Letter No. 8
J,
I was in the dentist’s office today for my routine cleaning. My hygienist admired my teeth with glee. She was in a buoyant mood. Maybe because it is Friday and I am her last patient. Maybe she truly loves teeth. Supporting fact – whenever I have questions about teeth, her voice would jump up an octave and she’d start talking fast.
I told her my favorite part of cleaning is when she brushes my teeth. My 2nd favorite part is when she blows air in between my teeth. That feels fun. My least favorite part is when the dentist tells me the 80th time that I need to wear my night guard. I don’t like wearing it. I have yours somewhere.
Speaking of your stuff, I want to put them in my future projects. Do you mind? I assume you don’t since you did leave everything to my custody. I now have all your precious cameras, photos, record collections, your climbing gears, your bike, your books… so much stuff. I am not fitted to care for your bike. I am thinking about giving it to Andrew. You guys are about the same height. And he’d be happy to have something that you loved.
Anyways, what becomes of us after we die? A collection of what we hold dear? I had you. Now, what? A collection of our work, so called contribution and legacy? Energy that lives on? Memories in other people? Would you feel sad if I gave your bicycle away?
I feel lonely here. You made every room feel safe. I knew everything would be all right. I liked walking next to you. Your honesty and truthfulness would create a center in any room. You’d stop the spinning. People would look to you for answers. I want a download of this skill. I want to protect this anxious and scared kid in me. Teach me.
My dental hygienist wants to get her step daughter the same panda hat you gave me. People who can appreciate your humor would stop and chat with me about the giant fluffy panda hat. I wear it everywhere.
Send me your wisdom,
H
p.s. I found my night guard in your blue plastic holder. I will wear it tonight.
