I could feel myself growing colder
Nov. 11th, 2009 11:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
klenaThis should be my long overdue State of the Union post but it's not. It should be me apologising for abandoning my journal updates. But it's not.
On the 19th of March 2006 I posted a journal entry about my neighbour Margaret dying. And she left behind her husband of 49 years, Bert.
Bert died last night.
This couple were like my adopted grandparents and after Margaret died I made some time for Bert, but the expanses of time between these visits grew wider and wider until I didn't see him at all this summer.
And on my list of things to do, "write a letter to Bert" has always been near the top of the list. I always thought I had more time. I had the time, Bert didn't. So I finally wrote my letter to him today, in the Brotherton library. I told him about my life these past few months and how I was always going to be sorry for not being better at keeping in and contact and how I was going to miss him. I will, because he was a good man and I always put off the little visits to him. I'll never have a chance to visit him again and I'll never receive another letter from him and he'll never wave to me from his window as I travel down my road.
I have my regrets now and there is nothing to be done. These are lessons that I needed to learn and that I wished I didn't have to.
I sent my letter to him. If all goes to plan, it will go in his casket with him and be cremated with him.
He's at peace now. He counted the days since Margaret died and now he doesn't have to anymore, he doesn't have to miss that vital part of himself.
I'll miss him. I probably always will. And I'll always regret the things I never did.
But that changes nothing. So let me say this. I love you. I miss you. I read your journal entries even if I don't reply and I wish you all health and wealth and happiness. You make me glad to know you. And I'll miss you if you ever leave
On the 19th of March 2006 I posted a journal entry about my neighbour Margaret dying. And she left behind her husband of 49 years, Bert.
Bert died last night.
This couple were like my adopted grandparents and after Margaret died I made some time for Bert, but the expanses of time between these visits grew wider and wider until I didn't see him at all this summer.
And on my list of things to do, "write a letter to Bert" has always been near the top of the list. I always thought I had more time. I had the time, Bert didn't. So I finally wrote my letter to him today, in the Brotherton library. I told him about my life these past few months and how I was always going to be sorry for not being better at keeping in and contact and how I was going to miss him. I will, because he was a good man and I always put off the little visits to him. I'll never have a chance to visit him again and I'll never receive another letter from him and he'll never wave to me from his window as I travel down my road.
I have my regrets now and there is nothing to be done. These are lessons that I needed to learn and that I wished I didn't have to.
I sent my letter to him. If all goes to plan, it will go in his casket with him and be cremated with him.
He's at peace now. He counted the days since Margaret died and now he doesn't have to anymore, he doesn't have to miss that vital part of himself.
I'll miss him. I probably always will. And I'll always regret the things I never did.
But that changes nothing. So let me say this. I love you. I miss you. I read your journal entries even if I don't reply and I wish you all health and wealth and happiness. You make me glad to know you. And I'll miss you if you ever leave
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Date: 2009-11-12 01:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 03:02 pm (UTC)