LETTERS FROM THE DEATH HOUSE
Dear Sis,
Last night I decided I should figure out what I believe in when it comes to the afterlife. So I thought about it, and I decided that I don’t believe in heaven or hell. You know I never paid any mind in church when mom dragged us there every now and then. It seemed really fake to me, like something adults just made up to scare kids. I don’t believe there’s one place where everyone goes, where you meet up with other dead people. I believe you just go to your own place, like you can make your own heaven. It’s a nice thing to think about, really it is. It’s been on my mind all day now so I thought I’d pick up a pen and put my thoughts on paper and send them to you.
I want my heaven to be on the Loxahatchee River. I’m going to picture it every day in my mind. I will picture the Spanish moss that hangs from the live oaks. And I’ll picture that spot where the river gets narrow and there are so many cypress knees, it’s like an obstacle course and you have to steer the canoe carefully so as not to hit them.
I have a plan for that day now, when it comes, so you don’t have to worry about me. When they take me down to the death chamber and strap me to the bed, I will close my eyes and picture myself on the Loxahatchee, and I’ll just breathe until it’s all over and then I’ll just be there. I want you to know that you don’t have to feel bad about it, Sis. You can just think of me on a grand trip along the river.
Give Kimmy a hug from me. Give yourself one, too.
Love,
Andy
I open a new tab and look up the Loxahatchee River. It’s seven miles long. It starts near Jupiter, Florida, and empties into the Atlantic. You can rent a canoe at an outpost in Dickinson State Park and paddle until your arms get tired, until you reach the inlet, where the river spills into the ocean. Loxahatchee is Seminole for river of turtles. They stand on the banks, warm their cold blood. Manatee feed on mangrove leaves, shoal grass, and floating hyacinth. Bald cypress branches filter the sun, beams of light casting shadows on the water.
There is just enough room in the canoe for the two of us. We float along the river together. We paddle in rhythm, propelling ourselves toward the open water. That’s my idea of heaven, and it is a nice thing to think about—that if you love something fiercely enough, it could be yours forever.