fic: i've missed you so much (part 7/8)
Last part should hopefully be up later this week! Thanks so much for all your patience! And thank you to Joy for helping me with this part.
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Dear Aunt Kate,
It’s been four years since you’ve started this journal, four years since they diagnosed you with Alzeheimer’s. That day you went out and bought this book. It’s worn now. Some of the pages have begun to fall out. I suppose it’s because you read through them so much, trying to remember. It seemed futile to me at the time. As a doctor, I know what this disease does. I know the facts. But if there’s anything my life has taught me, it’s that some things can’t be supported by fact alone. Uncle Richard was example enough. It may sound crazy too, but I remember the island. At times I think I even feel its pull still. You used to talk about how stupid Uncle Jack was for believing that (even though I know you didn’t mean it), but I know what he meant now.
It’s been 15 years since Uncle Richard died. Five since Uncle James passed. I’m steadily becoming aware that I will be the only one left to tell this story. How did time go by so fast? I have two kids now, a girl and a boy. The girl, Lauren, just started college. Jack will be a junior in high school. I’m sure you wrote that down in here at some point, but I won’t check. This was never my book to read.
I remember sitting by you when you first started this. You were writing furiously and I asked you what could possibly be so important that you had to get it all down right at this moment. You told me you didn’t want to forget him. I think the thought terrified you.
Sometimes I wonder what you wrote, but I know it’s too private for even his own nephew to know. Anyways, I have my own stories. The ones you and Mom told me. Sometimes Uncle James when he’d had too many beers.
I still remember him reading to me. Alice in Wonderland was always my favorite and now it’s my kids’ favorite too.
You will never read this. At this moment, Mom is making phone calls to arrange your funeral. You died yesterday, quietly, as I held your hand. You remembered me. It was the first time in almost a year that you did.
It might seem silly that I’m doing this, writing this down, but this is your story, and it’s not yet complete. Uncle Desmond told me once that when we die, we meet our loved ones once again. That’s not an uncommon belief obviously, but he’d told me he’d seen it. He’d been to heaven. I’d seen and heard enough crazy things in my life to believe him.
I think you believed him too. Death didn’t scare you, even when you couldn’t remember who you were anymore. It was almost like subconsciously you knew where you were going, that your journey was almost over. You were almost home.
Last night near the end as you lay in your bed and I sat beside you, you were there, but you weren’t if that makes any sense. You looked right past me as if I wasn’t even there. Suddenly, you whispered “I’ve missed you so much”, but I know you didn’t mean me. I think you might have seen whatever Uncle Desmond saw. Maybe you were with Uncle Jack again. I told you to let go then, and you did.
I’m planning on burying this with you. It would seem wrong not to, like a part of you was missing. Your whole life is in here.
I hope you know wherever you are that I always thought of you as a mother. Never doubt that you didn’t mean the world to me. I miss you more than you can ever understand. Or maybe you can.
I’ll be seeing you.
Love, Aaron
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Dear Aunt Kate,
It’s been four years since you’ve started this journal, four years since they diagnosed you with Alzeheimer’s. That day you went out and bought this book. It’s worn now. Some of the pages have begun to fall out. I suppose it’s because you read through them so much, trying to remember. It seemed futile to me at the time. As a doctor, I know what this disease does. I know the facts. But if there’s anything my life has taught me, it’s that some things can’t be supported by fact alone. Uncle Richard was example enough. It may sound crazy too, but I remember the island. At times I think I even feel its pull still. You used to talk about how stupid Uncle Jack was for believing that (even though I know you didn’t mean it), but I know what he meant now.
It’s been 15 years since Uncle Richard died. Five since Uncle James passed. I’m steadily becoming aware that I will be the only one left to tell this story. How did time go by so fast? I have two kids now, a girl and a boy. The girl, Lauren, just started college. Jack will be a junior in high school. I’m sure you wrote that down in here at some point, but I won’t check. This was never my book to read.
I remember sitting by you when you first started this. You were writing furiously and I asked you what could possibly be so important that you had to get it all down right at this moment. You told me you didn’t want to forget him. I think the thought terrified you.
Sometimes I wonder what you wrote, but I know it’s too private for even his own nephew to know. Anyways, I have my own stories. The ones you and Mom told me. Sometimes Uncle James when he’d had too many beers.
I still remember him reading to me. Alice in Wonderland was always my favorite and now it’s my kids’ favorite too.
You will never read this. At this moment, Mom is making phone calls to arrange your funeral. You died yesterday, quietly, as I held your hand. You remembered me. It was the first time in almost a year that you did.
It might seem silly that I’m doing this, writing this down, but this is your story, and it’s not yet complete. Uncle Desmond told me once that when we die, we meet our loved ones once again. That’s not an uncommon belief obviously, but he’d told me he’d seen it. He’d been to heaven. I’d seen and heard enough crazy things in my life to believe him.
I think you believed him too. Death didn’t scare you, even when you couldn’t remember who you were anymore. It was almost like subconsciously you knew where you were going, that your journey was almost over. You were almost home.
Last night near the end as you lay in your bed and I sat beside you, you were there, but you weren’t if that makes any sense. You looked right past me as if I wasn’t even there. Suddenly, you whispered “I’ve missed you so much”, but I know you didn’t mean me. I think you might have seen whatever Uncle Desmond saw. Maybe you were with Uncle Jack again. I told you to let go then, and you did.
I’m planning on burying this with you. It would seem wrong not to, like a part of you was missing. Your whole life is in here.
I hope you know wherever you are that I always thought of you as a mother. Never doubt that you didn’t mean the world to me. I miss you more than you can ever understand. Or maybe you can.
I’ll be seeing you.
Love, Aaron