The forests of the Pacific Northwest are tranquil. The biodiversity is one that leaves most thinking of pine trees and ferns, but looking closer one can find lichen and moss blanketing the forest floors and highlighting the mushrooms and fungi in the hills and forests. Never forget that. – Avery T.
That is an excerpt from a letter I wrote that never left the desk of my study. It sits gently on a shelf surrounded by tan and light blue sticky notes full of my ideas and plans. I used to do that when I was young and bored, sending letters without an address so it ended up unread and in the middle of some warehouse or dead letter office. I’d weather them with tea stains and seal them with various wax colors like I was scribing to some friend or old relative. Though half of my letters were empty, they showed parts of my life I kept hidden or masked. I wish I could read what the rest of them said.
Walking around my dilapidated house near Leavenworth, the windows show the start of true spring. Maifest has almost manifested its welcome onto our streets. Even though I don’t really keep track of days as much anymore, sometimes I wish my partner and I could see the parade again. I miss the way they saw the world through rose-colored glasses. The way they treated every moment like it was forever… Until their start of forever.
The air is cool, but it wakes one up to have to weather the cold in order to do common things like check the mail or take out the trash. The start of spring truly shows by the weeds in my garden starting to flower. They must flower before anything else if they want to optimize their survival. I used to keep up the garden daily, but now I let the foliage run free. I enjoy the way it grows and wraps around my porch, climbing. The pine forest that lines my property serves itself as the last piece of heaven in my life. It severs my connection to the world and it is a staple for someone like me who only prefers to be alone as I age.
I finally approach the mailbox, the only refurbished thing on this property due to the original getting broken from some… damage… or something similar. I reach out my hand to grab the mail, observing what I got while walking towards my house. Only two things were delivered today, a letter from my doctor, and an old weathered letter from my past. The stamp in the corner was part of a set I used to use. My address is written on the front in handwriting I don’t fully recognize. When getting back to my house trudging through my driveway I spotted a beautiful deer off in the woods. Its eyes met mine before it made its way deeper into the shrubbery.
When I got back inside I went to my study and set the letters down. I grab a mint from a small dish beside the desk and place it in my mouth. The taste helps me focus. I reach out and flip over the old note. The note has wax stamped onto it as a seal. The wax has a viridity to it and has remained mostly intact. I can tell from the tear mark that it was resealed, but my seal was left behind. Gently, I slowly lift and bend the seal off. Opening and interpreting the note inside.
Dear… the world?
5/10/1984
This is the first time I’ll make one of these, but I want to keep a record of my thoughts that have no reason to be in my brain. A collection I’ll send away and never look back on.
I wish I knew what I wanted to do with my life.
This house is such a weird place to inherit, I can’t believe my parents wanted me to have this. I do like the scenery, but I can’t seem to find any good spots to really focus.
I feel like something is always watching me. I think I’m paranoid.
Look, I don’t expect this to reach anyone, but if it does. I give permission to have it sent back to my address if you are able to find it. -Avery Thompson
I leave the note underneath the one that lies on my desk. Recalling why I wrote that note pulled a chuckle out of my chest. I gently grasp the doctor’s note and stare at it. About three years back I was diagnosed with MCI, a mild form of memory loss. The doctors said a screening every 3-5 years would be necessary to make sure that it didn’t progress any further. Inside was a lot of the same old formalities and standard information, but the most important sentence caught my attention first causing me to almost choke on my mint. I was officially diagnosed with dementia, more specifically Alzheimer’s Disease. I pulled out a sticky note and wrote down You have dementia and put it up next to the other sticky notes around my study. It got put between the one that said don’t forget the laundry and the one that said get taxes done.
I always wrote down things, which is good. I was told it helps people who are recovering from memory loss by my doctor when I was diagnosed with MCI. I try not to let new information about my condition impair things about my life. I kept reading the note and I was to be prescribed rivastigmine, and I was to be assigned a caregiver or two to assist me for the duration of this affliction.
The newfound knowledge of my condition won’t change much around here. If there’s one precious memory in my life it is Jayce. The one person who truly understood me. For the next couple of days, I obtained my medications and took them two times a day as I awaited the arrival of my caregiver. The days flew by, or I like to think they did. The days seem to fly at my age. Finally, the caregiver shows up and introduces himself. We work on getting paperwork filled out, and he helps me stay in my home, or at least that’s all he does. My independence is the isolation I appreciate in my days.
Days seem to move by and I think I was upset with something. I try to look towards Jayce when I start to get mad at these lapses in my judgments, like when I can’t find my dad’s old uniform, or when I forget… I forget… I got a letter in the mail again. Someone has been sending me cards to help me with my memory.
The World
Stop being so harsh on me, I swear it is one thing after another with this life. Way to start my holiday season. Take my Dad without remorse, and then you send snow to prevent me from going to the funeral. You really must think this is a game to you… I just wanted him to know I was there.
And if this makes it to my father… send it back so I know you’re up there. I miss you, really I do. You don’t have to act as cold as you used to, y’know.
Love, Avery Thompson
His letters are personal, but they remind me of when I was in my mid-twenties and early thirties, writing letters as a hobby. The day before I was to be admitted into full-time care, I was graced by the appearance of one more letter and the news that my mailbox was destroyed by someone driving by and breaking it…
World…
I know we never truly got each other, but thank you for this one thing. Jayce is truly a stroke of luck turned into a stroke of love. A person who I want to be with for the rest of my life. They are funny and creative like me but have a sass and open personality that makes them our talker. I have spent so much time fussing over all of the bad things you’ve done for me, but at last, I want to say thank you for one of the truly amazing things you have given to me.
Normally I’d write to another person in the second half, but I think I’ll write to myself.
Me, I hope you treat them well, Jayce has done too much for their efforts to go to vain, and losing them, or at the very least forgetting them is something I don’t think I’d ever let happen. The only person who was there for you when your father passed, is the kind of person you shouldn’t forget or—
I never made it to the end of the letter. I can only remember the tears of joy and the anger and the fidgeting and the happiness I gained from recalling and then regretting this idea of Jayce before I fell over and was taken to the hospital for care.
