Dear Rudy,
You’ve been on my mind these last few days, so I thought I’d drop you a line. I think it was New Years Eve that made me think of you. Your favourite night. Ha, of course, because it’s the biggest party. You always said it had ‘less pressure’ than Christmas, and you could be right: less Aunt Cath. She wasn’t so bad this Christmas, you know. She only insulted Mum like three times, and she even gave Ollie and me presents. I got stressed for a little while when we first got there, because Cath asked a lot of questions and we were late and the living room was hot. Instead of having an outburst though, I just let myself flick my wrists like I used to when I was smaller, and I didn’t care what anyone thought. Everyone stared, but no one said anything, and my head stopped being fuzzy really quickly. It felt good.
But you know what, this letter isn’t about me. I know: shock horror! It’s about you. We miss you, of course. And I still have to stop myself from imagining what things would be like if you hadn’t died. It would be better, obviously. But you did die, and we are still here, so we are getting through it and making life good again without you. Ollie is super grown up, and probably going to be the prime minister one day, I swear. He is so good at convincing people to do exactly what he wants. Mum and Dad are okay, they still fight but they also say sorry and they seem to be talking to each other more too. Cath is Cath. Amy comes around a lot. She even popped in on Boxing Day, after she spent Christmas with her mum. She’s changed her hair and she seems to be doing all right. She’s lighter or something.
I’ve got ten followers on my blog now, which is pretty incredible seeing as I just write about how I feel and my life and stuff. Finishing school might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. There’s no more quadrangle and talk of weekend parties and food-sharing politics and no more Jessicas or Kathys or Bens. I think that’s why I’m able to flick my wrists in front of people now, and why I can write about what it’s like to be autistic. I’ve stopped worrying so much about what other people think and letting that shape me. I’m focusing on being the most authentic version of myself as possible, even if that’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I am figuring out what I really like, and what I really don’t like. I’m moving forward. I’m going to an Invasion Day rally with Aggie later this month instead of the annual barbecue at Jessica Rabbit’s that I’ve always hated. I am thinking about how I want to live and how I can make that happen. That feels like a good start.
Thank you, Rudy, for listening in this whole letter-writing process, and mostly for being the kind of person that lived a life so big and whole and full of love that even after you’ve died, it still feels like you’re supporting me. Thank you.
Love, Erin