After receiving a windfall of positive feedback, advice, and
support, I decided that today would be the day that I tracked down the current
address of my brother, and sent off that letter I’ve been waiting ten years to
write. So, after work, I came home to grab a notepad, a stamped envelope, and a
$200 check, and I went to Nina’s Coffee Café. Monday is normally the day I meet
up with my friend in recovery, Madi, and coach her in her writing, which I did
do, but I felt as if my mind was in another place. I got my coffee, chatted
with a couple friends I saw there for a brief moment, and Madi found me and we
got a table and proceeded to get to work. She’s to the point where she can do
most of her writing on her own, and I essentially proofread it and give
editorial suggestion before publication, so I had plenty of time to sit and
write out the letter.
The letter itself was concise, and candid. I didn’t give
detail of my ten-year interruption from life, I merely told him why I did what I did, and why I left not
just him, but everybody in the dust. I asked him for an opportunity to make
things right; to make things whole again. I stated that I would understand if
he had no desire to speak with me, but hoped this would open the lines of
communication again. And I mentioned that, regardless of the outcome, the $200
check that I enclosed should settle the monetary debt on the loan that I took
out a decade ago. I was in the zone.
I looked up from the paper. My mouth was dry and my hands
were sweaty; I could feel bile swirling in my stomach. I was afraid that I wasn’t
doing it the right way. Already I was petrified of rejection. I pictured the
letter being returned next week, me coming home to see the letter with a giant
rubber stamped, Return to Sender. I mean that really mean one with the
hand pointing to the return address.
I tore out
the first page and set it aside and took a break to read what Madi had written,
and breathe. Just breathe, Vince. I
was possibly over critical of her sentence structure, so I put my head back down
and put the pen back to paper. I trudged on with a heartfelt apology for not
returning his phone calls, nor pleas from his wife to reach out to him, “…no
matter what.” Making amends isn’t supposed to make you feel shitty, but it is
sometimes tough to recall very specific conversations or events, and this was
one of those times. My throat swelled, and my body started to tense. I needed
to end the letter.
I concluded
with my contact information, and a Sincerely, Vince. I folded the letter
thrice, and tucked the check in the middle before securing the envelope. I
finished up helping my friend, and she published that, and we said our goodbyes.
I knew that the best thing to do was head straight for the Post Office, so that’s
what I did. As this picture clearly shows, I have now done all I possibly can
to make amends with my brother, and when the letter dropped, I felt as if I had
released a 50 pound weight. And when that weight left my shoulders, I felt
something else: love. I don’t even know why I typed that, but it’s the only
word that fits the feeling I felt. It was as if something powerful went through
my body, and after all of the years of pent up anger, fear, frustration, and
pain with regards to Thomas, I let it go, and all that was left was love. I
went to the gym to lift with my cousin, but all I wanted to do was get home to
write this, and I hope it all makes sense to you, because a lot more makes
sense to me after tonight. And that’s all I’ve got.
I promise you that this is my actual hand. The horrible picture was taken by the camera on my phone. Sadly, I do not own a camera that can take good pictures.
