THE LETTER
It
was August 30th and there it was. The article on fatal
off-campus house fires was on the front page of that day’s
edition of USA TODAY. I had been so pleased to receive a call, some
three weeks earlier, from a reporter working on the story. They had
done extensive research on all the fatal off-campus house fires
across the US since 2000, and the article would run just in time for
college students who were moving into off-campus housing for the
upcoming school year.
It
was everyone’s hope that this article would keep other college
kids from making the mistakes of, not only my daughter Liz, but of
the 61 other college kids who had lost their lives due to fire in
their off-campus homes. Prevention was key and I was glad to play a
small part in doing whatever I could to keep other families from
experiencing the devastating loss of a vibrant young adult.
When
I found out the article was going to print, I excitedly emailed all
of my friends and family to tell them about it and that Liz’s
picture would be included.
I
stopped at the store on my way to work that morning and bought three
copies of the paper. I was so excited! I couldn’t wait to get
to my desk so I could read that article. But, once I did, it made
me so sad. The senselessness of Liz’s death hit me again in
such a powerful way, and it felt like September 20, 2003 all over
again. I guess I should have expected that kind of reaction, but it
had taken me by surprise and I was having a very difficult time
dealing with all of the raw, painful emotion that once again bubbled
up and grabbed me.
I
was also very mad at myself. How naïve could you be, I thought
to myself? How could you possibly think that this article would make
you happy?
Suddenly,
I wished it had never been published and I threw the papers on the
back credenza of my office and tried hard to put it out of my mind.
But I couldn’t, because all day long I had a steady stream of
co-workers stopping at my desk to see the article, and it was all I
could do to keep my composure.
I
was having a sad day. I hadn’t had one of “those”
days for quite some time and I just figured I was due. I’ll
get through it, I told myself, because tomorrow will always be
better. It was something I had dealt with before in the three years
since her passing, and it always worked. You had to feel the pain
before it would leave I had learned.
I
focused on my job and tried hard to put the article out of my mind.
I work with International customers at my company. Because of the
time difference, email is the accepted means of communication. I had
taken this position just three weeks after Liz’s death and it
had been the perfect job for me. The stress level was low; I could
come in, answer the emails I received, and go home. I thanked God
often for giving me such a wonderful job at just the right time.
I
continued to work through my emails. Suddenly a familiar email
address popped up. It was Liz’s high school French teacher.
Jan had been Liz’s favourite teacher, and we had kept in touch
after her death. I had shared my news about the USA TODAY article
with her, and I assumed that was what her email to me was about.
Much
to my surprise it wasn’t about the article at all. Kim, she
said, you will just treasure this. I was in my classroom yesterday,
cleaning out my files, getting ready for a new school year. A lone
file folder fell on the floor. I reached down and picked it up and
on the outside I read 'Liz Wencl Essay'. I opened it up
and discovered an assignment I had given out over four years ago.
The
assignment was to write a letter to one of your parents, in French,
telling them what they represent in your life. Kim, this is a letter
Liz wrote to you!
Now,
I don’t speak French, so Jan translated it for me. That letter
was a mother’s dream. In it Liz told me how much she loved and
missed me in so many different ways. And, amazingly, even though the
letter was written when Liz was in high school, it made complete
sense for life after September 20, 2003.
Here
is the English translation of the letter:
Assignment:
Write a letter to your mother or father telling them what they
represent in your life.
Dear
Mom,
I
know that you love me. You show me each day that it is true. Don’t
think you are a bad mother. It isn’t true! When I look at you
I realise how much I am loved.
When
you are feeling bad, don’t forget — I truly love you. I
would like to be a better daughter. We argue sometimes and that
makes me sad. I feel bad and unhappy if you cry.
I
remember when I was little and you would hug me and say, “I
love you so much, Lizzie, sit here with me for just a little while."
Those times were so special for me and you made me so happy. I felt
like nothing could ever hurt me. I used to wish those moments would
never end. To be cuddled up next to you like that today would be
like a dream come true.
Mom,
I feel sad when you feel sad. And, when you are happy, I am happy!
You are my mother and I would never choose anyone else. Without you,
I would never be who I am.
I
love you with all my heart.
Kisses,
Liz
Suddenly
what had been a very difficult day became a completely amazing day,
and I was once again eMailing all of my friends and family to share
this wonderful letter with them.
Jan
brought the folder and the letter to my house that night. As she put
it in my hands, she said to me, “You have got to know this was
no accident.” I said, “Oh Jan, believe me I do know
that.” She went on to tell me that she remembered telling Liz
what a beautiful letter it was, and she had encouraged her to share
it with me. She even remembered what Liz’s comment had been,
“I will when the time is right.”
Receiving
that letter was no coincidence. I believe with all my heart that my
daughter is still with me and she knew I was having a difficult day.
She reached out to let me know just how much she loves and misses me,
just as I love and miss her.
That
letter is now framed, with the French version on one side, a picture
of Liz in the middle, and the English translation on the other, and
it hangs in our living room. It is a constant reminder of the power
of our love. That letter is visual proof for me that Liz reached out
and touched me on a day when I needed it most.
Now,
I am sure, I will have more sad days in the years to come. But when
I do, all I have to do is read her letter and I will once again feel
the strong bond that we will always share. It is a bond that can
never be broken, not even by death.
Just
as God’s love for his children never changes, the love that my
daughter and I share never changes. It will live for all eternity.
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