Well, you've been dead a year now. Is it everything you imagined?
Was it worth it?
I hope you watched your funeral. I hope you heard the birds singing and saw the eagle soaring above us. It was nice, you liked the outdoors. I hope you saw your little sister crying so hard she couldn't read your eulogy. Did you see your son? I hope you heard how he broke in pieces when they stopped at your old place and he found your fishing gear. He was a man about it, though, sitting in the only row. You better find a way to tell him you love him. He'll never believe it was enough.
I hope you heard me sing The Climb to my Dad's acoustic guitar. I personally think it's hilarious that we sang Miley Cyrus in memory of your life.
And afterwards, when people were leaving, we played the song you chose. Out of a pick-up in the parking lot with the doors open. Life is beautiful. I hope you saw the people who cried at your funeral.
And those letters you left. Rambling on making clear, through the scrawl, the mess you'd made.
Good job. Way to insult the one person who loved you enough to always welcome you regardless. Way to maim her because she gave a damn. Really, Jamie?
I know you came into life poorly, but I know you were lucky with the chances you were given. And I know you were deeply injured, I'm sorry that you never overcame it.
I cried. I cried for the waste of life, and the pain you caused everyone else. I cried because it was sad.
Your death became a monument to your mistakes in life. Just tell me this. How could you be so damn selfish?