I promised I would write you letters. The last time I saw you. I remember hugging you, I remember holding your hand. And I remember how you told me you remembered the letters I sent.
They said you are not there anymore. When I met you then. That you don’t remember, that because of the torture and years of isolation you had faced, you have lost senses. But how did you remember me? Someone you met two decades ago. You read my letters. You remembered we wrote to each other. How can someone who has lost their senses remember sending letters to someone they had not seen in two decades? Who had not been mentioned, or maintained contact?
Your mother tortured you and kept you in isolation. That’s on her.
But we allowed it to happen, and that’s on all of us.
I am sorry I was unable to fight for you.
I am sorry I failed you.
I am sorry I never wrote to you again.
I can’t with good faith say I am glad your suffering is over now that you are dead… how can I when all of us were responsible for not helping you out of the misery you were facing when you were alive. God took over the reigns. When we failed you. Being glad your sufferings over brings out the raw truth that we were all useless in taking care of you. We were all selfish. This compassion and grief feels hollow to me.
This guilt however will haunt me as long as I live. And I probably deserve far worse. I saw it all and let it happen. Thought prayers would help. Thought they’d relieve you of the pain and assuage my guilt. How wrong was I.
They say now I should move on, feel glad your end has brought an end to your misery as well. Easy fix for us all. Guess I should have expected this. You are not a cause of concern any more. One less worry. How can anyone find solace at someone’s death is a mystery to me. I don’t find peace. I don’t think I ever will. Yet I hope you are in a better place now. Happier, pain-free, peaceful.
I am sorry I never got around to send you another letter. I pray you never looked forward to them and considered me heartless although I deserve it. I just hope you forgot all about me. That’s a far better alternative to hope than to know you remembered and you died thinking none of us cared.
We did care. We just didn’t care enough.
I am sorry. I am. Truly sorry.