Dear Ian,
If you're reading this, that really sucks for me, because it means I'm dead. I don't want to say it sucks for you, because I don't know if my death affects you at all, but I'm going to say it does, because I'm awesome. Was. Was awesome. No, am. Just because I'm dead, doesn't mean I'm any less awesome.
I wrote this letter originally when we found out I had cancer. Not because it was certain that I was going to die, but because there was so much I had to tell you, and there the chance I might never get to. Turns out I was being pretty smart writing this, eh? (Oh yeah, I went there. I'm a proud dead Canadian.)
I want to apologize in case I left you with any pain or sadness or anything. But, as my final request, I have to ask that you put aside those feelings, and just keep on living. Just because I'm dead, doesn't mean you have to be. Just don't forget about me. NEVER forget about me.
Because I'm awesome, remember?
When I was told I had cancer, I honestly thought I was going to outlive it. I had faith in the chemotherapy (even though it stole most of my hair and made me adopt a hat), and my stubborn-ness. But, if you're reading this, I was dead-wrong wasn't I? So, before I completely disappear, why not put this letter to good use? I'm sorry I wasn't alive to tell you in person, but Cancer's A Bitch.
The first thing I have to tell you, is: do you remember that time that we were hanging out at Stanley Park, and you walked into a total of like seven poles? I didn't laugh, but that was HILARIOUS.
Next, I lied. You can't play the glokenshpiel. (If that's even what it's called... Either way, you can't play it.)
Number three, I'm sorry, but neon orange is not your colour.
Number Four...I broke your iPod. Not Josh. I'm very sorry.
Now, lastly and most importantly:
I am (even in the afterlife) totally, insanely, stupidly, awesomely (because that's the only way I do things- awesomely) in love with you.
I'm sorry I never got the chance to tell you, and I'm sorry I never got to see your reaction. I'm sorry you had to find out through a letter, and I'm sorry I didn't live to hear your response. But you had to find out somehow, because this was one secret I couldn't take to the grave.
I'm sorry I had to leave, but I'm sure I miss you like crazy.
Say hi (or good-bye) to the guys for me, and I will see you in a couple of years. (My final request was that you live. If I see you too soon, I will hit you in the face.)
Love Always,
Mae :)
XoXo