Thank you so much for the reviews! I don't have a twitter account, so I didn't know it was being talked about on Twitter. That's exciting! Remember reviews=updates.
April 29, 1993
Dear Ezra,
It's hard to believe that thirty years have passed since you're birth. I bet you're like your father, six feet tall and a charmer. I wonder what you'll be doing today, who you'll be talking to and how you'll be celebrating. If your Grandma is still around, I'm sure she'll be making you a cake in that little kitchen. I have such good memories of that house in Pennsylvania. Dad writing in his journal, Mom quilting in the chair next to him. I always hoped that would be your Dad and me, sitting next to each other and growing old. I guess that wasn't meant to be.
I hope, though, that you have found someone to grow old with, that there is someone sitting in the chair next to you. I wish I could have met her. I'm sure she is an extraordinary woman. She would have to be, to have fallen in love with you. I may not know her, but I know you, and you do not deserve to have your heart trampled upon. So if you chose correctly, which I hope you did, then know that you have my wholehearted blessing.
However, if you're not married yet or if you haven't found that person, then I advise you to choose wisely and choose well. Don't worry about immaterial things like age or money or even what happened in the past. It's what happens now that's important. When you find her, don't let her go, not for all the rubies in Myanmar.
You know by now how your dad and I met. It's not a pretty story, a romantic one maybe, but not one that was easy. But know this: If I had to do it all over again, I would have chosen the same. I will love your father until the day I die and all the days I'll wait for him in heaven. Because I will be waiting, right by those pearly gates as your Grandpa says.
You're seven years old right now as I write this and too young to understand what is happening to me, unable to comprehend that a faceless disease could claim me. But today, as you read this, you'll be thirty, and I still don't know how to explain this to you. All I can tell you is that this disease came and no one was at fault. Don't blame your Dad. He's more sensitive than you realize, and much more in love than you'll ever know. No one can control fate—not even the parents you once thought invincible.
This is the last letter I'll ever write to you, the last letter you'll read unless you haven't read the one meant for your wedding day yet. I would have been fifty-four this year. That seems so old to me, too far away to be feasible, yet I wish I could have turned fifty-four, fifty-six, fifty-seven for your sake and for your Dad's. Watch over him, Ezra and love him. He's fragile, and I don't know how he'll handle life after I'm gone, if he'll even handle it all.
I have no more advice to give you, no more words of wisdom to write. I can only tell you how much I love, and how much I hope that you are happy in the life you have chosen for yourself. Writing makes me tired, and I'm sure you've noticed by my writing that I've had to stop and start several times. I cannot say it enough: I love you, my son, more than you will ever know. Happy thirtieth birthday!
Love,
Mom
July 21, 2015
Dear Mom,
I'm old enough, now, to understand why you couldn't be here, why you missed all those birthday parties for all those years. It doesn't make it hurt any less, but it makes it bearable. I know that you won't be reading this, unless you're looking up from heaven. I really hope you are. I did meet a wonderful woman, Mom. Her name is Aria; I think you would have loved her.
I spent today with her family. The Montgomerys lived next door to your mom and dad. Ella would have been younger than you, but maybe you knew her as a girl. She grew up in Rosewood, too. Maybe you didn't. She's a wonderful person. Every year since I turned twenty-three she makes me chocolate chip pancakes for my birthday and elaborate dinner later in the day. She's Aria's mom, and they both have the same heart.
The Montgomerys are the only I have left—Ella, Aria, Byron, and Mike. Grandma and Grandpa passed eight years ago. Dad died six years ago, after Uncle Wesley left him the family fortune. That's something I never saw coming. Dad never bothered to tell me. He had a broken heart after you died, a heart that was never really repaired. '
I'm not married yet. But the time is coming soon. I want Aria to graduate from college. I forgot to mention she's nine years younger than I am. Sometimes we struggle over the difference. And sometimes it doesn't matter. The older we grow, the less it will matter, and I am more than prepared to sit next to her and grow old together.
I published my first book. It's called When Angels Fall about Grandma and Grandpa, Dad, you, Aria. It's about the sadness of life in the midst of its inexplicable joys. I've grown so much in the last eight years, and I've learned a lot. Who knew I would actually enjoy teaching? Maybe you saw it coming.
I can't write enough how much I love you even from the grave, from the intermittent distance that death brings. I still remember how you looked happy and healthy with a big smile covering your face. That's how I remember you.
Love,
Ezra