Simple Acts of Desperation

Dear Rachel,

I’m surprised at the number of people who think that it takes “courage” to get through all of this. Some talk about being “brave” enough to do this blog or write the magazine column I wrote some months ago. Some comment on my being (and on Lesley’s being and Debbie’s being and Amy’s being) “courageous” enough to “go on” in spite of your death.

I don’t think it’s courage at all. What choice do we have, really? What can we do but go on? You’re gone and nothing we say or do can bring you back. But we need each other, all of us who are left to carry on. Lesley and Amy need me; I can’t just shut down, leaving them to find their way without me. And, of course, I need them, too. Perhaps I need them even more than they need me. What would I do without Lesley, who loves me in spite of my flaws, and who is stronger and braver and smarter than anyone would have thought? (She’s beautiful, but she’s so much more than that. I wonder how many people look at surface beauty and then, failing to look beneath that surface, decide that there’s no depth there.) What would I do without Amy to poke fun at me, and to remind me (again) that life goes on and that scrawny, bratty little girls sometimes turn out to be beautiful, smart young women? She’s the daughter who reminds me that there are still things to live for, that the story’s not yet over, that I need to watch her—and help her, if and when I can—grow up. (I’m so glad you two were so close, calling and emailing each other constantly, sharing secrets, giggling and hugging like the good friends that you were, more like friends than sisters, in fact. Certainly no one expects stepsisters to become such good friends.) And of course, I need to be around—want to be around—to watch Shaylyn grow up and become a young woman, a lovely, lively echo of her determined, beautiful mother.

At any rate, I’m not sure that courage has much to do with it. Sometimes living is an act of desperation.

Love,

Dad