Painting Rainbows

AyamiLu

14 August, Sunday

Dear Dave,

Lori sat down with me today because your mom couldn't make it. We played cardboard games after lunch. She also read me a novel because you told her I love books.

I dreamt of mom today. She's wearing her favorite sun dress and she's shining radiantly like a star. She's smiling at me and I realized I've never seen her smile like that again during her last days. The corner of her lips would just lift in a semblance of smile but it never lit up her eyes. It only made her look so tired.

In my dream, she said she'd like you if she had met you.

I miss her hands that had gone cold and thin through the battle she'd been fighting for a year. I miss her warmth and I wish I had kept it when I had it.

Hanna

- - -

18 August, Thursday

Dear Dave,

Your mom and Lori came every day. They looked after me and took care of me. Sometimes, Lori read me books and most of the time I don't notice what they were. I just hear words—sharp, murmured, but they're always dull.

Today, there's no sun to warm the sky and everything outside felt dead. All I did was curl up on my bed and pretend to listen while Lori sat with me until I fell asleep.

At dinner, they helped me to finish my food. But I'm too busy trying my best not to fall apart.

I'll never feel quite right. I'll never be normal.

Hanna.

- - -

20 August, Saturday

Dear Dave,

I woke up in the middle of the night and I wondered if I lost myself in another one of my fantasies. I thought they've faded but I still have them. I was painting rainbows again and this one's frighteningly real.

I'm tired, Dave. I'm just so tired.

Hanna

- - -

31 August, Wednesday

Dear Dave,

Lily said that if I do the same things every day, it'll help me. But she's wrong.

Every day, a piece of me dies. Every painful breath I take, I wonder why I should bother. This isn't living, Dave. This is death trapped in hopeless tomorrow.

You said I was your precious gem. If that's true, then don't leave me a burden on people who've suffered enough for your death. It wasn't your bullet to catchin the first place. And now, we're breathing and swimming in the darkness you left us.

I'm tired of painting rainbows and believing that everything will be okay.

I don't blame you for what happened, Dave, but I need to do what's right. I need to put that bullet in my brain like it's supposed to, so I can finally find peace.

I love you. Always,
Hanna

- - -

25 May, 2013

Dear Hanna,

I'm worried about you all day. You've been holding yourself like any second you'd fall apart. Even though it wasn't enough for me, I just held you close all day and stood next to you throughout the funeral.

I have a confession to make, though. When I saw you crying beside your mother's deathbed, I thought I could heal you, make you forget. But I realized it won't work just because I wanted to. I can't force you to feel okay.

I don't know what kind of pain screams inside of you. But I hope you know that no one's blaming you, love. You did all your best for her and she'll always love you as a daughter.

It's okay to feel scared, to cry. It's okay if you don't want to move on or if you don't want to fix this. It's okay if you don't want to forget and to be in pain. She's your mother and she'll always be a part of you. Nobody's stopping you.

You're very important to me and I'm not going anywhere. I'll share the pain, the hurt, and the loss. You'll always have me. You're not alone. There's always someone out there for you. Lori's here, my mom, your friends... you still have a family. And when all of this is over, I'd still be here and so will you. One day, you can get out there.

Remembering and missing her is okay. Maybe you won't get over the loss, maybe you'll grieve forever. Nobody knows. But what I know is that there's always a kinder tomorrow.

I'll always be painting rainbows for you, Hanna. I love you, never forget that.

Dave

- - -

02 September, Sunday

Dear Dave,

I'm sitting beside your grave as I wrote this letter. It's been a month now since you died and it still feels surreal. Sometimes, I see you in corners, I feel you around me. Sometimes, I say your name like you're still alive.

I still think about your death—I was standing inside the bank when the gun fired and then in an instant, you're lying on the ground, bleeding. Lifeless. And even after they caught the criminal and law gave you justice, I still couldn't find that peace.

Ever since your death, I became a person made of tattered, bleeding flesh. You were my sun and when you died, like an empty bottle, I was thrown out of control into a deep sea.

I'm sorry that I tried to kill myself. I forgot I still have people who care for me. Thank you for reminding me.

I knew it was you. You put that letter inside my favorite book so I could find and read it again to remind me of my mother's funeral—when I was a body of wasteland.

You've been there for me as my father would have if he was there. You held me that day and the sun was shining again. You held me and I couldn't feel the desolation, even though I was swimming in it, buried deep for it.

The echo of your hand that caressed my hand, your scent that stroked my heart, I'll remember them for the rest of my life. Thank you. Even from the other side, you're still trying to protect me.

But you can stop now. I'm going to be fine.

Loving you forever,
Hanna