Closure?

I was just thinking about you again...
And crying a little.
And then I felt annoyed at myself because I know that you would be annoyed at me for crying and making a fuss.
I'm sorry.
It was childish of me.

After all, the living need to put the living first, and the dead come after.
I can't let my selfish moments cause other people trouble, just because you died.
That's being manipulative. I can't say, 'But I need closure!'
And cry and make other people feel guilty.
It is unfair to do that. It's actually ill-mannered, I suppose.
I will have to deal with this on my own.

I miss you, even though we weren't very close.
But you were one of the few people I have a blood relationship to. Had.
And I visited you more than all the others ever bothered to do.
I know I shouldn't say that like it matters or that someone's keeping score.
I don't mean it like that. I mean that is the reason why I miss you.
Because I visited you. And I have you engraved in my mind now.

And I tried to talk to you and listen and laugh. You were so ill.
I don't think that you even realised how ill you were, after a while.
You became ill early on, and got worse day by day. You never got much better.
Years passed. You were so used to being ill that I don't know if you realised how much you lost.

I used to feel so uncomfortable in your house. It was awful.
But you seemed happy and of course you were so proud that we couldn't help you or you would tell us not to come back. You had gotten upset at someone like that before, and you have a long memory. Had. We all have that, I think.
Was it selfish of us not to try to help you out of fear that we wouldn't be allowed to see you anymore? Should we have helped you and paid the price?
Even if I never got to see you again, it would have been ok if I knew that you were better off because of what I did. Or what I gave you. Or what I said.
Is that regret?
Is that what all this speculation is?

Will I get to see you again?
I couldn't go to your funeral, I'm sorry.
So that's why I am writing you this letter.
I remember your face.
You had such wonderful eyes. I've never seen that colour in anyone else's eyes.
Unique.
I love your laugh.
Loved.
I'm sorry.
I'm crying again.
I'm getting such an awful headache.
It's so awful sometimes. Everything about us all.
Other times its not so bad.
I guess I think too much.
Don't I?
I know what you'd say.
'Just sit down and have a natter with me, daling.'
Or 'Oh shut up. Make me a cuppa tea.'

Why is it that in all of us, we are mostly defined by our negatives?
All of us have hidden depths, most of which are negative.
We are strong but not in a good way, most of the time.
So many regrets and sorrows and unspoken things.
Even our spoken things seem unspoken.

I'm sorry, I really am.
I will stop now.
I guess I do overthink things.
I hope you know this, that I love you.
I hope you will forgive me for all the things I said in this letter that I never told you.

How wonderful you were.
How funny, how brave, how stoic. How thoughtful.
I liked your laugh. I loved it, actually.
It made me laugh too, every time.
Even though it was more of a cackle.

I wish I had the luxury of telling myself that you didn't suffer.
But that would be too much of a lie.

I wish I had told you more often how fond I am of you. Was.
How I was pleased that we liked a lot of the same kinds of books.
And that we liked cats.
Little things.
But I think perhaps you knew. It was pretty obvious. Maybe it didn't need to be said.
That isn't just me being hopeful. I think, maybe it was like that.

I want to see you again.
I hope very much that I will.

Love
Me