As You Would Have Wished

Dearest Rachel –

I have to admit, I’m still feeling pretty punk this morning. My face feels like it’s in a vice, and I’ve been coughing just enough so that I‘ve only been able to get about an hour of sleep at a time, before waking myself up by my own convulsions. Needless to say, I’m staying home from the men’s Bible study today, rather than run, the risk of spreading whatever I have. It’s the sort of Saturday morning where you very well might’ve taken the lead in our relationship, seeing as you’re constantly close enough that catching what I have is inevitable, so you might as well have a little bit of fun with me. I hardly need to tell you how much I miss those days.

Still, there is the occasional benefit to all this; if nothing else, whether this is Covid or not, it’s definitely going to be over with by the time we fly out at the end of the month, so I should be clean by then. Nevertheless, I’ve been advised to stock up on a couple of kits so that Daniel and I can test ourselves at the hotel before boarding the ship, just to show some proof to them beforehand. Additionally – and I don’t know if it’s just the amount of mucus I’ve been blowing out of my nose, or if I’ve really had a fever burning off calories (thus far, I haven’t been able to catch myself with a temperature to speak of) – I’ve dropped to my lowest weight since I’ve been keeping track from July, despite the fact that the folks sent comfort food over for me to enjoy last night, and I haven’t been exercising, for obvious reasons. So, yeah, there’s that.

As I told you yesterday, I’m not trying to complain about how I feel, exactly. It’s just that these are the sorts of things I forget about once I’m healthy, so I’m just telling you about them so that I don’t going forward. Anyway, with all that having been said, I should get on with the letter I have meant to send you yesterday, before my health situation felt like it was going to take precedence. I’d ask you to let me know what you think, but I know better than that.

So, the other day, I sent off the monthly stipend to Twofeathers. I try to remember to do so before she calls me (and she does call me at least once a month, to let me know how she and Stan – and the house – are doing), but I got a little distracted this month – and so did she, it would seem. To be honest, I don’t really mind. I never had the connection to her that you did; if nothing else, it was your folks she was working for, after all.

I have to admit, I don’t always know what to say to her when she does call. Between both of their health problems, their situations with their kids, and the fact that the house is turning out to be more of a burden than a blessing, I don’t know what to say to her. She’s always effusively appreciative for our help, but I always get this undertone that she could use more. In fairness, though, she never asks for more support from us; I just find myself wondering, as she tells me about her various trials (always insisting through it all that ‘God is good’), if she’s not tacitly asking for additional assistance.

Of course, that may be just because I’m a guy; when guys hear peoples problems, they automatically think about how they can ‘fix’ the situation. Since I am neither a doctor, nor a psychiatrist, nor a handyman, the only thing I can think of that I can do is to throw more money at the problem, and hope it solves itself. I haven’t actually done that – apart from the regular amount, that is – and it’s probably just as well, since I’ve no idea how much it would take to solve everything, assuming that were possible.

Meanwhile, my dad has asked me how long I intend to keep this up. This is the sort of thing that I would refer to you to answer; without you around, I really don’t know what to do or say about it. I still tend to think of this money as ‘yours’ (or, even further back, ‘your family’s’), despite your constant insistence otherwise in life. These were people you cared about and appreciated, and it’s my responsibility to make sure they’re attended to financially in the way you would’ve had me do. Besides, whatever I’ve been paying out hardly compares to the gains or losses from month to month in these accounts – although the losses are starting to get a little more frequent, and painful. Still, we’d had several years of huge gains, so we’re still well enough of the curve to continue this.

Dad has also asked me about the bequests I issued to our various friends as part of your unofficial wishes; have I received any thank-yous from those to whom I’ve sent anything? I know that he believes in common courtesy, but I have to think it’s a non-issue whether they do or not (for the record, I did get one note, but I also had two of them returned because they were no longer at the address I had sent them to. I found updated information and re-sent the one, but I’m not sure what to do about the other at this point). This is something I believe you would have wanted, regardless of any thanks, and it isn’t as if any of them can send you one, in any event. As for me, I’m just fulfilling your wishes.

***

For all that we would quote more often from the likes of Monty Python and Doctor Who (since both of these had an enormous body of work to quote from), I find myself more often referring to The Princess Bride since your departure. While it would be presumptuous of me to compare myself to Westley, there’s at least one way where this situation tracks with that.

Of course, you would never order me around like Buttercup did, early on in their relationship (and let’s face it, referring to me as ‘farm boy’ would be the antithesis of reality), but I learned over time to ascertain what you would wish, and do my best to deliver on those wishes. I never learned to read your mind, but some things were easier to guess than others.

It helps that these things had been discussed prior to your taking leave, although we never discussed end points or amounts. But in terms of giving to others, we would always confer with each other; yours was the more open palm, offering help wherever you saw the need, and you would give more than I often intended to (because I wasn’t as used to dealing with the amounts you were). So I truly believe that what I’m doing are things which I could describe as “As you would have wished.”

And, subjective tense aside, we both know what Westley meant when he used that phrase.

Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it a little.

Westley (Cary Elwes) to Buttercup (Robin Young), The Princess Bride (1983)

Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.