My Darling Lucille
Thank heavens Brains designed this thought processor. With it I am able to sit in our lounge with my family and friends about me, and write this letter, and they'll never know who it's to, or what I'm saying. No more two-finger typing. No more dictation. As quick as I think of what I want to say it's recorded for posterity in the computer.
If our sons knew I was writing this letter, they'd laugh their heads off. Either that or find their poor old Dad a nice, safe padded cell somewhere to live out the rest of his miserable life. They don't know how many times I've written to you over the years. I don't know myself. I've never counted.
They don't know how these letters to you have given me strength at times when I've felt that I've no one else to turn to. We're a close family, but being the 'Patriarch' I feel I've got be firm, strong, and tough. I've got to be the rock of this family. No matter if it's an illusion. No matter how close I am to falling to pieces.
When I'm dead and gone, they'll look in the computer's memory bank and find a file marked 'Lucille'. They'll be curious and find these letters.
Maybe then they'll realise what you mean to me. How close you and I were. How you made me feel whole. The phrase 'My other half' summed you up perfectly. Until I met you I hadn't realised how incomplete my life was. You were, and still are, my better half.
You are the sexiest, most desirable woman this side of the Moon. And I've been there, Lucille. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about.
I remember how I'd be sitting in our lounge trying to memorise all sorts of things that I needed to know for the moon landing, and you'd come in and sit on my lap, nibble at my ear and then the moon would be the last thing on my mind. All I'd want to do is get you and…
Whoa, Tracy! If you continue along that line of thought you'll be in trouble. I'm sure my face is already burning. I can see Scott looking at me curiously as it is.
Thinking about it, Scott may remember how much I loved you. The number of times he walked into our room at inopportune times… that was until we started locking the door. I wonder who'd be the most embarrassed if I reminded him of those occasions, him or me? Don't worry; I'm not about to find out.
If I continue thinking along those lines, I'll be a wreck, there's no two ways about it, so I'd better get back to safer ground.
You remember that it was a couple of months after your death that I started writing these letters. I was alone, with five young sons, no job, no prospects, no wife… I had nothing. I was afraid that the authorities would decide that I was incapable of looking after our sons alone and would take them away from me. I was a lost man, Lucille.
Then I wrote that first letter. I was able to pour everything into it. How I loved you. How I missed you. How I wished you were with me. And even how I hated you for leaving me despite the fact that it wasn't your fault.
When I'd finished that letter, somehow I felt better, I felt stronger. I felt that, finally, I was going to be able to cope. My whole outlook changed, I became more positive and because of that life became more positive. I got a job… a career. I – we – had a future.
I'd use these letters to express my concerns and fears for the boys. I always tried to support them and encourage them. I wanted them to know that I would always be there for them. And I would tell you how I was frightened for them. How I was scared that one of them was making the wrong decision. They never did, and I'm glad that I was able to tell you, rather than inhibiting them and maybe turning them against me.
I hope you are proud of them, because I am. Each and every one.
Remember how I wrote to you and told of my plans for International Rescue? Even before I'd mentioned them to a single living soul, I'd told you. It was only fair, because it was your death that inspired me.
Even now, when they are out on a rescue and I am thousands of miles away from them, and painfully aware that they are in danger, these letters help me get through the long lonely hours, waiting for news… Waiting to hear that they will all be coming home safe and sound.
And if one of them wasn't, if one of them was injured, these letters allowed me to express my fears and doubts, while remaining strong for the others.
You were the only person I was ever able to talk like this to. These letters give me that link to you.
I can't confide my worries to Ma. I can't increase her burden. She worries herself and she's an old woman. I know she's an old woman, because often over the last week or so I've felt that I'm an old man. I've felt so helpless.
I know we all have.
I could talk to Kyrano. But his viewpoint on the world is so different to mine. Complementary, but different. He's a good, loyal friend. But I could never say to him what I say to you.
Brains and Tin-Tin are too young to understand.
You know why I'm writing this letter, don't you?
Virgil.
It's as if he's died and his ghost is haunting us. We can see him, we reach out to him, but we can't quite touch him…
That evening when I stepped into Thunderbird Two alone, was one of the few times in the years since you died, when I was glad that you weren't at my side. I walked into the sickbay and there he was. Our son. And he didn't recognise me. I had to tell him who I was. It was hard, Lucille, so hard. He looked helpless… lost and frightened... Terrified. He was so terrified that he was visibly shaking. If you'd seen him you would have reached out and hugged him.
And he would have pulled away from you.
That would have hurt you, and I couldn't have stood that.
I don't remember Virgil ever being frightened. I think the boy was born fearless. I can't remember him having nightmares as a child. He would toddle along after his big brother Scott, faithfully following him into situations far beyond anything anyone his age should go. Knowing that his big brother would look after him, and in later years, that he would be there to look after his big brother.
I can see Scott now. He's trying not to let it show, but I can see that Virgil's amnesia is causing him a lot of emotional pain. He's lost his sidekick, his confidant…
His friend.
He's trying to deal with this situation in his own way. I don't agree with the course he's chosen, but have you ever tried to change Scott's mind, Lucille? I've been hoping that he'll realise that he's made an error of judgement. So far he's convinced that he's doing the right thing.
He's trying not to be jealous of Gordon, but every now and then there's a look in his eye…
'Why Gordon? Why not me?'
He pretends that he's okay with the situation. That he'll willingly give Virgil the space he needs, so that Virgil won't suffer any more than he is now. He's hoping that soon the Virgil he knew will return to him.
We're all hoping that.
Gordon is bemused. He can't understand why Virgil's relying on him so much. Despite this he's trying to be the support that Virgil needs, even though it's taking it out of him. He hasn't had a good night's sleep since they came home from that mudslide. Every night Virgil's woken in terror and every night Gordon's been the only one able to console him.
These last few nights he's slept in Virgil's room. We've all hoped that they'd both get a good night's sleep.
It hasn't worked.
Gordon's exhausted and it's starting to impact on his health and judgement.
If, by some chance you are able to choose to visit us in our dreams, I have a request. I would willingly forgo ever dreaming of you again, if you would visit Virgil tonight and bring him a restful sleep. Let his dreams tonight be ones of peace, not of terror. Please, Lucille, if you can do this… For both Virgil's and Gordon's sakes…
I'm sorry. I had no right to ask you that.
Was I right in insisting that John return to Thunderbird Five? Should he have been left up there alone this past month? Maybe he's the lucky one. Up there in space he's remote from the pain the rest of us are feeling. We give him progress reports. Maybe it doesn't seem totally real to him.
I had hoped that by the time he's finished his tour of duty and has been replaced by Alan, things would be back to normal. I had hoped that at least one of our boys wouldn't have to experience the pain that we are living with daily.
He comes home tomorrow and nothing is normal.
We're all walking around pretending that everything's okay. We're all pretending that we're getting used to the situation that we find ourselves in.
We're all lying to each other and to ourselves.
Initially Alan wanted to run away to Thunderbird Five. He struggled with this as much as any of us, maybe in some respects more so. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but we all know that he thinks he's losing Tin-Tin to Virgil. Now he's fighting with me to let him remain at home. He doesn't want to return to Thunderbird Five tomorrow.
Of my – sorry -, OUR five sons, Alan is the least able to hide his emotions. I see anger and fear in his face whenever Tin-Tin is helping Virgil with his reading. I see the shock in his face each time he realises that here's something else that Virgil has forgotten. We all feel that shock, but we try to hide it. With Alan, it's there for the world, and Virgil, to see.
And Virgil hates it.
He feels guilty even though Alan's pain isn't his fault.
'No, but I'm the cause,' he'd say.
Tin-Tin's been fantastic. It's as if Virgil's condition has brought out the mothering instinct in her. She's always willing to help him. She spends hours with him, patiently teaching him how to read again. She's even used those books I bought… The ones called 'The International Rescue Tales.' The boys hate them. Scott thinks the picture of Thunderbird One looks like a pencil with wings. They refuse to touch them.
But at least with Tin-Tin my money hasn't been wasted.
I know. You're sitting there thinking, 'you're a multi-billionaire, Jeff Tracy. It won't hurt you to waste money on a few children's books for your son.' But that's how I made my money, Lucille, by being careful with it. It's one of those things I've had to learn since your death… and it's a hard habit to break.
If there's one thing that has saddened me above everything in this whole sorry affair, it's the way our boys haven't been willing to help Virgil with his reading. I can forgive Gordon; he's doing plenty and he needs a break. John's offered, but there's little he can do while he's on Thunderbird Five. He says he's got plenty of time for a little 'one on one tutoring', but the commuting distance is too great. And I think Virgil needs to be in familiar surroundings… at least surroundings that should be familiar.
But both Scott and Alan have been unwilling to help… for differing reasons…
I suppose I can't talk. This last week or so I've been nearly as bad. You see I know something, something that's changed the way I am able to look at my… our son.
There's a folder locked away in the desk in my study. A folder that may hold the answer to our prayers…
Or the start of another nightmare.
It claims to have a cure for Virgil's amnesia, but I can't bring myself to think about it, let alone suggest we use it. As I try to tutor Virgil, and I look at him and think 'am I doing the right thing? Should I tell him?', I feel guilty. I want to help him, but I can't… Not that way…
Am I wrong Lucille?
Am I wrong to ignore this solution?
Am I wrong not to tell anyone about it?
Am I wrong to keep International Rescue going?
I could have shut it down, but I didn't. Our world may appear to be falling apart, but we still have Virgil with us. If International Rescue were not available to help, perhaps some other family would not be as lucky as we are.
And Virgil would never forgive me if I'd allowed someone to die because of him.
I don't know how he's managed to cope. He gives the illusion that he's coming to terms with it all, but there are still signs that he's not comfortable. I don't know if anyone else has noticed, but I've come to realise that nothing is 'his'. He retires to THE bedroom. He's going to get A jacket. It's as if he feels that nothing in this house belongs to him.
He refers to Thunderbird Two as it and not she. She's just another plane to him.
He calls his grandmother 'Ma'am', and I am 'Sir'. What I would give to hear my son call me 'Father' once again and mean it. It's as if… as if… Sorry, Lucille. It's as if he still doesn't quite believe that we are his family.
Ma's trying her best. She's cooking all his favourite foods. She's even going back through her old diaries to see what we ate on special days. Like tonight we're having the same meal we had before his graduation. She's hoping that the tastes and smells will reignite the related memories. All that happens is he politely smiles and says 'That was delicious'. Nothing more.
He's still the kind, caring and polite person that he always was. I don't know if that's because what we taught him is so ingrained in him that even amnesia can't suppress it. Or is it because that's his natural personality?
But there's one thing that has changed in him. One part of his personality that's changed…
He's frightened, Lucille. He can't understand what's happened to him. Why it's happened to him. I think he lives in constant fear.
I see his fear and feel even more guilty.
And I avoid him.
I'm running away, Lucille. I'm running away from our son at a time when he needs me more than he ever has. Maybe even more than when you died.
There's the odd glimpse of the old Virgil we knew. Mannerisms are still there. I heard him laugh today and it's his laugh. He's still drawn to music. He's re-discovering his drawing and painting abilities.
But it's as if everything that meant anything to him has been wiped from his mind and is having to be re-learnt.
If I were detached from it all it would be interesting to stand back and observe. But I'm not. Like it or not, I'm involved.
I miss my son…
"Dad?"
"Sorry, Alan. I didn't see you there."
"Grandma said to remind you that dinner's ready."
"Thanks. I'll be along in a minute."
"Sorry to interrupt your letter. From the frown on your face it looks like it's an important one."
"It is, Alan. I'll finish it first. Tell everyone to start without me. I'll be there shortly."
"Okay. I'll tell Grandma."
Sorry, Lucille. I was interrupted there. Life goes on. Every day is a new day. Every day I wake up hoping that Virgil is back with us.
Every day is a disappointment.
I must go. I've got to go and pretend that this is just another ordinary dinner in just another ordinary day.
Even though I know, and they know, it's not.
I've got to pretend that I'm strong.
Even though I want to run and hide from this nightmare.
I miss you, my darling. I don't know how many times I told you that I loved you when you were alive, but however many times it was it wasn't enough.
I shall love you until the day that we are together again… and beyond.
My heart is yours forever.
Love
Jeff