Last Sunday in this column I wrote about a project called The Things You Would Have Said.
Portlander Jackie Hooper is asking people to send her letters they've written but never sent, filled with things they wish they'd said or wish they could say today, but can't. She's going to put the letters in a book. Take a look at the excerpts, below, from letters she's received from folks in the Northwest.
Dear Kids,
I am very sorry for my failures as a parent so far. Your father and I were way too young when we started our family. We were truly children trying to be grown up way too fast.
We were not always making the right choices for you, children, because we were selfish in our own childhood desires. We tried to raise you with the freedom to choose a lot of things. We didn't have a lot of structure, rules, or punishment. I know we didn't spend the time you all needed. ...
We still have a lot of time left to become a happy, healthy, functional family. ...
I love you each so much it hurts.
Mom
Dear (name withheld),
It has been five years since I've seen you, yet not a day goes by that I don't think of you. My life is still surrounded by things you gave me and often a word, a scent, or name brings you to mind.
You loved me unconditionally for so many years, waiting patiently for me to raise my children, settle in with a new job, remodel my house ... excuse after excuse, you waited for me. Until the day came and you had to move on. ...
Now, these years later, my life is full. I have many friends, a nice man to spend time with, a job I love. My children are grown with wonderful lives. ...
But how I miss you. ...
I am so sorry that I took you for granted, that I pushed you away. You were the love that happens once in a lifetime. My love for you will always be hidden in my heart.
Dear L,
I never told you that I threw your Frisbee on the roof. It was an accident ... it was windy and it curved. I was going to get you a new one but I couldn't find the place. So I'm sorry.
From,
E., age 9
Dear Mother,
It's been a long time since I have seen you alive. I hope life for you in heaven has been all of what you hoped it would be. ...
First of all, I want you to know that I am no longer angry with you for abusing me when I was a little boy. I want you to know that you are so forgiven. It must have been extremely tough for you trying to take care of five kids with no support from my father. ...
Today I live a quiet, lonely life in Portland, Oregon. I have cut off all contact with the rest of the family because they don't like my gay lifestyle. They call themselves Christians, and their so-called love feels more like judgment.
I write you this letter to let you know that I am a very nice person. I don't hate anybody. And someday, I will do something very good for mankind. Soon I will graduate from college. I will be a psychotherapist (who helps) people who have been abused and rejected. ...
I will be someone that people will feel comfortable sharing their painful stories with. The cycle of abuse in our family stops with me. My life and existence means something.
C., age 43
Dear Billy,
I was only 6 months old when you joined the Navy in 1941. I was just learning to walk when your ship, the USS Houston, went down off Java. As I learned my ABC's, you were worked and starved to death in a Japanese prison camp. ...
You died in 1943. I wasn't even 3. I want you to know you have NEVER been forgotten. Oh, how I wished I could have talked to you in my teenage years. I needed a brother so much. I was raised an only child, just as you were. Mom and Dad never really got over losing you. ...
I worked hard on your behalf, and got you the Purple Heart. It took me 10 years. I am so proud of you, dear brother, whom I never knew. Your pictures hang on my wall with your medals. You're in my thoughts every day.
You'd be 89 years old now. I think of you as my little brother now, still 21 and I am 69. I love you, Billy, and always will.
Your sister.
Dear Addiction,
Oh, the times we've had, the things we've seen. ...
There were many, many good times -- summers on the beach, winters in Colorado and Montana. ...
There were also many, many bad times -- waking up in jail, missing my children growing up, destroyed relationships, broken promises and bridges which were nuked, not burned. The time wasted, money thrown away, the health left by the wayside -- all lost in the name of pleasure. ...
I've spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on you, directly and indirectly -- booze, bags, lawyers, fines -- yet, I still wanted and needed you in my life.
No more! I quit! Pack your stuff and get out! ...
It's been real, but not much fun at all. Goodbye.
An Ex-Addict, age 52
To my Brother in Arms,
If you were here, I could properly thank you. Thank you for my life, the life of my son and the lives of the others that you have saved, with that selfless sacrifice by shielding all of us from an explosion that could have taken us all. To live in the hearts of others is not to die. You are alive in our hearts.
Thank you. K., age 52
Margie Boulé: 503-221-8450;
[email protected];
oregonlive.com/boule
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