A Letter to Henry

Helen McNeil

September 10, 1996

Dear Henry,

After all the times we fought, yelled, and scolded one another, I still loved you.

After all the times we laughed, hugged, and challenged one another, you still loved me.

We’re older, mature, and going our separate ways for life is pushing us along.

When you go, read this letter when you’re far, away from me in San Diego.

We may look alike, act alike, but everyone knows we’re different, somehow.

A book we are. For you’re the cover and I’m the paper protected inside.

Our love has been thrown, kicked, and cut; yet our bond remains resilient, like the bindings in a book.

You’ve saved my life, so many times; I forgot to keep counting after I turned nine.

The forgiveness and understanding we have for one another warms the frigid regions of my heart.

I remember when I was eleven, we were fighting and you slammed so hard it grazed a layer of skin off my ankle. The next morning, I was your sous-chef in surprising our dad with a morning breakfast.

I remember the time you pretended to be Puerto-Rican to charm a girl and I taunted you by invoking the family to do Spanish accents and call you “Enrique”; yet you still forgave me.

This letter should be filled with remorse after all the times I fought, patronized, swore, and lied to you. But, it’s not. I look back on those times; I smile because it only heartened our bond.

All the advice you gave me, was the crutch I used to trudge through the relentless resentment, pinch stinging brutality, and hoax friendships of junior high.

I will never forget the time, when I was defeated in tears, as our parents’ 10th year divorce anniversary reached its climax in court.  I was vulnerable, blindsided and you hugged me and told me, “it’s going to be okay, WE’RE going to get through this!”

I want to tell you not to go, stay here in Chicago with me! I’ll create an extra bed made out of couch cushions as we did when I was five, but that’ll be selfish.

I’m aware, you told me, it’s only going to be two months, but two months too long.

Go on, fly out to San Diego, become a man, and become the same marine you are to me for our country.

                                                                                   Sincerely, Helen McNeil