Letters as a Meditation

If we are friends on Facebook you might be aware of my daily “Creekside Chat” videos. I’m really enjoying making them — just a few minutes of conversation about something, and a reading on Sundays — because they give me a feeling of conversation with friends. This morning I talked about something that I thought I’d mention here, because I had a lot more thought about it than I mentioned in that short video. (I do try to keep those short, three minutes or so, but sometimes they stretch to five and I don’t want to push that.)

I’ve mentioned this here before, too, so I’ll just briefly mention it and move forward. Several years ago in the context of a personal restoration project, for 40 days I wrote an email to a different person in my life, telling them what they meant to me. It turned out to be a much bigger gift to me than to the 40 people who received surprise emails, although their responses showed me what a gift it was to them, to hear what they meant to someone . . . and that’s a gift I know too, from the times it has happened to me.

But you know, there are all kinds of people in our lives. When I was talking, in my Creekside Chat, I started thinking about my dad when I talked about the importance of knowing what we mean to others. For the briefest moment I had the automatic cliched thought we have about suicides — oh, if only he’d known what he meant to us maybe he wouldn’t have killed himself. But so quickly on the heels of that thought came the truth: he was a nightmare in my life. I was pregnant with my first child and knew that I couldn’t allow him to be alone with her, ever, and that was going to be awful, handling that. He wore me out, calling me drunk in the middle of nights ready to kill himself, me dancing as fast as I could trying once again to talk him out of it. His not-at-all contained rage and fury, terrorizing all of us. He broke his wife’s arm in their last fight. He spent his entire adult life trying to die, and it often felt like he wanted to take out as many people as he could in the effort. I very barely survived him, and it took me more than 30 years after his death to recover from the 23 years he was in my life.

As we drove the five hours from Austin to Tyler, the day he killed himself, his sister and I were complaining bitterly about him because we knew he was going to ruin their mother’s birthday (and of course he did — he killed himself on her birthday, a second act of cruelty to go along with the note he left blaming me). We said we wished he’d just go ahead and do it. We meant that. I meant that.

And of course he is the most extreme example of what I’m getting at, but the fact is that I couldn’t possibly write a letter to him that would feel good to him, and be honest. It would be a kind of ‘damning with faint praise’ thing. When my stepfather was dying, in prison, I was able to write a letter to him, a very brief one, and I thanked him for sneaking a milkshake to me once when Mother forbid me to have any food because I was a fat cow. He did that at great personal risk. Since he had written me a note asking forgiveness for the years of rape, and he gave me a small gift he’d made in prison, I found it (shockingly) simple enough to forgive, and to write that letter. It felt like quite a thing, that out of the 20+ years of knowing him, I had only one very small thing to say thanks for, but it was very heartfelt, my gratitude for that milkshake. I had remembered it for decades.

In a much more ordinary way, there are people in our lives whose friendship is fraught in ways that would make it harder to write an email of gratitude — like the no-longer-friend who relished my trouble and resented my happiness. Because, you know, we all have friendships of varying depth, or varying closeness. We have friends we count on in times of trouble, friends who really see us, friends who are just light and somewhere between acquaintance and friend, friends who we just expect to listen to because they have no interest in listening to us, friends whose gifts come with such very long strings that you want to refuse them. I’m thinking about taking up my daily email project again, and thinking about this more difficult category of friend, in particular — thinking about how hard it would be to find enough of substance to say in an email. But maybe there is greatest value in writing those emails, in particular. Maybe for me, having to really dig deep and look, and think; having to search a little harder; maybe that will help me value those friendships more. (Or maybe the effort will help me let go of the relationships!) And maybe for those individuals, receiving an email that came from a deeper search — that will locate those core gifts — will be more meaningful than the easier emails that relish the loud, visible gifts. I don’t know, but I’m thinking about it.

Dixie (and her mother) calls this “giving flowers to the living,” which is the whole idea in five simple words — why I’m not a poet, I need hundreds when five do the job so beautifully. That’s a great aim for today. You don’t have to do the deep hard work of finding words for the more difficult person today. Just today, just with an easy person, maybe, tell them what they mean to you. Tell them the gift they are to your life. Tell them in writing, so they can keep it. I’m still glowing from the note I found waiting for me when I woke up, and I will glow all day long. When my memory fades, as it’s guaranteed to do because ME-NOW, I can open it and read it again.

Yep. I think I’m going to start writing those letters again. I’d love to have your email address. If you don’t have mine, there’s an envelope icon in the right sidebar (in the “Find me elsewhere!” section) you can click on to email me.


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6 thoughts on “Letters as a Meditation”

  1. What a lovely idea. I wrote my dad a letter a couple of years before he died, telling him what he meant to me, how he influenced me. When he was dying, and we were going through his things together, we found that letter. He had written on it that it meant more to him than he could ever express. He said it was the best gift he’d ever gotten. I was so glad I’d written it. I love your idea.

    1. What a glorious ocean of luck you had — to have had a dad you could write such a letter to; for him to have understood it as he did, and to have written on it; to have had the chance to look at it together, as he was dying, and for you to hear what it meant to him. Wow. Debra. That moved me. And it’s easy to imagine how it might feel to receive such a letter, isn’t it? Being a parent is the long game, and you don’t know how it’s going to go, and you do your best and that doesn’t mean you’re perfect, and you hope that some day your kids understand. I can only begin to imagine what it might be like to get such a letter, and I’m so glad you got to hear your dad tell you.

  2. Mama’s love was a force to be reckoned with and oh, how she loved you Lori. Her kindness to all creatures great and small is surely something we can all learn from. Your emails will touch hearts and souls and make a profound difference; I’m sure of it. What a beautiful thing for you to do, but don’t we all know that that’s just who you are. Your Creekside Chats are absolutely “giving flowers to the living” – wouldn’t Mama have just loved to hear your precious voice every morning. xoxoxo

    1. OH….oof, the air just left me as I imagined wonderful Oopie watching my little daily creekside chats. She would never ask me to, but I’d automatically clean up my language, she just made people BETTER than their ordinary selves by her love and attention. You do that too, actually (though I still curse mightily in your presence), and I was thinking about that the other day. How I watch people just FLOWER because you are their friend. That’s pretty remarkable. You are so much like her, it’s a wonder to have known you both. xoxoxox

  3. Yes I agree with Dixie. I love your Creekside Chats, I love hearing the melody of your voice, it’s soothing and I feel … a little restored. And I love looking around to see where you are. Definitely flowers to the living. I don’t buy flowers, it doesn’t sit well with me, but these flowers are infinitely precious.

    1. SO BIZARRE! For some reason this comment was not just not-approved, it was tagged as spam! Just so weird. I’m glad I spotted it! I’m so glad my little creekside chats are meaningful to those I love. I imagine you near me when I’m talking, and that feels so special. Flowers to the living, all the way my dear one. xoxoxox

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