Dear Aoife Wexler

Dear Aoife Wexler

Written by Neenee Hu

TW: Mentions of death by illness, chronic illness

April 5th, 2002

Dear Aoife Wexler,

I've been really sad since you died. Will you ever come back? Will you ever visit me?

My cat misses you, too. She sits on my steps when I'm home from second grade, and she meows and asks me if you're at my side. How do I tell her? Is it wrong to tell a cat you're dead?

I miss you. Have I said that already? You were my best friend. I do not know if I am still your best friend. Did you find new friends in heaven?

My mommy says that you have moved on. Have you moved on from me, too? Am I still your friend? Will I always be your friend?

You always told me I ask too many questions. Maybe I'm asking too many now. I don't think you can answer from heaven. My mommy says it's impossible.

Can you come back? Your daddy tells me you've gone to a better place, but I feel like you were better with me. By my side.

I don't think he is wrong, because he is a grown-up, but you have died. And maybe dead people are more right than adults.

Maybe both of you are right. But you are dead, and he is not. I do not know if your daddy has seen anybody else die but you.

My sister, Amy, says you died of tuberculosis. What is that? Is it contagious? Do I have it? Is tuberculosis a good thing or a bad thing? It must've been a bad thing if you died from it.

My mommy told me it was rude to ask this, but what does tuberculosis feel like? Is it like a scraped knee? Or is it a headache, or when the mean boys in class trip you?

I think I ask too many questions. My mommy says that it will be the death of me. Can you die from asking too many questions?

Maybe I should keep asking questions. Then I could die and be with you again.

May 17th, 2002

Dear Aoife Wexler,

I have waited a while for your letter now. Why have you not replied? I know you are dead, but dead people can show signs. Why haven't you shown me one?

I saw your favorite moth today. It had yellow fuzz and pink wings. It was very cute. I do not remember what you called the moths anymore. I have become 9 now. My birthday was last week. Can you send me a gift from heaven?

My head has been hurting lately. My mommy says it's because I ate too much birthday cake. Maybe it is. I do not know if a birthday cake can cause headaches, but my head has still been all woozy. It's like my cat is clawing at my brain. That picture makes me laugh when I think about it, but laughing hurts now, too. So does running and playing tag.

Did you ever have headaches? What made you laugh? Did your moths make you happy?

I miss you, Aoife. I hope you will come back.

August 1st, 2002

Dear Aoife Wexler,

My mommy has started taking me to the doctor. After school, every week, the doctor gives me a lot of needles in my arms and legs. It hurts, and now my legs are so sore I can't even run anymore.

And my lungs hurt, too. Did you ever feel that? Was it also scary? The doctor is very scary. It wouldn't be so scary if you were with me, though. But you are dead, so you cannot see me and hold my hand.

The doctor and my mommy always share a weird look when I'm at the doctor's. It's weird, and it makes me worry. Is there something wrong with me?

They don't even give me lollipops or stickers anymore. Maybe 9 years old is too old for candy. But I'm still a kid. I have not become a grown-up yet. I don't have to refill my own water bottle and drive to work and stuff. That's boring. I'm not boring.

October 31st, 2003

Dear Aoife Wexler,

It is Halloween today. I did not wear a costume because I am in the hospital. I sit in this ward that smells like lemon and my sister's old room. She has moved to college to research tuberculosis. Didn't you die of that? I do not remember anymore.

Sometimes, I wake up with the sheets all wet at night, and I'm sweaty. I guess the hospital doesn't turn on the heaters. I wish they did. I don't like the sweating.

Yesterday, I coughed up blood into a tissue- and it was very, very scary. I didn't want to worry my parents, so I hid it under my bed. I'm scared. Did I pop a scab in my throat, or did I eat something wrong? I'm scared. Can you help me?

I know you are dead, and I know that if I die, I will join you. But I am scared to die. I don't want to die. I still have my cat, my friends, and middle school on the way. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.

January 5th, 2004

Dear Aoife Wexler,

I haven't been eating anymore. I don't even go to school. Nothing seems good. Nothing seems like eating. I don't want to eat.

My mommy is worried. She says eating is supposed to be good for a girl like me, but I don’t feel like eating anything. I can never get it down. It always makes my tummy hurt, and I have to puke right after.

The doctor is worried. He says that I’m not getting better. And he always whispers things to my mommy and daddy when I’m trying to eat.

You can see my ribs through my pink shirt now. I always wear my pink shirt. It has rainbows and a cat eating ice cream. The cat looks like my cat. It makes me happier.

I haven’t seen my cat in a very long time. I wonder if she misses me. I wonder if you miss me, too. I also have not seen you in a very long time.

I used to be the fastest in second grade. Now, I can’t even go to school. I can’t run. It hurts my lungs and my brain and my body. I wish I could run again.

My parents don’t visit me that often. When I first went to the hospital, they would sit at my side and cuddle me close while I cried.

Now I cry alone in my ward. There is nobody else but me.

Even when they visit me, they keep their distance as if I’m a monster. I don’t want to be a monster.

I miss you. I miss running. I miss my cat. I miss my parents. I miss my home. I miss second grade, outside trips, and ice cream shops.

When I die, will they have all of that in heaven, too? Then I could take you with me. We could get ice cream and pet my cat, and buy new clothes, and we could be happy together.

February 10th, 2004

Dear Aoife Wexler,

My parents have not visited me in a month. I miss them. I miss my cat and my own bed.

I have more red tissues beneath my bed now. I cough it all up every time I try to run in my ward.

I’m scared. The doctors and nurses all look at me like I’m a monster.

Did this happen to you? Did you also have this? How did you survive?

Oh, right. You’re dead.

Why did you have to die? I know you wouldn’t leave me here. You would hold my hand and make sure I was okay and stopped crying.

May 29th, 2004

Dear Aoife Wexler,

I’m going to die tomorrow. I can feel it in my veins.

I can’t eat. Puke, blood, and hazy memories are all I know now.

I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry for leaving you to deal with this yourself.

I will die. We will die. We are one, and always will be.

I’m sorry. I need you still.

I can’t die. I can’t die.

I’m not hopeless. No. I am. I am, and we are. We are. We are hopeless.

I’m sorry for the childhood we could never have.

Love,

Aoife Wexler