precious, pitiful, priceless, pointless...poignant

While helping my parents clean out the attic (oh, the things we keep hidden away in boxes...unused and unseen and unnoticed for years). I found some old letters. ..er, rather, copies of old letters. I am quite sure I sent them to the intended parties, in actual envelopes, not email...but I suppose I felt the need to keep copies of a couple of  'em tucked away in a box with French homework, my old, used pointe shoes, and an outfit for a Kermit doll...the naked Kermit was not to be found. 

This letter, written fifteen/sixteen years ago, was written to a boyfriend at the time. (I've left out the boyfriendy parts) 

I wonder if he, (do you know who you are? will you ever read this...again?) will remember it? 

 

 

...

Okay, this is truly random ---- Last night I dreamt of the day I found out my mom had Cancer.  It was an awful dream.  But ya know what…when I woke up, I realized, as hard as I try, I cannot remember that day.  The dream was not at all how it really happened.  And I have absolutely no idea why I dreamt about it.  Even weirder…when my parents told me, (I can’t even remember if they both told me, or just my dad, or my mom, or what), I do know it was at my grandmother’s house in Atlanta.  But it was the same house where, when I was about seven or eight, that my father told me there was no Santa Clause.  All I can see when I try to remember the Cancer part, is my daddy trying to tell me that Santa isn’t real.  That Santa isn’t alive at all.  When you hear that, it isn’t just that something doesn’t exist, it’s like a little part of you dies.  But you keep this stubborn brave face, like you knew it all along, or like it’s perfectly okay and you can handle it.  The same day my dad told me that, Brent, my older brother took me in the back room, (my mom’s room when she was a little girl, a little ballerina, the second story of the house, in the woods, out her windows all you see are tree limbs and leaves and I bet she thought she felt like she lived in a tree house), and he tried to tell me that there really was a Santa.  At the time, I was so mad at him, knowing he was a liar.  Later I think I realized he just didn’t want to see the fantasy end.  I wonder how my dad picked that day, that afternoon, that place and time.  What were the circumstances that finally turned “we should tell Jenny” into actually telling her?  I don’t remember any other part of that day, except that it was sunny.  But I don’t remember any of the Cancer day at all.  Isn’t that strange?  And why did this hit me, out of the blue?  Is it a sign?  A reality check?  Perspective?  Completely random?  …..it’s been six years and I haven’t dealt with it yet…why now?

...

hm.

Where IS that Kermit?