Notes from the dead letter office.

My hip fell apart a few months ago. The healing will probably last longer than I will.

Last night I fell asleep, tired, but after an hour or two the discomfort got to the point that needed to stretch a little bit. I went to do my nightly security check of the kitchen. In a moment I had a Bacardi sniffer half full of warm milk and a couple of Advil.

Sitting at the dining room table, I noticed between the Pearl Tea Lites and the Plastic Cranberries, several envelopes of unread mail. Most were the legal size with the “bulk postage paid” look about them but one was a brown envelope, slightly smaller than the regular size, with tattered ears and even darker stains the color of the skin of a man who has worked hard all his life.

I pulled the corner of the envelope and with little resistance it slid from the pack toward me. The address was my Mt Hester Road, but the stamp -A three cent George Washington. I rubbed my thumb across the upper left corner thinking maybe a return address was lost in the gray brown patina. Nothing.

I weighed it in my hand a moment. Turned it over and slipped my thumbnail under the lip of it. It popped open with the sound and feel of an August touch-me-not pod.

The letter was written on a single sheet of note pad paper, torn ragged at the top edge. The script was barely legible, a pencil scrawl against a paper so old and frail that it threatened to break in my hands.

It began,

Son, - I love you.

Soon I will be leaving this place. I wanted you to know some things before I go.

First, I regret the mistakes I made, and I hope you can someday pray that line in the Lords Prayer “Forgive me as I Forgive others” without flinching.

I want to say that Heaven and Hell are the same place the only thing that makes them either is that we must live with only the treasures we brought along.

God refills the bucket when it is empty, so don't be afraid to give away your last crumb. Too many people live their whole lives trying to keep a little in the bottom and never realize that if they clean it out it will refill like the magic pitcher we read about when you were small.

I wanted you to know the Church is a lock, your Heart is the key, and what is behind the door you will never know from the outside.

I hope you understand that my personal hell is the way you looked at me in my rear view mirror that last fateful day.

And you must know, that on the last day of your life, the Angel of the Lord will grant you a day to review.

She will allow you to re-live it second by second.

The joke is the Angel chooses the day.

And the day she grants might be today.

So live every one carefully.

Very carefully.

And finally, As Yoga Berra will soon come to say “When you come to a fork in the road -take it.”

There is no sin greater than a life unlived.

I love you son.

I will see you soon enough..

It was signed in the familiar scrawl of my daddy's own hand.

I picked up the letter, carefully folded it back into the envelope. Drank down the last of my warm milk. Then bound it with a ribbon and laid it into my home safe. I went to bed and instantly fell asleep.

7:00 a.m.

"Honey?"

"What is it babe?"

"Why is the utility bill in the Freezer?"

_______________________________________

Apologies to Loyce Bonner, May 5th 1922 - October 4th 1960