Death of the Letter?

Part of the process of writing my letter to Bob (see Letter to a Dying Friend) was finding stationery. Remember stationery? Paper of a good weight and design meant for handwritten words to convey thoughts and feelings?

It seems both are a lost art - handwritten letters and conveying thoughts.

I went to four stores before I could find proper stationery. Four! This might not be the most sophisticated city on the planet but why is it so hard to find something that ought to be part of daily life? Imagine, I even went to Staples - an office and paper supply store. There was no letter writing stationery in the stationery section. I had to explain to the 20 something year old clerk what I was looking for; she seemed to be lost when I spoke about hand writing a note to a friend. I left out the part that I'd be mailing it off. Didn't want to confuse the poor thing.

I could buy a box of note cards. Beautiful stock, gilded and glittered but not near enough room for what I needed. I could get pre-printed post-it notes with gorgeous background designs. They had stacks of pre-printed pads of paper, in check list form. 'Things to Do' or 'Shopping List' or 'I Love You Because'. Call me old-fashioned but sending a memo or a post-it note to a dying man doesn't seem appropriate. Maybe that's the problem - I'm old fashioned. Maybe those are the modern ways of communication now. Is a pre-printed check list a step up from texting?

I finally found stationery. I'm not sure if it's irony or symbolism, but something deep is hidden in this: I found it at Chapters. A book store. Maybe the people who can still read, still write? Some people still want to share, convey, release, reveal? Chapters had two themes of paper - butterflies and peacocks. I bought all that they had of each. A hundred and twenty eight bucks for paper.

I have a lot to say.

Letter to a Dying Friend

Bob is dying. Bruce (the FBI) told me. The doctors told Bob that 'at his age, there is nothing that can be done'. That's medical-speak for 'there is no cost benefit to society if we try to save you'. You can fool yourself with the romantic notion that doctors save lives. They don't. They carefully weigh a bunch of factors to determine if your life is worthy of treatment. And if you aren't worth saving, they blame it on your age. Funny how doctors assume the position of God when they want (say, to save a life) yet they will relinquish any responsibility to God when they decide that it's His fault that you are too old.

I have lost enough people in my life to know that the worst part of the grieving process is the 'I shoulda said' regrets. It's common to hear "I wish I had more time with so-and-so" or 'if only I had told them how much I cared.". Yet one of the most common things people say to a friend with a terminal diagnosis?

"I don't know what to say."

If I were dying and someone said that to me, I'd smack them in the face. Maybe not literally. But mentally, I'd bitch slap the shit outta them. Say something. Say anything. Say it's not fair. Say you are angry, sad or scared. There are so many things in the world that go unsaid. I won't be reading how much I meant to you in my obituary. Say it now.

I wrote a letter to Bob. I told him that I was thankful that I got to know him, even if it was only for a short time. Told him that I took comfort in the fact by knowing him, I still have hope that society might have a glimmer of civility to it because he showed me what a gentleman is, what a good guy does and that chivalry lives. I thanked him for making me smile. Told him that I was grateful for the conversations and the memories. And I wished him peace.

I didn't know what to say when I sat down to write the letter. But dammit, I said something.