June 22nd, 2019

Dear Annalise,

I have been staring down at this piece of paper for the past nine and a half hours, trying to get these words absolutely perfect. However, I've come to the realization that this is easier said than done. I don't know how to tell you exactly how I feel right now, because the truth is, I never expected to write something like this to you. If you're reading this, it's because I've gone to a much better place than New York City. When I was your age, I didn't think anything like that was possible — nowhere out there could compare to the place that I had dreamed of loving so much. To be leaving it now, like this, is something that I never would have imagined. But, I guess when you're sick, your days are numbered and things about where you live and dreams that you once had as a teenager don't matter much anymore.

Some people say that there is a secret to life, and they search forever to find out what that answer is. Being handed your death sentence on a silver platter is when you begin to realize these things. I've realized lately that I haven't always been fair to you as a mother — I wasn't there when you needed me the most. You and I have become so distant as of late and I don't know how or when we will ever get the relationship back that we once had. When your father and I found out that we were having a girl, I was so overjoyed because I knew that I could dress you up in cute little outfits, put bows in your curly mess of brunette hair, and teach you every song in my repertoire. Somewhere between then and now, however, we seemed to have lost touch. We can blame it on whatever we want but at the end of the day, I am always going to love you no matter what because you'll always be my little girl. You have been my rock for the past 18 years and I can't even begin to explain how much I am truly grateful to you for it. If you take away everything that I have accomplished in my lifetime, the greatest accomplishment has been being your mother.

Goodbyes have never come easy to me. Should they? Is saying goodbye something that we absolutely have to do in life? I have tried to say goodbye these past few months, as I spent time with you, your father, and the people that have been a family to me since I was younger than you are now. Even though my days on Earth are numbered, those will always be some of the best memories, despite the long battle I have endured. After all of this time, I am beginning to realize that goodbyes don't come easy... but albeit, they should. I will miss you forever, Annalise Caroline, just like the stars miss the sun in the morning skies.

Love always,

Mom

There is such a wave of emotion that comes over me every time I read the pages that now rest beside me on my unmade bed. The first of course, is sadness. I can't help but recall the many times I have cried as my eyes dance across each syllable, still hearing my mom's voice in my head as if she was narrating the entire letter verbatim. It has been a month and a half to the day that my mom was taken from us on Earth and carried up into Heaven after losing her battle with cancer. Anger is the other emotion that overcomes me. It takes all of the strength that I have in my 5"3, 142 pound frame not to rip up the letter and punch a hole through the wall of the guest bedroom at my parent's house. I am angry for a lot of reasons and angry at a lot of different things — but the main one is God. I am angry at God for taking my mother away from me. It's selfish, I know, when there are many other people besides me that are missing her, too. Six weeks is not a long time to live without someone, but it is for a girl to not talk to her mother when our last days together were filled with such heartfelt and random conversations. The next is depression, which I guess goes hand-in-hand with sadness. The sadness and depression still linger over me like a cloud. It's been four days since I took a real shower — with actual soap and water, not just dry shampoo and deodorant and whatever Bath and Body Works spray I had left here before my move into the city. It's been five days since I've eaten something other than pistachios on break at work or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich made into the early hours of the morning. For 18 years old, you would think I would be tougher than this shit. And for the most part, I am. I'm a woman — a strong, powerful, independent woman who was finally beginning to come into her own and then this shit knocks me down. I'm not bitter about being knocked down. I'm bitter because the person that I normally turn to to pick me back up is no longer here. Turning to my father to talk about these things was just not an option. I don't think it would be for the foreseeable future.

Tuesdays absolutely suck.

Tuesdays suck compared to Monday's. I think I'm the only person on the planet who feels that way. Mondays are terrible, sure, but Tuesday's are the shittiest days of the week. I'm proud of myself, however, for at least knowing what day of the week it is. I was off of work yesterday — some new admissions bullshit or something that I really didn't care to know about — so today was my first day back at work after not moving from my bed since I had arrived home Friday evening. The humidity in the air trickling in through my window is really the only indication that I even have that it is late summer, and that fall wouldn't be here to grace us with it's presence and cooling breezes anytime soon. I reach for a stray tissue on my nightstand and begin to aggressively rid my face of the tears, leaving everything exposed sore and crimson red. My eyes are puffy and the bags under them are large. I didn't care yesterday, but I should care today. Because it was Tuesday, and I had an hour and a half to haul ass and be at work.

I wish today would have been another day off.

I wish today would just be cancelled — not only because it's Tuesday, but because I just can't do it today. I know that I can't call off of work because everything is on the line right now and this job is how I pay the bills in my unoccupied apartment in New York City. I'd been staying at my parent's place in Westfield, New Jersey, and driving into work every single morning. It seems like a dream, having a great job downtown, but it's an absolute nightmare. Traffic is horrendous. Sometimes, I have to park in my apartment complex's parking garage and then hail a cab or take the subway into work. I should have probably left an hour ago, but alas, here I am, contemplating whether or not I have enough dry shampoo leftover and a clean pair of leggings to wear today.

My work is different than a typical 9 to 5 job. I go in sometimes at 7am and don't get out until 10pm. There are other days where work begins at 11am and we are finished by 4 in the afternoon.

Today was not one of those days.

As I begin to slowly stand up and stretch out my limbs — my only goal at this point was making it to the pile of clothes in the corner that were half dirty, half washed — I hear a faint knock at my bedroom door. I kindly ask the person on the other side to please go away, but they do not give up that easily.

"Annalise," I hear my father say, as he opens the door. His tone is soft and it matches the very slight breeze overlapping the humidity coming in through the guest bedroom window.

"Why would you bother knocking if you're just going to barge in anyway?"

He clears his throat and reaches his hand up to hold the top of the mahogany door. His 6"4 figure towers over the entire wooden frame. His once kempt brunette hair resembles something similar to a bird's nest, and he is wearing the same tattered ivory NYADA t-shirt that he fell asleep in three days ago.

"Annalise," he says once more, his tone growing louder. "I just got off of the phone with your uncle."

I roll my eyes and continue to sift through the pile of clothing. "What did he want?"

"He wants to know what time our plane lands Friday evening."

"Do we really have to discuss this right now, dad? I'm a little tied up at the moment."

"You're always tied up," he tells me.

"I'm the only one working at the moment," I say harshly under my breath. Even though the money I was making wasn't going towards my father and his minimal living expenses, I still had to keep things afloat at my place. "Well, I changed my mind," I tell him, standing up victoriously after finding a clean pair of black leggings and a white, cold-shoulder body suit.

He sighs deeply and rubs his temples together. I can tell by the look in his eyes that his blood is beginning to boil — but after taking another look at me, his facial expression falls. "What do you mean you're not going?" He asks the question in the nicest way possible and I know I'm being a brat at the moment, but according to the smart watch on my wrist I should have been halfway to the city by now. Packing a bag for three days sounded like a tedious task that I should have allotted more time for with my hectic work schedule these next few days, but to be honest, I completely forgot about the trip that we were supposed to take until right now.

"I'm not going," I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. "I am an adult, and just because I'm staying here, doesn't mean you get to force me to do anything."

"Yeah, Anna, I understand," he says, his patience growing shorter with each word he says. "You don't have to do anything that you don't want to do and I'm sorry for bothering you before work. I just don't know when I'm going to see you next."

"Oh, why?" I ask him, as I instruct him to turn around so that I can begin to ready myself for the day. "Because you'll be a bottle and a half of Southern Comfort deep by the time I come home from work?"

"That's not fair," he tells me.

"I'm not having this discussion with you right now," I say, as I clear my throat, giving him the all clear to face me once more. I sigh, looking at him again. I hated having adult conversations with my father while he was drunk. Judging by his blood-shot eyes and shaking limbs, I could tell he has already had several drinks this morning. I wonder to myself if he has even slept yet, and if he is still drunk from last night.

"I've been over this with you before."

"No you haven't," I chuckle, as I grab my black stilettos from the corner of the unkempt guest bedroom.

"You know how important this trip is."

"And you know how important my job is."

"Annalise," he tells me. "This is not how this works. You were her daughter..."

"Am," I tell him, as I finish tightening the buckle on my matte black stiletto. "I am her daughter."

"Right. You are her daughter, and it's important that you go."

"But it's going to be so annoying," I tell him, rolling my eyes. "I have to get the time off of work, which may be impossible for me to do right now. I mean sure they know my mom passed but they also think that I should have probably made this arrangement when I took my bereavement time. Plus, everyone from your glory days are going to be there, telling stories and dedicating these sad songs to her... it is all too much for me to handle right now."

"What those people are doing for us... Annalise... it's an amazing thing..."

I shake my head as I sling my crossbody purse over my frame. About a week ago — maybe, I don't remember. Time is something that has escaped me as of late. A while ago, my father and I received a call from Edmond James, the director of marketing at Playhouse Square in Cleveland, Ohio: my parent's home state. He spoke in length about my mother and the impact that she made on the theatre community in the city. Mr. James had mentioned wanting to organize a celebration of life for her. We denied it at first, however, once my uncles caught wind they decided it would be such a wonderful idea. It was easy for them to say. They worked for Playhouse Square and didn't have to worry about taking off of work for something like this. Mr. James had mentioned that we would get to invite as many people as we like — in fact, his exact words were, "fill the whole damn State Theatre for all I care." The stage would be ours for a few hours and we could do whatever we wanted to with the space. Afterwards, the marquee lights across the theatre district would dim, which is one of the highest honors a Broadway actress can receive posthumous. "I don't know if it's possible, dad." By this time, I'm halfway out of the door and running late to work already. I pray that my father will just let this go for the time until we see each other next, whenever that may be.

"I'm not going to stand here and argue with you. If you're not going, then I'm not going."

"Great," I tell him, as I open up the back door that leads into the garage. "Then it's settled. I'll see you when I see you, dad."

"I love you," he almost whispers, as I open the driver's side of my sedan and begin to pull out of the driveway, tears welling up eyes. I was no doubt going to be late after that.

Fuck you, Tuesdays.