Boreal Witch

Dear Robinson,

There's a kind of magic in knowing a person for thirteen years.

A friend of ours recently got married today, on our day, the day we already share with my mom because it's her birthday. I suppose it is silly to think of it as "our day" since there are probably thousands of couples who had married today and thousands more who will marry today.

You surprised me with a trip to Cedarburg, one of my favorite places in Wisconsin. We made a decorative iron square and mused how funny it would be if iron was the gift for thirteen years together. We toyed with the idea of purchasing the bed and breakfast we stayed in - wouldn't it be fun and romantic? We bought the biggest caramel apples for the boys back at the farm and shared our weekend adventures with my dad and aunt.

Twenty-two is rather young to get married, don't you think? Yet somehow it felt natural and in all of our years together, throughout all of our differences and challenges, I feel our relationship is ten times what it was. Is it possible to love someone more?

Back then, we were Acme and Septimius, the Greek and the Roman, the Wiccan and the Mormon; but we aren't so different, you and I. We have a sense of higher purpose. We both strive to do our best. We both obsess over nerdy things. We both try to stay involved in the other's life, even when we have little or no interest in the topic. We spout of quotes from favorite shows at appropriate times.

We are connected now, much more than we were thirteen years ago. There's some sort of undeniable bond between the two of us, an understanding that we share. We're still human, we make mistakes, we drive each other crazy, but there's something that will always be there.

If there's one thing that you take away from this letter it should be: I will never want your wagon-wheel coffee table.

With love,
Your Pumpkin-Ankle

Blessed be.

Dear Antonio:

You don't know me and I don't know you, but I saw your missing person's report on Facebook and immediately, I knew. I knew that you were involved in some horrible accident. It was a feeling more than logic; after that, whenever I looked at your picture, all I could feel was the miserable pain and disappointment as people searched for you. You were loved. You were missed.

A month later your body was found. You were pulled out of the Rock River. There was a picture of your girlfriend with her hands on her face, tears streaming down her cheeks, her pain evident. I felt that, too.

Then came the dream. I never actually saw your face, but I felt it was you: a young man of 24. You were walking in front of me, wearing a blue jacket made out of a nylon or windbreaker material. My hand rested on your upper back, as if I was guiding you. A large, quarter-sized spider sat close to my hand. It was a friend.

We didn't speak and that was okay because nothing needed to be said.

But after the dream, I was burdened. I was weighted down by the combined sadness of your friends, your colleagues, your family. I felt it all and I began to get headaches. I began to feel hopelessly out of sorts. I wanted nothing more than to find a way to process all of these feelings because I couldn't take all of the grief.

Antonio, your funeral is today. I hope you understand why I cannot go. It will be far too overwhelming for me. In a sense, my responsibilities have already been completed. I led you to your destination - wherever that was - and this morning, my head is clear for the first time in days. All of this that I have been feeling has left me; gone to ether.

Before we part for good, know that there was a community here who cared for you. You were loved. People respected you. You will be missed.

I want them to know that you've found peace and solace.

Blessed be.