Letters For You

Him

Wednesday, December 7, 2033

I thought I was past the angriness. It's been 17 years for God's sake. It's been seventeen years since you died, so I thought I had left all the bad feelings behind me. I was doing alright for a while, only thinking about our happy memories, leaving all the guilt and the regrets in the past. I was doing great. We all were. Olivia is only two months away from her third birthday, Josh and I are in a great place once again which took some work after losing the baby, but we made it through. We're even thinking of giving it another try in a few months when I'll be completely healed physically and mentally. But we're good. And I was good until last week, I really was.

Last weekend, your mother sent me a copy of a letter she had received the day before. It was from a man named Gary Oldman. I had never heard this name before, but I had a feeling it wouldn't be a happy letter, and it really wasn't. I don't know if you know this, but Gary Oldman is the drunk driver who hit you. I almost wrote "who killed you" but it wouldn't have been really nice. Anyway, in this long letter, Gary was asking to meet your family to formally apologize for his actions, and your mother invited me to the meeting. I was surprised your mother even said yes in the first place, and I felt like if I said no, it meant that I wasn't mature enough, so I went. The meeting was yesterday at the rehabilitation center he is staying at. Olivia stayed with Josh, so I could go without worrying about the time.

Gary Oldman is an old man. It may sound funny when you say it like that, but he really is. He looks about sixty-five when, in reality, he is only fifty. He told us about what had happened the night of the accident. His wife had just told him she was leaving him, so he went to the bar after work. He took his car like an idiot, and the next thing he knows, his car was halfway through the back of yours. I already knew this part, the policeman who knocked on your mother's door that night told her that the other driver did not see the car approaching when he made his way onto the highway. After that night, Gary Oldman's life was never the same. He went to jail for three years for drunk driving. He pleaded guilty from the beginning which is why there never was a trial. He still felt guilty when he was out of jail, so he fell even deeper into drinking to try and forget, I guess. He drank like a madman for over three years, completely busting his liver, went into rehab where he has been for over a year now. This meeting was a huge step for him. Apologizing to the "poor boy's" family as he called us, was important in his recovery process, and I get that. I really do. But.

I always thought that, if I were to meet the man who killed you, I would scream at him, throwing insult after insult, telling him he ruined my life. When I imagined meeting him not long after the accident, that's what I wanted to tell him. Now I know that he didn't ruin my life. I think I came out pretty good, but that doesn't mean I wasn't angry and sad for the whole hour we stayed there. He did most of the talking, until he asked if there was anything, we wanted to say to him. Your mother, like the diplomat she is, told him she had made peace with what happened. Your father nodded after your mother's speech, agreeing. I chuckled. I literally chuckled. Imagine me chuckling while sitting across from the man who took the most important person in my life for a long time away from me.

I asked him if he ever wished he had died in the crash. He said he did multiple times, an answer to which I chuckled again. I told him I was glad he survived. That way, he could feel the guilt and he could pay for his actions. At that, your mother hit me on the arm pretty hard, but I continued. I told him it angered me when he referred to you as "the poor boy."

"His name is Oliver," I said, looking straight in his eyes. "His name is Oliver, and he was someone's son, someone's brother, best friend, boyfriend. He wasn't a poor boy until you made him one. Call him by his name, please." After that, I crossed my arms on my chest, backing away into my chair. Your sister clapped, she really clapped before saying she was glad someone had the courage to say it.

I don't know why your mother was so keen on being nice and happy like she wasn't facing the man who hit her son with his car. Maybe she was protecting herself or maybe she thought Gary Oldman had been through enough pain already. I didn't. All the guilt in the world will never equal what we all went through when you died. All the apologies with sad stories of destroyed livers will never make up for what he did. I don't know what he expected. Maybe he was expecting your mother's reaction or maybe he was expecting mine, we'll never know.

Even though it didn't end really well, I am glad I went to the meeting. I am glad I got to tell him what he made us go through. And the sadistic part of me was glad his life was messed up after you. I know it's not nice, and you wouldn't want me to feel that way, but I do. I am glad he had a rough time after the accident, I am glad to imagine him being eaten away by his guilt. The nice part of me, on the other hand, wishes for him to finally move on. I wish for this meeting to be what he needed to finally start living a normal life again. Seventeen years of guilt is enough.

I thought about what you would have wanted to tell him, when I was lying awake in my bed the night before, unable to sleep. I tried to come up with something to say on your behalf, but I just couldn't. Instead, I gave him a copy of Letters for You. I told him that if he ever wanted to get to know you, he could read these letters and it would give him a good idea of the man you were. He promised he would, and I hope he will keep his promise.

When I got back home after the meeting, I stayed in the car for a really long time just thinking about you. I don't have time to do that as often as I would like, so I took those few minutes to write this letter. Maybe now, I can really move on. Who knows? 

Thank you so much for the 1.7K reads, it means a lot  xxx