Today is the set up for both my father's annual party and the holiday fundraiser I'm managing. Both kick off tomorrow, with my event - a Winter Wonderland auction and dinner benefiting children of wounded vets - lasting all day. It's the first I've organized, and my nerves are completely shot.
I can't think of a better way to spend the holidays than doing something that will make Mikael, Petr and my father so proud.
Even if I can't stop hurting inside.
Or maybe it's because most of Mikael's team will be present that I don't mind missing out on the annual event.
My therapist says I'm doing well. I know it helps having a positive outlet, channeling the pain I still experience about Mikael's death into helping those who need it. I've finally accepted that my brothers chose to serve their country, and I have to respect that decision. I don't think I'll ever be able to blindly support the military or the idea of war, but I can help those like my brothers who join up to make a difference. The people behind the war, I guess. People like Captain Mathis, who lead others into battle and then have to deal with the consequences alone.
I never responded to his letter and heard no more from or about him, aside from Petr's confirmation he wasn't returning for the party while the other guys are.
It bothers me. Thinking of him makes me hollow inside. I read his letter every morning for the week following its arrival and then put it away.
Your letter destroyed me.
That pain, the one stemming from knowing I hurt him, isn't relenting. There's nothing I can do about it now. I burnt that bridge; that much is clear.
Shaking my head, I look from the first light snow of the winter that coats the lawn and forest visible through the window of my bedroom to the open desk drawer where I placed the letter from Captain Mathis. I'm tempted to toss it into the fire burning in the hearth.
I won't. I already know I'll take it with me wherever I end up someday, a reminder of someone I wish I'd met under different circumstances and of how my fiery emotions burn up those around me sometimes.
It's also a reminder that my biggest regret is not sitting down to get to know him. I had to learn who he was through a letter.
Tucked in the envelope is a customs slip. I finally sent him the Ruptured Duck a few weeks ago. I bought it for someone I cared about, and I sent it, even if whatever disaster of a relationship we had is over. It only seemed right for the duck to go to someone who would appreciate it.