Friday, October 28, 2005

Harsh Reality

Dear Rachel,

No one will read this blog. Well, maybe some family and a few friends, but other than that, who would really care? I’m a middle-aged magazine editor—nothing too exciting there, and you…well, you’re dead.

That’s kind of harsh, isn’t it? Sort of cold, maybe? But I find that I need to be blunt with myself about this. I need, sometimes several times a day, to remind myself that no matter how much I cry, or wish, or hope, or offer to deal with God—no matter what I do or think, you’re not coming back to me. There will be no more late-night tech-support phone calls (“Daaaad, why won’t my printer print?!" "Dad, what’s wrong with my modem—it won’t, uh, ‘mode’ any more!”); you won’t be coming through the door in a rush, dragging a car-seat, a diaper bag, and a sleeping baby; you won’t show up (as you did once) unannounced at the airport while I sit through a layover in a strange city.

None of that will happen, and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it. I need to make sure I know that. I mean, I have to really know that. I have to learn to accept your absence, as I once gloried in your presence. Otherwise my heart breaks whenever the phone rings or the doorbell buzzes, or whenever I see a young, dark-haired woman walking down the street. And a heart can only break so many times before it’s completely shattered.

So, why a blog? Mainly I’m hoping that these letters will prove therapeutic; perhaps addressing some of these issues will provide that "closure" I keep hearing about. Also, maybe this blog will serve as a communicative (I remember how much you loved that word, “communicative”) device to keep our family and friends apprised of how we’re doing. And if anyone does read this, maybe these entries will chart a course toward some kind of recovery (I won’t say “healing”; I’m not sure we’ll ever really heal) that might be helpful to others in a similar situation.

We did so much together, you and I. We hiked and camped; we worked on cars (well, at 4 years old, you mainly fetched tools and smeared oil all over the place); we spent so many evenings in deserted newsrooms finishing up articles and setting type; we played countless games of catch with baseballs and footballs and Frisbees and who knows what else; and sometimes we did nothing, just sat on the couch watching TV or reading—but we did it together.

I suppose that this is the last thing we’ll do together, so I hope we do it well.

Love,

Dad

8 Comments:

Blogger Oobie said...

I think your blog is beautiful. I think one should write about grief. I hope you keep writing.

12:30 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

What does not kill you, makes you stronger.

I respect your will to make sense.

Sometimes I wake up with the feeling that one day, all the people I know will disapear.

Even the souvenir of my name.

12:58 PM  
Blogger Marcheline said...

Yes, we're out here reading - and offering our heartfelt support.

- M

2:53 PM  
Blogger Cat said...

You're blog is touching; moving... brought me to tears. We're here reading & supporting you in any way we can.

Keep writing... it alwas helps

2:03 PM  
Blogger woof nanny said...

I just spent about half an hour reading and blubbering...tears streaming down my face. I think the fact that you shared a lovely connection is really something to hold dear. Many people never find that. And hopefully there is an afterlife where you can sit together again. I believe there is.

11:02 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hi, Barb.

Thank you for your comment on my 'Dear Rachel' blog. I have to admit that I don't really like the thought of causing other people to blubber; there's been so much crying around here over the past two years. (Has it really been almost two years?! Hard to believe.)

But I do appreciate your reading, and also the kind sentiments and good wishes.

12:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hello,
You may never see this since I don't know if you still check this blog or not .I don't know you or your family but came across your blog by accident and I wanted to tell you that I'm so sorry for the suffering you've been through.I haven't been in your situation but have experienced enough grief to get a brief glimmer of how you must feel.
I know that nothing anyone can say can ever make you feel any better and nothing anyone can do can ever take away your pain.I know you will miss your daughter until the day you die and she will constantly be in your heart and mind.All I can say is that I'm so sorry for your pain.God bless you and your family.

11:26 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I graduated high school with Rachel and have just learned of your family's tragedy. I knew her, we were acquaintances but not friends really, though I'm sure we could have been if our paths collided more.

There are no words I can offer, no comfort I'm sure and I was hesitant to offer condolences as I did not was to salt your wounds when you've found a way to move forward in coping with the pain. I realize the pain will have never gone away, it will have just changed and you will have found a way to bear it, I truly hope.
My choice in reaching out was made for me when I read this post mentioning your doubt in others reading or having interest in your words for Rachel.

Rod, your letters to Rachel are incredible. Your words heartfelt and thoughts so raw and genuine it's as if they were coming from our own experiences with loss (though I know none can be compared to another).

Thank you for your courage and strength to so publicly share your letters. They are read and though your purpose for them may be quite different, I found them to be inspiring.

Though there have not been any letters posted in years here, I do hope you have continued writing to Rachel elsewhere, for yourself.

Brianna

8:45 AM  

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