A LETTER TO MY MICHELLE
My dear Michelle,
The last text I sent you, not knowing you were in the hospital, was "Annie’s Song" by John Denver. I sent you the Spotify link because John Denver was the soundtrack of our childhood in Nantucket, and I was thinking about you and all the colorful memories.
As I listened to "Annie’s Song" again, tears filled my eyes. This is my song for you.
You fill up my senses.
Like a night in the forest.
Like the mountains in springtime.
Like a walk in the rain.
Like a storm in the desert.
Like a sleepy blue ocean.
You fill up my senses.
Come fill me again.
Come let me love you.
Michelle, I wanted to hold your hand, one last time.
I wanted to lay on top of you and cuddle the way we had done so many times, one last time.
I wanted to look you in your blue eyes, one last time.
Unfortunately for me, you left your body before I could say goodbye to you, as the Michelle I have known.
I’m sad that this opportunity slipped away and yet, I see how it has taught me so much. Grief bears the sweetest fruit.
I understand now, in the deepest way, why we value life. I see clearly why life is something we want. Even with the upset, trauma, and programs to overcome, life is something we really, really want.
I see that we live for sensation. We live for touch. And after losing you, I will never take for granted the epic gift it is to touch someone you love. We live for these experiences.
And you, Michelle, knew this.
Michelle, you lived for the thrills, the pleasures. The decadence. The caviar. The champagne. The ocean.
The slippery oysters and the silky dresses.
You lived for color. Red lipstick, subtle golden tones throughout your homes, Farrow + Ball paint chips, and wildflower gardens.
You lived for antique pots and feathered friends. You lived for the purr and chirps of your cats as they watched cat TV. You lived for sweaty, SoulCycle rides and Dim Sum dumplings.
When you are this attuned to sensation, why settle for just dinner, when you can make a four-course culinary masterpiece in a dining room lined with sheets of candles, newly polished silver, and crystal-stemmed glassware?
“It’s better to always just be generous.” You would say, and that is how you lived.
Generous, over the top… one more hour, one more glass, one more laugh, one more snuggle, one more wave to surf before sunset. The summer I was born you were five years old and you wondered what it would be like to pour a beer on me and apparently your curious side, already developed, took the reins and you dumped a pint on my fresh newborn head.
I am so grateful we moved through that rough start and became dear, dear friends with the affectionate title “cousins”. You delighted me endlessly.
Here is the thing, Michelle… Nothing in my life has surprised me, I have always felt like, on some level, every twist and turn was fated. It’s felt like I have always had a sneak peek at the script before watching my life movie.
This though, was my first real surprise. I did not see this coming. I thought I would touch you one last time.
So, I have a favor to ask of you.
Can you…
fill up my senses?
Like a night in the forest.
Like the mountains in springtime.
Like a walk in the rain.
Like a storm in the desert.
Like a sleepy blue ocean.
Will you fill up my senses?
Will you come fill me again?
Will you come let me love you?
I will need this as I live out the remaining days of my life.
Thank you for everything, my dear Michelle.
My heart is full with a blur of aches and love.
Forever your “cousin”,
Tahra
