The First Letter

 Dear Nadia, 

It is raining again today. I wonder if it was a sign. That the world was so sad that the sky started crying. But that’s just the suppressed poet in me I guess. What else can I say? It was a sad day. Alma was crying at first but by the time we started the procession, I think she’d run out. It’ll be hard on her; on all of us. Your sister Dahlia didn’t stop crying, but your brother Jakob didn’t start. I suppose you would have expected that though.

They played your favourite music; Harry may have been a terrible father to you but at least he remembered that you loved The Carpenters. He cried and held his new wife’s hand the entire time, like if he didn’t he would collapse. Maybe he would. Your mother would have loved the flowers that we picked. Both me and Alma knew you loved Carnations, don’t worry. And the colour blue, ironically today it was quite fitting. I think we’ve both gone a bit off the colour. I hope you don’t mind. 

I stood with your brother, father, and Rami for lowering the casket. It was quiet. None of your family is particularly loud. Even Dahlia sobs silently. We would have stayed longer at the wake but Harry makes Alma uncomfortable and she refuses to skip school, even if she would be allowed. She wants something to stay normal I suppose. It helps her to know that the world is still turning, I think. 

It feels weird writing this, but also cathartic. I found the idea on the internet under helping kids with loss. So I’ll suggest it to Al tomorrow before school. She already writes a diary so it might appeal. I keep thinking that you’ll crawl into bed, apologising for the lateness. But I’m beginning to reject the phantom. You always did give too much to that place. I wonder if that’s what killed you in the end. I know that Rami never forgave Sam for all the overtime she gave to you. But that’s his rant, not mine. I know you loved that place. 

I’ll finish this now with a short note: I miss you. I miss you so much that it feels like I’m drowning in air. But there goes the poet in me again. It hurts but I’ll survive, and after a while I know I’ll be able to live again. 

All my love 


Atticus xx

 

Published by Hannah Rachel

I am a Writer from the North West of England with a passion for books, writing, art and everything creative.

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