Finding Gilbert Blythe

BONUS - Dad's Letter

So this is something I had been planning to publish once I'd completely finished 'Finding Gilbert Blythe' but I only just remembered to do so now! 

[SPOILER. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE ENTIRE STORY YET, CLICK AWAY NOW!] 

So, as you know, Ridley and Marcy's father dies halfway through the book. The chapter in which they find out about his death is something that I was really hesitant about -- he hadn't been an important character in terms of driving the main plot forward. But then I realized it would be a bit unrealistic -- and rather unfair to Ridley and Marcy -- if he just completely disappeared off the face of the earth and was never spoken of again. I realized that although he had absolutely nothing to do with the romance between Ben and Ridley, he had been so important to Ridley and the way she developed as a person through the years, and the same thing goes for Marcy. They probably would've not been the way they were had their father not 'emotionally' abandoned them. That is why I decided to write a chapter dedicated to his death. 

Now, in this chapter, I had also written a section where Ridley reads a letter her father wrote for her but I decided to omit it from the actual chapter, as I felt like it wasn't really necessary. Ridley did not have much of a relationship with her father in the first place, therefore the letter, which was really supposed to be a sort of 'closure', felt unnecessary and I also think the letter would've prolonged Ridley's mourning period for her father which would've taken the plot down a much darker path. 

But I also really, REALLY want you guys to read it because I spent quite a lot of time on it! And it also is a bit of character development for the otherwise rather one-dimensional character I had turned Ridley's father into. And without further ado, here it is: 

 After a moment, she takes a deep breath and digs into her jacket and fishes out the letter that her father had left for her. He'd left one for Marcy too. The large brown envelope that Jean Elizabeth had handed over to Marcy contained more than just two letters. It contained a cheque for seventeen thousand pounds and several pictures of dad and mum that Marcy and Ridley have never seen before. And a will.

My dear Ridley, the letter reads,

By the time you get this letter, it'll probably be too late. Actually, it was too late for me the moment Marcella and you decided to leave. I'm not going to throw myself a pity party over that. I'm glad you did leave, because you deserved a better life. I was holding you back, sweetheart and for that I am so, so sorry. I am selfish enough, however, to wish that you two didn't leave. You were my anchors, sweetheart. I'm sorry I didn't realize that soon enough.

When your mother died I was crushed. I couldn't think. I was stuck. I couldn't believe she'd really left, you know? We got married at such a young age and we'd been together for so long. She'd become a part of who I was. I'd met her at fifteen; fell in love with at sixteen. We grew together. Made mistakes together, learned from them. And when she left...it made something in my mind completely switch off and it was like I'd taken a remote and put the pause button on my life. It was though a part of my soul had been ripped out of me without my consent and I was left with half a soul, a half of who I was, and I was desperately scrambling to find the piece that had been unrightfully stolen from me.

This sounds so cliché and ridiculously rehearsed but I swear that all of what I say is true. What does a dying man have left to lose when he speaks the truth?

Anyway, whatever excuses I make doesn't make up for how badly I treated you and Marcy. Especially you, Ridley. You had a rough start from the very beginning. Mother dies when you're barely a day old. Father completely ignores you for the next ten years. I even overheard you crying to Marcella about a boy that called you a nickname at school one time. I wanted to tell you that boys like to tease girls they have a crush on because I used to tease your mum about her glasses all the time, too, you know but I didn't quite know how to do it. I was in such a bad place for such a long time. I wanted to reach out to you and tell you how much I loved you and I know I did that sometimes but it came out so flat and uncaring that I'm sure you yourself must never have believed it. Oh but darling, sweetheart, I love you so much. I love you and Marcella and Cathy, your mum.

You'll have noticed I've attached some pictures to the envelope that I've requested Jean to give to you and they're all pictures I took with your mum back in the good ol's eighties. I've cherished them for so long and I hope you do the same in times of loneliness.

When you two left, I was more distraught than ever, believe it or not. It made me even more depressed. I tried committing suicide twice but I always chickened out last minute. It was a pathetic time in my life. I didn't try looking for you girls. In fact, sometimes I'd even see Marcy or you at a shop from time to time but I'd always walk away before you saw me. It wasn't because I didn't care. Oh, I cared dreadfully. I just knew that you two would never be ready to forgive me and I knew I would never be quite ready to forgive myself either, or take care of you like a proper dad. My sister, bless her good heart, forced me to go to therapy. It was boring as hell but I made a few friends. I met a nice lady called Diana and we met up for some coffee but it never really worked out because I was still in love with Cathy and she was still in love with Jim, her own dead husband.

Things went OK for me after that. I got myself a job again and had enough money to pay the bills. I never touched your bedrooms, though I frequently visited them. I could barely afford to keep the house though I just couldn't find it in myself to sell it. It's been my life and soul and a part of Cathy lives in it, too, you know? I'm leaving your names on my will as the rightful owners of the house. You can do what you like with it now. I understand if you two decide to sell it.

Now onto the cause of my inevitable death.

Two years ago, I was diagnosed with liver cancer. Serves me right for drinking so much, wouldn't you say? I got myself enough treatment to stay alive but right now my health has been...worrying so I'm writing both of you a letter each to let you know what your silly sod of a father has been up to, and how much he really loves and cares for you.

I'm so sorry, Ridley, my darling little girl. I saw so much of Cathy in you, did you know that? Those brilliant green eyes...oh and that temper too. I know Marcy probably doesn't speak much about your mother to you, and it's understandable why she doesn't. It's painful. And it still pains me to write about her, to think about her but I guess it's time you knew a few things – a few small details about her that maybe you can see in yourself, to feel a little closer to her.

Your mother loved vanilla ice-cream – she went crazy over it especially during her pregnancies. But she hated pancakes with a deathly passion. Not sure why. She loved ice-skating and had an appreciation for Canadian literature. Cathy was very stubborn and could fly into rages over the smallest of things but she was always quick to apologise if she recognized that she had made a mistake. She loved writing me little love letters and gave me a kiss on the cheek every morning. She always liked to remind me, when I was feeling upset, that "Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it."

She was a bright, beautiful, spirited woman and I was – am – so in love with her. I have no doubt that the lucky man you marry will feel the same way about you as I did about her. I'm sorry about a lot of things I did to you, sweetheart. I am an awful man. I have no time, no chance, to redeem myself. I can only hope that this letter will change your mind about me just a little bit and I hope this has tied up some -- if not all -- of the loose ends in our lives. Live your life. Be happy, darling. I couldn't watch over you as you grew up but I will watch over you -- whether I am in Heaven or Hell-- when I die. I love you, I love you—a thousand times and more.

Your father,

William Denvers