August 23, 1992

Dear friend,

I’ve been in the hospital for the past two months. They just released me yesterday. The doctor told me that my mother and father found me sitting on the couch in the family room. I was completely naked, just watching the television, which wasn’t on. I wouldn’t speak or snap out of it, they said. My father even slapped me to wake me up, and like I told you, he never hits. But it didn’t work. So, they brought me to the hospital where I stayed when I was seven after my aunt Helen died. They told me I didn’t speak or acknowledge anyone for a week. Not even Patrick, whom I guess visited me during that time. It’s scary to think about.

All I remember is putting the letter in the mailbox. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a doctor’s office. And I remembered my aunt Helen. And I started to cry. And the doctor, who turned out to be a very nice woman, started asking me questions. Which I answered.

I don’t really want to talk about the questions and the answers. But I kind of figured out that everything I dreamt about my aunt Helen was true. And after a while, I realized that it happened every Saturday when we would watch television.

The first few weeks in the hospital were very hard.

The hardest part was sitting in the doctor’s office when the doctor told my mom and dad what had happened. I have never seen my mother cry so much. Or my father look so angry. Because they didn’t know it was happening when it was.

But the doctor has helped me work out a lot of things since then. About my aunt Helen. And about my family. And friends. And me. There are a lot of stages to these kinds of things, and she was really great through all of them.

The thing that helped me the most, though, was the time I could have visitors. My family, including my brother and sister, always came for those days until my brother had to go back to school to play football. After that, my family came without my brother, and my brother sent me cards. He even told me on his last card that he read my report on Walden and liked it a lot, which made me feel really good. Just like the first time I saw Patrick. The best thing about Patrick is that even when you’re in a hospital, he doesn’t change. He just cracks jokes to make you feel better instead of asking you questions about feeling worse. He even brought me

a letter from Sam, and Sam said that she was coming back at the end of August, and if I got better by then, she and Patrick would drive me through the tunnel. And this time, I could stand in the back of the pickup truck if I wanted to. Things like that helped more than anything.

The days when I received mail were wonderful. My grandfather sent me a lovely letter, and so did my great aunt, my grandma, and Great Uncle Phil. Aunt Rebecca even sent me flowers with a card signed by all my Ohio cousins. It was heartening to know they were thinking of me, just like when Patrick brought Mary Elizabeth, Alice, Bob, and everyone else for a visit, including Peter and Craig. It seems they’re friends again, and I was glad. I was also relieved that Mary Elizabeth did most of the talking, making things feel more normal. She stayed a little later than the others, giving me a chance to talk with her alone before she left for Berkeley. I was just as happy for Bill and his girlfriend when they visited me two weeks ago. They’re getting married in November, and they want me to attend the wedding. It’s nice to have things to look forward to.

The turning point, when everything started to feel okay, was when my sister and brother stayed after my parents had left. This was sometime in July. They asked me many questions about Aunt Helen, as I guess nothing similar had happened to them. My brother looked really sad, and my sister seemed really mad. It was then that things began to get clearer because there was no one left to hate.

I mean, I looked at my brother and sister and thought that maybe someday they would be an aunt and uncle, just like I would be an uncle. Just like my mother and Aunt Helen were sisters.

We could all sit around and wonder and feel bad about each other, blaming many people for what they did or didn’t do or what they didn’t know. I don’t know. There could always be someone to blame. Maybe if my grandfather hadn’t hit her, my mom wouldn’t be so quiet, and maybe she wouldn’t have married my dad because he doesn’t hit. And maybe I would never have been born. But I’m very glad to have been born, so I don’t know what to say about it all, especially since my mom seems happy with her life, and I don’t know what else to want.

If I blamed Aunt Helen, I’d have to blame her dad for hitting her and the family friend who fooled around with her when she was little, and the person who fooled around with him, and God for not stopping all this and worse things. And I did that for a while, but then I just couldn’t anymore because it wasn’t going anywhere. It wasn’t the point.

I’m not the way I am because of what I dreamt and remembered about Aunt Helen. That’s what I figured out when things got quiet. And I think that’s very important to know. It made things feel clear and together. Don’t get me wrong. I know what happened was important, and I needed to remember it. But it’s like when my doctor told me the story of two brothers whose dad was a bad alcoholic. One brother grew up to be a successful carpenter who never drank. The other brother became a drinker as bad as his dad. When they asked the first brother why he didn’t drink, he said that after seeing what it did to his father, he could never bring himself to try it. When they asked the other brother, he said he learned to drink on his father’s knee. So, I guess we are who we are for many reasons, and maybe we’ll never know most of them. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things and try to feel okay about them.

If I ever have kids and they are upset, I won’t tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn’t change the fact that they are upset. Even if someone else has it much worse, that doesn’t change the fact that you have what you have. Good and bad. Just like my sister said when I had been in the hospital for a while. She said she was really worried about going to college, and considering what I was going through, she felt dumb about it. But I don’t know why she would feel dumb. I’d be worried, too. And really, I don’t think I have it any better or worse than she does. I don’t know. It’s just different. Maybe it’s good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think the only perspective is to really be there. Like Sam said. Because it’s okay to feel things and be who you are about them.

When I got released yesterday, my mom drove me home. It was in the afternoon, and she asked if I was hungry. I said yes. Then she asked what I wanted, and I told her I wanted to go to McDonald’s like we did when I was little and got sick and stayed home from school. So, we went there. It was so nice to be with my mom and eat french fries. And later that night, to be with my family at dinnertime and have things just be like they always were. That was the amazing part. Things just keep going. We didn’t talk about anything heavy or light. We were just there together. And that was enough.

Today, my father went to work, and my mother took my sister and me out to take care of last-minute things for my sister since she’s leaving for college in a few days. When we got back, I called Patrick’s house because he said Sam should be home by then. Sam answered the phone. It was so nice to hear her voice.

Later, they came by in Sam’s pickup truck, and we went to the Big Boy just like we always did. Sam told us about her life at school, which sounded very exciting. I told her about my life in the hospital, which didn’t. Patrick made jokes to keep everyone honest. After we left, we got in Sam’s pickup truck, and just like Sam promised, we drove to the tunnel.

About half a mile from the tunnel, Sam stopped the car, and I climbed in back. Patrick played the radio really loud so I could hear it. As we approached the tunnel, I listened to the music and thought about all the things people have said to me over the past year. I thought about Bill telling me I was special, my sister saying she loved me, my mom, too, and even my dad and brother when I was in the hospital. I thought about Patrick calling me his friend. I thought about Sam telling me to do things, to really be there. And I just thought how great it was to have friends and family.

As we went into the tunnel, I didn’t hold up my arms like I was flying. I just let the wind rush over my face. I started crying and smiling at the same time because I couldn’t help feeling how much I loved my aunt Helen for buying me two presents and how much I wanted the present I bought my mom for my birthday to be really special. I wanted my sister, brother, Sam, Patrick, and everyone else to be happy.

But mostly, I was crying because I was suddenly very aware that it was me standing up in that tunnel with the wind over my face. Not caring if I saw downtown. Not even thinking about it. Because I was standing in the tunnel. And I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite.

Tomorrow, I start my sophomore year of high school. Believe it or not, I’m really not afraid of going. I’m not sure if I will have the time to write any more letters because I might be too busy trying to “participate.”

So, if this does end up being my last letter, please believe that things are good with me, and even when they’re not, they will be soon enough.

And I will believe the same about you.

Love always, Charlie