August 25, 1991 Dear friend

epilogue

---

August 23, 1992
Dear friend,
I’ve been in the hospital for the past two months. They just released me
yesterday. The doctor told me that my mother and father found me sitting
on the couch in the family room. I was completely naked, just watching the
television, which wasn’t on. I wouldn’t speak or snap out of it, they said.
My father even slapped me to wake me up, and like I told you, he never
hits. But it didn’t work. So, they brought me to the hospital where I stayed
when I was seven after my aunt Helen died. They told me I didn’t speak or
acknowledge anyone for a week. Not even Patrick, whom I guess visited
me during that time. It’s scary to think about.
All I remember is putting the letter in the mailbox. The next thing I knew,
I was sitting in a doctor’s office. And I remembered my aunt Helen. And I
started to cry. And the doctor, who turned out to be a very nice woman,
started asking me questions. Which I answered.
I don’t really want to talk about the questions and the answers. But I kind
of figured out that everything I dreamt about my aunt Helen was true. And
after a while, I realized that it happened every Saturday when we would
watch television.
The first few weeks in the hospital were very hard.
The hardest part was sitting in the doctor’s office when the doctor told
my mom and dad what had happened. I have never seen my mother cry so
much. Or my father look so angry. Because they didn’t know it was
happening when it was.
But the doctor has helped me work out a lot of things since then. About
my aunt Helen. And about my family. And friends. And me. There are a lot
of stages to these kinds of things, and she was really great through all of
them.
The thing that helped me the most, though, was the time I could have
visitors. My family, including my brother and sister, always came for those
days until my brother had to go back to school to play football. After that,
my family came without my brother, and my brother sent me cards. He even
told me on his last card that he read my report on Walden and liked it a lot,
which made me feel really good. Just like the first time I saw Patrick. The

---

best thing about Patrick is that even when you’re in a hospital, he doesn’t
change. He just cracks jokes to make you feel better instead of asking you
questions about feeling worse. He even brought me a letter from Sam, and
Sam said that she was coming back at the end of August, and if I got better
by then, she and Patrick would drive me through the tunnel. And this time, I
could stand in the back of the pickup truck if I wanted to. Things like that
helped more than anything.
The days when I received mail were good, too. My grandfather sent me a
really nice letter. So did my great aunt. So did my grandma and Great Uncle
Phil. My Aunt Rebecca even sent me flowers with a card that was signed by
all my Ohio cousins. It was nice to know that they were thinking about me
just like it was nice the time Patrick brought Mary Elizabeth and Alice and
Bob and everyone for a visit. Including Peter and Craig. I guess they’re
friends again. And I was glad they were. Just like I was glad that Mary
Elizabeth did most of the talking. Because it made things feel more normal.
Mary Elizabeth even stayed a little later than the others. I was so happy to
have a chance to talk with her alone before she left for Berkeley. Just like I
was happy for Bill and his girlfriend when they came to see me two weeks
ago. They’re getting married this November, and they want me to go to
their wedding. It’s nice to have things to look forward to.
The time it started to feel like everything was going to be all right was
the time when my sister and brother stayed after my parents had left. This
was some time in July. They asked me a lot of questions about Aunt Helen
because I guess nothing had ever happened to them. And my brother looked
really sad. And my sister looked really mad. It was at that time that things
started to get clearer because there was nobody to hate anymore after that.
What I mean is that I looked at my brother and sister, and I thought that
maybe someday they would be an aunt and uncle, just like I would be an
uncle. Just like my mother and Aunt Helen were sisters.
And we could all sit around and wonder and feel bad about each other
and blame a lot of people for what they did or didn’t do or what they didn’t
know. I don’t know. I guess there could always be someone to blame.
Maybe if my grandfather didn’t hit her, my mom wouldn’t be so quiet. And
maybe she wouldn’t have married my dad because he doesn’t hit. And
maybe I would never have been born. But I’m very glad to have been born,
so I don’t know what to say about it all especially since my mom seems
happy with her life, and I don’t know what else there is to want.

---

It’s like if I blamed my aunt Helen, I would have to blame her dad for
hitting her and the friend of the family that fooled around with her when she
was little. And the person that fooled around with him. And God for not
stopping all this and things that are much worse. And I did do that for a
while, but then I just couldn’t anymore. Because it wasn’t going anywhere.
Because it wasn’t the point.
I’m not the way I am because of what I dreamt and remembered about
my aunt Helen. That’s what I figured out when things got quiet. And I think
that’s very important to know. It made things feel clear and together. Don’t
get me wrong. I know what happened was important. And I needed to
remember it. But it’s like when my doctor told me the story of these two
brothers whose dad was a bad alcoholic. One brother grew up to be a
successful carpenter who never drank. The other brother ended up being a
drinker as bad as his dad was. When they asked the first brother why he
didn’t drink, he said that after he saw what it did to his father, he could
never bring himself to even try it. When they asked the other brother, he
said that he guessed he learned how to drink on his father’s knee. So, I
guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we’ll never know
most of them. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we
come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do
things. And we can try to feel okay about them.
I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won’t tell them that
people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn’t
change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it
much worse, that doesn’t really change the fact that you have what you
have. Good and bad. Just like what my sister said when I had been in the
hospital for a while. She said that she was really worried about going to
college, and considering what I was going through, she felt really dumb
about it. But I don’t know why she would feel dumb. I’d be worried, too.
And really, I don’t think I have it any better or worse than she does. I don’t
know. It’s just different. Maybe it’s good to put things in perspective, but
sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there. Like Sam
said. Because it’s okay to feel things. And be who you are about them.
When I got released yesterday, my mom drove me home. It was in the
afternoon, and she asked me if I was hungry. And I said yes. Then, she
asked me what I wanted, and I told her I wanted to go to McDonald’s like
we did when I was little and got sick and stayed home from school. So, we

---

went there. And it was so nice to be with my mom and eat french fries. And
later that night to be with my family at dinnertime and have things just be
like they always were. That was the amazing part. Things just keep going.
We didn’t talk about anything heavy or light. We were just there together.
And that was enough.
So, today my father went to work. And my mother took my sister and me
out to take care of last-minute things for my sister since she’s leaving for
college in a few days. When we got back, I called Patrick’s house because
he said that Sam should be home by then. Sam answered the phone. And it
was so nice to hear her voice.
Later, they came by in Sam’s pickup truck. And we went to the Big Boy
just like we always did. Sam told us about her life at school, which sounded
very exciting. And I told her about my life in the hospital, which didn’t.
And Patrick made jokes to keep everyone honest. After we left, we got in
Sam’s pickup truck, and just like Sam promised, we drove to the tunnel.
About half a mile from the tunnel, Sam stopped the car, and I climbed in
back. Patrick played the radio really loud so I could hear it, and as we were
approaching the tunnel, I listened to the music and thought about all the
things that people have said to me over the past year. I thought about Bill
telling me I was special. And my sister saying she loved me. And my mom,
too. And even my dad and brother when I was in the hospital. I thought
about Patrick calling me his friend. And I thought about Sam telling me to
do things. To really be there. And I just thought how great it was to have
friends and a family.
As we went into the tunnel, I didn’t hold up my arms like I was flying. I
just let the wind rush over my face. And I started crying and smiling at the
same time. Because I couldn’t help feeling just how much I loved my aunt
Helen for buying me two presents. And how much I wanted the present I
bought my mom for my birthday to be really special. And how much I
wanted my sister and brother and Sam and Patrick and everyone else to be
happy.
But mostly, I was crying because I was suddenly very aware of the fact
that it was me standing up in that tunnel with the wind over my face. Not
caring if I saw downtown. Not even thinking about it. Because I was
standing in the tunnel. And I was really there. And that was enough to make
me feel infinite.

---

Tomorrow, I start my sophomore year of high school. And believe it or
not, I’m really not that afraid of going. I’m not sure if I will have the time to
write any more letters because I might be too busy trying to “participate.”
So, if this does end up being my last letter, please believe that things are
good with me, and even when they’re not, they will be soon enough.
And I will believe the same about you.
Love always,
Charlie

---