kiss my lips one last time. Maybe you thought of Raffa and her big, trusting eyes and how she adores you. Maybe you remembered your mom, how she’d pat you two times on your back to show she was proud. Or you thought about your dad sitting across from you, playing chess. Maybe you realized Josh was going to have to run alone now. And he does. But every time he runs, baby, you are still running next to him.
Can you read my mind from the land of the dead? I don’t know how it works, but I sure hope so. I think you’ve been with me this whole time. If you have, you can see that I’ve missed you every day.
We all want you back, but you’re gone forever. There’s no going back. Not for me, not for you.
Tomorrow I’m leaving on a road trip. I’ve got my passport. There’s this volcano I’ve been wanting to see.
Josh started college last week. When I get back, I’m going to apply for that conservation program. Maybe being a nature nerd is kind of a good thing nowadays.
No matter what, baby, I promise you I’m going to make a difference, like you would have done if you’d stuck around. Man, I wish you had.
Hoo boy. Deep breath.
We all say good-bye to the people we love one day. I just wasn’t ready to say good-bye to you yet. But now I have to do it. That’s why I’m here.
In a few seconds, I’m going to do one last brilliant dive through the air, into this cold water. Are you here? Can you see me?
There are so many things I wish I’d done differently. But most of all, I wish I could have been here on this bank when you jumped in. I would’ve dove in after you and stopped you from swimming out. I would have pulled you back to the bank. I would have loved you back to life. But I wasn’t here. I couldn’t save you. So now, I need to choose to live or die.
I choose to live.