Dearest Rachel –
Of late, I’ve begun to wonder what I would have done if your departure was anything more than the sudden shock that it was. If we’d known that it was coming – and been of the understanding that there was nothing to be done to prevent it (a combination which, to be fair, doesn’t occur all that often. Usually, modern medicine is enlisted to fight off the reaper, sometimes even for years, like in my dad’s case), what would I do to make your last days both as comfortable and memorable as possible?
Granted, the sorts of things I might come up with would depend as much on what you could and were willing to do. A debilitating, terminal illness, for example, would limit the ability for us to travel – never mind the fact that, when you were struck down, the whole world was still mostly confined to quarters, as there was no indication as to when the Covid vaccine, such as it turned out to be, would be approved and released to the public.
Setting that aside, though – as well as the issue of Chompers, whose presence would (and did) also have precluded our mobility – I would have done my best to get you out and about the world as much as possible. For all that I now know you weren’t fond of flying, I would still have made sure that you and I could have gotten to Japan, and you could have seen Daniel’s reactions to the place. I would also have made sure to have gotten down your stories about your stay in Tsumago (and maybe even made a point of going back there for your sake – we did get to that prefecture this last trip), as well as some of the other travels you took before our time together, just so they could be properly preserved.
And preservation is key, as it’s always felt like what I have here to remember you by is woefully inadequate. Assuming I had your permission, I would take so many photographs of you, and maybe record your voice (although that might be over your objection – I know what you thought of the sound of your voice, but just about everyone feels that way about theirs. I’d like to think I could persuade you to leave at least a few audio messages behind). I’d probably make a point of writing down every sensory impression about you for future reference; what little I think I can remember has probably been idealized beyond recognition.
And while it occurs to me that you might wonder why I was going to such lengths, I’d probably not have to work too hard to get you to watch that episode of Black Mirror I’d told you about a few years ago, to give you an idea of what I was trying to do, in a limited fashion. For all I know, you might have actually seen the episode, but unlike the other one you showed me involving minds uploaded to a “Second Life” type of computer environment (“San Junipero,” if I recall correctly), we never watched it together, let alone discuss its meanings and ramifications. Besides, back then, either episode would still have been almost entirely within the realm of science fiction; these days, it’s closer to reality than we might ever have expected it to be.
Although, now that I think about it, this list so far feels like a list of selfish desires on my part; my trying to keep enough of your ghost around once you’re gone that I’d be running your real self ragged in your final days (thus possibly hastening them along that much faster). In my defense, I would offer up the fact that you often served as a family conscience, letting me know when I might overstep my bounds; without you around, I might not know where the red lines are. If you were still around, I would hope that you would make it clear what you could and could not (or would and would not) do, in a way that I can’t determine, just sitting here and writing to you by myself.
After all, it’s entirely possible you wouldn’t have been comfortable with some of these plans. Then again, with your love and grounding in science fiction, you might appreciate it more than most people; I’ll never know. But if we had time to consider it before the end, at least we might be able to contemplate the possibilities beforehand.
But as far as your comfort was concerned during those final days, we would have had no need to spare expense. Your parents saved up for their declining years, and could barely bring themselves to use it during that time without your twisting their arms (and showing them what an assisted living facility would be like in comparison to having in-home nursing care). Indeed, thanks to their investments (and later, our own fortunate choices), their savings continued to grow even as they (and later, we) began to tap into those funds. Whatever you would have needed could have been provided to ensure that those days went the way you wanted them to – within reason, of course, since money can’t buy length of days, for instance.
Left unsaid here are the things that you would have wanted to do that I wouldn’t necessarily be able to think of on my own. After all, you had your own sense of fun, and weren’t known to refuse yourself access to it (as you comment so many times throughout your Bible study notes); there’s so much we could have done, we might have been paralyzed for choice. The sky-flying lesson we took as part of our silver anniversary comes to mind as something that I wouldn’t list, but I’m sure you could think of a few things for your “make-a-wish” list that I would be more than happy to indulge you in. If nothing else, it would be the source of that much more footage to remember you (and me) by.
Bear in mind, this is essentially a case of “knowing what I know now.” Even if I’d had the time, I wouldn’t have thought to do all of these things, because they wouldn’t have occurred to me. Who knew in 2021 that we were on the verge of digital reproduction, for instance? As for travel, I’ve found options I had no clue about back then – and granted, in that weird time that you left during, there weren’t the kind of possibilities from before or since, so maybe these promises couldn’t have been fulfilled in that specific time frame. But I would have liked to have the time to wind things down, and enjoy ourselves before we had to say goodbye. Wouldn’t you?
Letters to Rachel 