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January 10, 2018
Maggie Darton
13 Watch Hill
East Greenwich, RI 02818
Dear Miss Maggie Darton,
I feel I must confess to some momentary expression of excitement upon finding a somewhat familiarly addressed envelope waiting for me in my mailbox (and the ‘momentary’ is by no means a reflection upon yourself, but rather to confess to more would be highly unadvisable and probably bordering on creepy). I must thank you for your letter. I, and I am certain, many others, seldom come across individuals such as yourself, who truly care for the well being of others. It is an utterly refreshing sensation, and I must thank you for it.
I have never thought about it very much until you brought it to my attention, but I do believe I sought to find some sort of connection with people. I suppose I was searching for that peace you wrote of, the peace that comes with the understanding of others; that helps you move on because you know that you are not alone. I do not know that I have succeeded in this regard. I find myself impatient with others but not resentful. Or at least, I do not see myself as such. But until your letter, I am certain I did not find taht there were people who, in my opinion, understood.
Not that I believe that no other person as ever felt a devastating loss in their lifetime. Surely those who have lost their parents, or even children, can aptly understand the devastation a loss of such a dear person can cause. And I do not seek to put myself on their level. It is merely that in the past seven years or so, I have no found enough peace or closure to put it behind me, to only think of the good times. I have moved on to the point where I can think about her and not cry and 90% of the time I can think of a fond moment. But you see I do not merely mourn her loss, I feel responsible for it. Yes, I know it is not my fault; I have tried countless times to convince myself of this, but still the feeling remains. I know it was not I, who was driving that car, and it was not I who pushed her off that bridge, but I was the force responsible for her presence there. And that fact alone is what keeps that night lingering in my mind and dreams.
I find myself surprised at my own writing. It is not often I confide in anyone, let alone a stranger. But I must confess Maggie (I hope I may call you by your first name) that I feel that you might be that connection that I have been searching for. you mentioned in your last letter that there are times you cannot cope with your own thoughts and memories. And in your first letter, how everyone (I assume including yourself) has lost the kind of friend that Holly was to me. Perhaps you would be willing to share your story with me?
Daniel Bradford
