3rd June 2005 (3 days before surgery)
This is just a small letter for you just in case I don't make it or something unexpected happens. I want to put down all the things that I try to say to you and fail. Maybe when you read this letter you can hear my voice, see my face or feel me standing next to you.
We were always meant to be together. We'll see each other again one day.
I'll be looking after you always.
30th August 2011
Three months since you died. I know I lost you much earlier than that. One of the things that hurt so much about your long, slow deterioration process was that I knew this time, there would be no letter. So I take this letter and pretend you would have written something similar had you had the chance this time. The six years since you wrote that letter were filled with love, happiness and worries. But every second of it was worth it.
I like that you say you will look after me. But I don't recall you believing in an afterlife. Were you hedging your bets? Were you just writing that to give me comfort? Or maybe in the years after your surgery, you came to the conclusion there is no God, nothing more to life, because if there was, he would not be killing a 27-year old brilliant person with a debilitating brain tumour.
If you can hedge your bets, then so can I. So if you are still looking out for me, please continue to do so. Maybe I am doing ok because you are looking out for me. Who knows. But I wish I could hear your voice, see your face or feel you standing next to me.
I love you always.