A Letter

Bryan was not a regular church-goer. He, like me, had periods of his life when he was. Usually it revolved around singing in choir. But for a time when Mary was young, he made it a cornerstone of his weekends with her, attending the local Methodist church a few blocks away. He referenced one particular sermon a lot and I’ve thought about it regularly as it coincided with his parenting philosophy. The parenting philosophy—kids won’t listen to you, but they will observe and follow your example. The sermon—you are a letter. The way you walk in the world is its own sermon, an epistle, if you will.

I think of the letters, specifically the love letters, I have observed over the last few years. Just before Bryan passed, my sister came to stay with us. I was hanging on by a thread, not doing very well, not eating well. I was sitting at my dining room table, shoulders hunched forward, feeling seventeen layers of agony. She gently placed before me a black bean and rice bowl with avocado, pico, hot sauce—every good thing I needed and hadn’t been eating. It was an arrow of love straight to my heart and stomach. She couldn’t have screamed I LOVE YOU louder from the top of a mountain with a full-throated yell as she had with that meal.

A few weeks later, my big brother Craig came to stay. He helped me pack up the Optune device which had become a black hole of despair in my home. “Too easy.” He got my oil changed and the car cleaned up—vacuuming leaves, making the dashboard and wheel walls shiny. The image of him helping in tasks that seemed insurmountable to me was a gift of love I’ll never forget. In quiet action and presence he yelled across the universe his love for his little sister, too.

I cite these examples as they’re the ones I replay the most in my mind and heart but know that I have been witness to many love letters in action. The men who spoke at Bryan’s service, the people who showed up for us in all the ways that matter most, in word and deed, are love letters I treasure always.

My kiddo is a letter that her parents wrote with love that she continues to write. Yesterday I got to watch her lead and love her community at the D&D finale at the public library. Mostly kids, but adults too, get to gather in a place where they are all welcome, their imaginations are celebrated, where high expectations are held. Mary creates that sense of welcome, respect, and adventure wherever she goes. It is an incredible gift to watch and read the letter she writes with her life.

Of course, my self-reflective nature kicks in. What kind of letter am I writing? What letter will people read of me in this world? Maybe, you, dear reader, will think about your letter, too.