A letter from October 25th, 2016

Dear FutureMe, this is not a happy day at all for me. i hope you have some good news by now and have been able to talk to our son Vince whom we love more than life and more than god. sorry, god. i wish you could write back into the past so you could tell me he is all right and he can be happy some day. i guess you know i am 70 years old now and have n othing at all to look forward to. every year some other body part either stops working or starts hurting. hey, you didnt start smoking again did you? damn, i will kill you if you do, if i can catch up with you. here i am, now realizing that i am a copd person and so i quit for sure, for good and forever. dont blame me and say it is my fault that you lived another year. it isnt about life, you jerk-it's about BREATH. i watched raj die in 18 months and he never smoked. master of his own breath except for what killed him. you dont have to tell me i should be ashamed of myself for even mentioning his name with this kind of attitude. i know perfectly well. try and forget i ever said anything like that, will you? i will try, too. so there-we do have something to look forward to, you and i, and that is seeing raj again. as much as i love him and cherish the experience and the memories of him, i wish it could have been vince who met him instead of me. oh vince, my absalom...my son, my son. i wish you could write back into the past to vince and tell him to call me, and if he cant for some reason that i cannot possibly fathom, to at least email me. if he has no internet, surely at least one friend of his will let him send an email to his poor old mother. and if he doesnt have my email address, i will be writing him one last letter soon to tell him how proud i am of him and will always be til the day i die and even afterward. i wish i could copy vince on this. i wish there was some magical way that this could reach him. i want him to know that there is nothing he ever has to do or be or find or try to make me proud of him, because i already am and always was and always will be. you and i know he has a fine true character of the highest order ever possible. a remarkably innocent soul, my indigo child. ok, some poetry then. one for raj and one for vince. THIS MAN This man, who once was master of his breath, has not enough left now even to cry if he chose to do so. Conscious, yet paralyzed, reaching out to help me, as effectively as ever he raises my level of understanding higher still. Then he smiles at me through his agony, and I am ashamed of my selfishness. It is not for his sake I fear his death, but for my own. With him I bury my fondest dreams, though this relationship, when demised on one plane, remains eternal. No power can sever our souls, but his passing leaves a vacuum nothing can fill. Then he calls, wakes me from my reverie, and I am amazed at my faithlessness. He gave me many priceless gifts; the method to follow him, desire to try, and hope of attaining my goal. That form most prized by my mortal being is merely a specter, never meant to endure beyond its creator’s purpose and will. When my soul is free to leave the body, may I be absolved of my littleness. MY INDIGO CHILD where are you going my indigo child? I cant keep up the pace any more. I'm wild with worry following footprints I dont even recognize. I waited for you, wont you slow down? you held my hands, now it's me that's afraid. you're too far off the beaten path, going the wrong way. What lies in store for you now that you've been exiled? atlas shrugged, jesus wept and satan smiled on the day you were born. I misread all the signs in the skies. you were never meant to save the world. who could expect you'd live long enough to undo our mistakes? a man has time to learn life sucks, and then he dies.