A Letter to Rick
Dear Rick,
I hope you get this letter. I don't know why you wouldn't but who knows with how unlucky our lives can get sometimes. I've been meaning to write you sooner, but I had a lot on my mind. Now that I think about it, that might have been selfish of me.
I'll get right down to it, Rick. Why did you do this for us? I mean, it was pretty selfless even for you. Granted, you were and have been in trouble anyway. And I'm sure there's an underlying reason. Am I thinking too much again?
Anyway, I guess I can tell you how we're doing.
It's been very strange here since things happened and you've been gone. Our dinners together aren't as enjoyable. You were gone before for a long time, so it was kind of like that, but this was different. It's the difference of lacking you instead of you not being there. Does that make sense? I'm getting sentimental.
Summer comes and talks to me more often than before you came back into our lives. I think we've grown a better bond. I'm not saying you had anything to do with that (don't rely on me to fuel your ego) and we still argue, but I think that's normal. Which is a weird word to use in this family. I felt normal. But it feels odd. Anyway, Summer didn't want to write a letter herself. She says she couldn't think of what to say and figured she'd just be reiterating what I say. So she left it to me. I'm doing this of my own accord though. I can tell there's a lot she wants to say, but I'm sure it's just as jumbled as my own thoughts are. She's thinking of you.
Dad has changed arguably as well. At first, he really enjoyed the "quiet", he called it. He said that we were "normal" again. After a while, I think he understood how wrong it felt. What is normal? It feels bad, Rick. It feels like such a fake word in this house. It was never normal, even before you came here and lived with us. But you know that. You saw it every day for a year. Dad has gotten quieter. He's more solemn now like the rest of us. Bet it was hard for him to be happy when everyone else is moping for so long. He even got onto us several times about it and we all fought about it.
Mom is hurting still. She's finding it slightly easier to go day by day at this point in time, but I can tell she's fighting back a lot of what she really feels. I see more wine in her hands than ever. She's struggling. But I can kind of understand since you're her dad. She was really happy you came back into our lives, Rick. It just sucks that you got taken out of it again. I wonder if she thinks you did it on purpose. To get away from us again. I'd like to think not, but you can be pretty selfish. All I know is she is still angry and upset, but more than that she misses you being here. Even if you were causing trouble, at least you were here.
Fights happen pretty frequently. We all argue over dumb stuff, but again, that happened before you. This time, however, it's redundant. It's like we can't be happy and we keep finding reasons not to be. It could be over the stupidest thing, like if I take a sip of a drink and it makes a sound at all. Which happened, by the way, that's why I used it as an example. Our dinners are either spent fighting or being mundane and ingenuine. Things like "how was work?" or "how was school?" Which leads the conversation to drone on and it feels unreal.
I guess this letter isn't supposed to make you feel better since now you know we aren't doing well. But maybe you need to know that. Maybe you need to know that your actions affect us. Your life affects us. You can be a total, complete asshole, but at least when you were here you made us experience things we never got to before. You helped us feel things we never felt before. You made our lives exciting and we never knew what to expect. You gave us adventure. You made a realize how much of an impact you had on us since you've been gone.
Okay, no more ego fuel for you. I've already give you more credit than you deserve.
That's all I really needed to say right now. You don't have to write back, but it'd sure be nice. Take care, grandpa Rick.
From,
Morty