Writing a Farewell Letter to the Dying

What would you say?

These were the last words from my boss. He wrote them last month, in January.

So I was wrapping up some final 2020 docs and admin tonight…reviewing some of the goals and successes achieved…and it’s clear your efforts and proactive projects this past year have been foundational to our department for not only 2020 but going forward into 2021.

I regret the impact of Covid on all of us…however, you have tackled and excelled so much in 2020.

Thank you for doing so much for our division and our department. I look forward to supporting your new year and continuing projects.

Let’s shoot for a sync next week.

Let me know if there is anything you need to touch base about before next week and we will make it happen.

Cheers!

I only had two meetings with him since March 2020, aka, when Covid went down. Gerry spent most of his time in cancer treatments. I replied, “Next week sounds great, let me know when :)”. He never wrote back.

Last night, my boss’ wife sent an email to a handful of us saying that he was in his final weeks. She asked if anyone wanted to write a message that she could read to him.

Of course I would write him. Gerry was by far the kindest human I have ever met. If we had a replacement for Mr. Rogers, it was him. I was blessed to have him as a boss, but even more lucky to know him in his last few years.

But what do you write to someone as your final message to them? What do you say to convey the impact they’ve had on you, short of saying “please don’t die because this world will burn to hell without you”?

I’m on Medium because I write. Writing is my jam. These articles I post on here take ten minutes to crank out. Babbling incessantly isn’t a problem for me.

And yet, I sat for thirty minutes with my hands hovered over my keyboard, unable to move.

In the past, I’ve thought about the last words I would tell someone if it was the last thing they’d ever hear from me. Something hauntingly poetic and masterful, the kind of writing that would make them drop to their knees in appreciation.

That’s not how reality works. Instead, your last message is when they’ve already suffered pain and torture for months. When they’re barely lucid. When someone else has to read the message for them.

I’m a sarcastic asshole most of the time. I don’t do well with sentimental fluff. Since I was a kid, and now as a parent, when someone around me is hurt my default mode is to redirect them away from their pain. I don’t zero in on their hurt; I distract and hope I can make them happy again. That’s not an option for someone full of morphine.

All I wanted to write was, “Gerry, please don’t die. This world needs you. Humankind needs you. We need you. I need you. If you leave, you’ll take a chunk of humanity with you.”

I decided instead to focus on his wife. I figure everyone was writing a message for him and just writing “so sorry for what you’re going through”. My heart was breaking for her.

The beginning of my email was a message just for her. I told her about how Gerry used to talk about her. How he described the first time they met. How he clearly loved telling the story. How Gerry had never seen a more perfect creature until he saw her for the first time. How enamored he was with her.

I told her that I was going through a separation and that I could only hope that one day, I find a guy who will talk about me the way Gerry talked about her. That their love was the stuff of fairytales.

Finally, I tackled the message to my boss. I decided not to change my wording any different than how I normally talk. What would I say if I were next to him?

I wrote about how I had learned so much from him and that when he took me on his team, I was broken professionally from my previous department. I explained that my self-esteem was garbage but his patience and support meant everything to me.

I wrote to Gerry about how I’ll never forget our long office conversations. I made a long list of random things he taught me, like how to use Sharpie to get rid of Sharpie ink on a whiteboard or that during a zombie apocalypse, a hand radio is the best form of communication. How you can add a metal nozzle to a can of spray air to make it more powerful and how George Lucas ruined Red Tails by making it more Star Wars-y. How to properly wind a long electrical cord, how there’s always two rainbows, and that Michael Bay is an asshole.

Finally, I wrote that he was a wonderful friend and mentor. He taught me more than he could ever imagine. I messaged that he made an impact on the lives of everyone who has ever met him and none of us will ever forget the positive influence he had on us.

In my head, it’s like I had to let him know how much he mattered. If there is a hereafter, he needs to strut in like a baller knowing he left earth having improved the lives of everyone he met.

Gerry died this morning.

I’m blessed that I’ve lived over 40 years without the impact of a significant death. This is the first time I’ve experienced this kind of loss. I’m angry as hell but I don’t know who to blame. I’m heartbroken for his wife who lost her best friend.

I’m sad for myself because I’ll never have more time with him to learn and experience his greatness ever again.

A very close friend of mine is also suffering from cancer. She found out last week that her second type of treatment didn’t work and her cancer progressed. On a call with a mutual friend today, I said “I don’t know how I could write a goodbye letter for Nicky. There aren’t enough words to sum up my friendship with her.”

They say that death makes you reevaluate the things that matter most in life. They aren’t kidding. I sat down with my son and told him how I had to write the email and that sometimes, we have to make ourselves uncomfortable if it’s for the benefit of someone who is hurting. I skipped on my divorce chat with my quasi-ex-husband last night because I was busy writing the email; I’m not wasting any time tonight to finish that conversation. I wanted to run straight for the guy that I love (our relationship ended last year), wrap my arms around him, and tell him we shouldn’t waste the precious time we have left on this nonsense game we’re playing but I stopped myself before those thoughts became a reality.

Are there enough words for anyone? Ever?

No. All that matters is making the most of the short time you have left.

And with that, I’m going to crawl back into bed and cry for the world being less bright without Gerry in it.