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“It’s the letter Mum wrote me…before she died.” He nodded. “You can read it…if you want to.”
“I can’t read it. It’s private.”
“Well, suit yourself, but she wouldn’t mind.” He leaned forward and kissed her temple then gathered his blankets into a cozy nest around her. “Now that you’re snug as a bug in a rug, I’m running out to the shop. I’ll get some basics: bread, eggs, bacon…oh, and prawn cocktail crisps—you’ll like those! Be right back, ’kay?”
She nodded, her eyes falling back to the envelope.
Ben shimmied into his boxer briefs and inched along the small pathway between the bed and the wall until he located his jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie, all buried under his books. Blowing Riley a kiss, he left the room and the flat, the door locking behind him.
Heart heavy, her tentative fingers slipped inside the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper, its edge jagged from where it had been torn from a spiral notebook. Taking a deep breath, she began to read.
9 August 2008
My darling Benjamin,
I’m sitting in your room with a pen and notebook, writing you this letter. I’m happiest here. I love your room so much; it’s the heart of our home. I can hear your cheeky laugh, feel the warmth of your hugs. Your cherished possessions—your astronomy books, Mr. C’s telescope, the chessboard I gave you last year, stuffed turtle, even the half-eaten packet of prawn cocktail crisps (Oh, Benjamin, those stinky crisps!)—make me feel closer to you. I just want to take it all in, remember every precious moment with you until you return from the library, books under your arm and stories to tell, and then I’ll hug you like there’s no tomorrow…like I’ve done a million times before…and put this letter away for you, my beautiful boy, to read after I’m gone.
I’ve never wanted for anything except more time with you. Fourteen years isn’t enough, but then neither would twenty, forty, or sixty. Sometimes the heart wants what it can’t have.
I always thought I’d see you go on your first date, graduate from school, get married, but I’ll miss all those milestones. That thought makes my heart ache, worse than any pain I’ve ever felt.
There are so many things I wanted to do, wanted to say…but I’m running out of time. I hope this note will give you comfort and guidance when I can’t, my love. It’s a collection of little things to remember, and maybe when you do, you’ll remember me, too.
Benjamin, always be polite. Say please and thank you, hold doors open for others, take your shoes off when entering someone’s home. It’s common courtesy (except I don’t think it’s very common anymore). Be the exception.
I want you to try new things whenever you can. If you feel nervous, that’s good! It means what you’re doing matters to you.
Always be open to new friendships. The person you chat with in line at the supermarket might become your best friend or even your soul mate.
Don’t feel that you need to be fashionable, cool, or rich to matter. None of those things will make you happier, not really.
Don’t compromise what you believe in your heart just to be popular. It’s better to stand alone and be true to yourself than in a crowd, regretting your choices.
It’s okay to have dessert for dinner—or eat more than one slice of cake! (Just not every day, okay?)
You already do this, but a gentle reminder can’t hurt. Brush your teeth at least twice a day. See a dentist. Girls won’t kiss you if your teeth are nasty (or missing—trust me on that one!).
Be wary of falling for someone who wants to change who you are, because that’s not the person you’re meant to be with.
Explore! See the world. Even a visit to a new town will open your eyes and introduce you to new people. A simple ‘hello’ could change your life.
Bake (and use ALL the chocolate chips!)
Dance, my darling. Dance like it’s “1999”! (Prince rocks, and so did 1982).
Big dreams are never silly. They help soothe a bad day and give us something to reach for.
One day, you’ll probably own a mobile phone. Please don’t walk and text—you’ll hurt yourself and others in your path. Plus, you’ll miss out on the amazing things happening around you. Be present, Benjamin. Put the phone down and engage with life.
Failure isn’t a bad thing. It can hurt, but it’s how we learn, how we figure out what’s right for us. I’d rather you try and fail than never try at all.
You can never say ‘I love you’ enough, and the people you love can never hear it too much. Say it warmly, say it often.
If you believe in nothing else, please believe in love. It can make miracles happen.
You’re so much braver than you think you are.
Grief might make you turn inward for a while, but please, my love, try to look outward. Embrace your superpower; listen carefully. Look for people who might be hurting, who are silent in their pain and aren’t asking for help. The best way to heal yourself is to help someone else.
