This is a series of letters Hazel Grace writes Augustus to help deal with his death. The first ones are sort of simple, but that's because Hazel is healing. As she heals, they get more complex. I would love it if you would review every once and a while! Enjoy!
Dear Augustus,
My parents thought support group wasn't enough. Apparently spending an hour in The Literal Heart of Jesus once a week isn't enough to cope with your death. So now I have a therapist, yet another thing my parents can't afford. Seeing my therapist and having to talk about you just makes me more depressed. And every day when I'm done with my therapy session all I want to do is talk to you. But I can't do that. So instead I'm writing you, a dead person in capitol S-Somewhere. Okay?
You know, your death was worse on Isaac than the whole Monica thing was. He doesn't even play Counterinsurgence any more. Too many memories of playing it with you, I suppose. Sometimes we visit your grave together, but it's always a bit depressing to realize that two cancer kids, one blind and one with crap lungs, are in a graveyard. The metaphorical opportunities are endless, but I prefer the realization that I'm visiting the place I'm on my way to, but I'm not there yet. You know, with or without Isaac, I go there every day. So do your parents, only they cry a lot more and a lot louder.
It's not that I don't cry, it's just that I don't do it at your grave. As cruel as it may sound, your grave doesn't really trigger much emotion for me. We never went there together, we never laughed there, we never kissed there, we never said okay there. It's places where we did those things together that make me cry. Which is a lot of places, just so you know. But I'm getting better. I really am.
I don't really know what else to tell you. It's been 29 days since you died, and I really haven't done anything. I've visited your grave 29 times. I've thought about you more times than I can count. I can't put a real number to how many times I've cried, because it's more of a continual stream than an off and on thing. My therapist says that I'm living in the wake of our infinity, which I'm okay with. The wake of a boat is like a memory of what was there only moments before, so if I can live in the memory of our infinity, I'm okay. Okay?
I love you. Thank you for our infinity. Okay,
Hazel Grace