Hope?

My Dearest Love,

Your sisters called me yesterday. Separately. It was nice.

The first was your youngest sister, the one that seemed to be the hardest case. She espressed concern and willingness to help in any way she could. Later that night, I had a similar conversation with your other sister.

To hear from them was nice. I am hesitant to embrace it without reservation though. All that has transpired has left me feeling wounded and suspicious. Still, it was something that they did not have to do, and yet they reached out. A good sign.

I had lunch with one of your best, and wisest friends last Monday. I had some weighty matters on my mind and I sought her counsel. As hoped, what she said was thoughful and beneficial. She cautioned me regarding my intentions having to do with my will, and other matters of a legal nature. After hearing what was on my mind and what I was considering, she told me that she was going to give me a little "push back" on some of it and said that she thought there might be a bit of "spite" involved in what I was thinking.

After thinking about that for a bit, I had to admit that she was probably right. I have been very hurt by the recent events and it has had an impact on my plans for my estate. She asked me if what I was doing was focusing on what was best for our children, or whether my personal feelings had taken the lead. She advised me to take some time and consider these things. She also asked me to think of what the worst case scenario might me and how that would affect our children. I promised her that I would.

It is for counsel like this that I turn repeatedly to some of your closest friends and advisers. Though you are no longer able to converse with me as we once did, your compatriots are, on occasion willing to give me their thoughts, for which I am very grateful.

Yours for ever,

D.

Stormy Weather

My Dearest Love,

I have set a table up in the corner of our bedroom where the two windows are. It's the old table that we moved from your work that we set the printer on downstairs. It was the right height for my needs - something to put the laptop on while allowing the wooden shutter blinds that cover the windows to still open. I sit at the table on one of those old, rickety wooden folding chairs that is so uncomfortable, that there is no danger of becoming an internet addict. It just hurts too much.

I look out one window on the small wetland behind the house - the place of the frog chorus. On my right is the other window that overlooks what passes for a side yard and the road. From here, I can see the mail truck as it makes its stops at our neighbor's boxes.

Today, we are enjoying the first real snow storm of the winter. Perhaps it will be our last as well. Who knows? But right now, it is grand. The predictions vary, but we may see as much as a foot before it is all done.

It is quiet in the house right now. Your daughter has been sleeping much of the day after celebrating her seventeenth birthday with a sleepover last night. It was quite a crowd, and as usual, they decided to make a big pot of mashed potatoes about 11:30 last night. As I made my last trip out to the kitchen, they were also attempting to make ice cream out of skim milk. I asked if they had a recipe and they said "no, we are just making it up as we go." They were happy as clams and I guess they got something they were pleased with. I went to bed.

Tonight, your son and I are off to his school for the class musical. He is working backstage on it and is very proud of the fact that he "has people" that he is in charge of organizing. It will be a crazy night, what with the snow and the fact that they booked a basketball tournament into the school at the same time. As you know, the parking lot is not large enough to handle one of these events much less two stacked atop one another. We will go early and I will bring a book.

I hope you have a double bed wherever you are. I expect to be joining you on the tour before long. Like salmon, we achieved our purpose with the creation of the next generation and now it is time for us to go off and do something else. Remember when we talked about joining the Peace Corps after we retired? Maybe it's like that, only a little less corporal.

Enough about that. There will be more to say, no doubt, but not now.

With love,

D.

The Cheek

My Dearest Love,

They descend.

As we were wrapping up the closet cleaning last weekend, your youngest sister, P told me that she wanted the cedar chest that has been at the foot of our beds these last twenty years. She said that she had talked it over with your mother and they agreed that she should have it.

Am I missing something here? I remember telling her that I would talk to her later about it. What was I to say? Fuck off, bitch? She is now officially unhinged. You need to visit her in her dreams and urge professional help.

Really, I'm fine.

P.

My Valentine

Will you be mine?

A Cold, Cold Winter

My Dearest Love,

It continues to be cold in these parts. The thermometer is apparently stuck in negative numbers. It has been this way since the beginning of the month. The emotional landscape has been in the freezing zone for a lot longer than that. Your sister's hearts are frozen in time, as if they were caught exposed by a sudden storm of unimaginable fury that froze them in place and covered them. If they do not break free soon, glaciation will set in.

I tried to thaw them with a fire of words. I wrote to each of them with a plea for healing, forgiveness, and a recognition of a greater need - that of family. One, B, melted just a bit. She called the therapist I am seeing and discussed her reservations and fears. She followed that conversation up with an email to me expressing hesitancy and declaring that she is afraid of me.

Your other sister, P, the one with whom I had the original argumentative phone call last October (can it be so long ago, how does this go on?) also sent me an email, but it was much less hopeful. She has decided that I have done something unforgivable apparently. She says that she is not sure if she wants to risk a part of her on someone with my character. Perhaps she sees me as one more male, the last in a long line predecessors, to have failed her. That would fit with her history.

They have both expressed an interest in coming over next weekend when your best friend and SIL, PM, will drive down from Duluth and we will begin to go through your clothes, making decisions on who gets what. I am pretty nervous about what that will be like. B said she would like to come, but can only do that if she figures out a way to "move forward" with our dysfunctional relationship. P, on the other hand, said that she would definitely be there and then sends me a very stony email telling me that she thinks I am a worm that she can't be bothered with. The therapist advises me to create a "nurturing" atmosphere. I would like a suit of armor myself.

This would be amusing if it were turned into a screenplay illustrating the banality of family dysfunction. Unfortunately, when one is caught up in the nightmare, it seems less funny.

I wish I had better things to write to you about.

P.

It's Cold

My Dearest Love,

You need to start haunting now. Your sisters won't move off the dime.

P.