I Can’t Send You Anything

Dearest Rachel –

I guess it’s a bit of good news that I managed to sleep straight through last night. I sacked myself in just before before midnight (yes I realize that’s five p.m. ‘our’ time, but I’m getting used to the time zone here), and didn’t wake up until almost half past nine. I think it helps that the curtains in the hotel room do a great job of keeping the sunlight out for as long as I want or need them to. Good thing I didn’t order breakfast; I think I would’ve missed it again this morning.

The trouble with all that, is that I vaguely remember seeing you in a couple of dreams, but only vaguely. I mean, you were there, we were conversing – in one, I’m pretty sure you were listening to music, and checking off the list of things you wanted me to copy and send to you, with tears running down your face while you were listening – but I can only vaguely remember the exchanges, because I slept so soundly for once. Those images, those scenes… they’ve had time to fade away.

And now that I’m awake, I don’t know what to do about it. I mean, it’s true that Louise has offered to get me anything that I might ask for that I don’t have here in the hotel room (I’m considering asking for some ‘biscuits,’ i.e., cookies, because crackers don’t cut it as far as a morning snack; I’d like something more sweet than savory). I could, if I thought it would do any good, probably ask for a recordable CD-R, and burn some music for you.

But what would be the point? It’s not like I can send it to you from here. And it isn’t as if I could read the list you were checking off – that’s how dreams are, they don’t make that kind of sense. If I remember correctly, I think you were looking at a list of music that Junior had cut, but it sounded like the stuff that we already have by andi and i.

I’m pretty sure Junior doesn’t sing, any more than his dad does, at least not so anyone could hear. I know the kid can look like Al at times, but honestly, there’s no confusing the two of them.

And again, I can’t send you that. Santa can go all over the world in a single night, but he can’t make deliveries to heaven. It’s such an obvious statement, but it tears me up to say it. All I can do is put things out here, and dream that you can access them, and remember the times we had together, like I’m trying to do.

I suppose from what I’m saying, you can tell that my body is trying to recover, but that my mind is starting to lose its grip. Which is a little scary, as it’s barely been 40 hours since I’ve moved into this hotel room. Then again, I’ve been having dreams of you off and on ever since you left, so hopefully this doesn’t really mean anything just yet as far as my allegedly decaying mental state. I’m just missing you over everybody else in the world, which is only to be expected. We’ll see how long that (and I) holds up as time goes by.

Until then, I’ll continue to keep in touch by way of these letters, for all the good they do, and wish you were here. Should this confinement send me over the edge, I should hope that my mind would be good enough to somehow manifest you in this room as my psychotic break. I could use that sort of break.

Anyway, take care, I love you, and as always, honey, wish me luck. I still need it.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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