letter to Ruth

Hi Ruth,

I really enjoyed talking with you this morning; I only wish the circumstances had been different. I would have been honored to have been your daughter-in-law and given you and Al beautiful little grand babies ☺ Not to brag, but I think Nick and I would have had some very cute and intelligent kids!

My heart hurt this morning to hear the sadness and pain in your voice. Oh Ruth, Nick loved you so, so much. He always talked about how you, Al, and Laura were the most important people n his life. I can’t even imagine the pain you’re experiencing, but if it’s any consolation, know that you did a fantastic job raising the most wonderful man. Nick’s shining personality and love speak volumes about you and Al, and you should be so very proud.

Last week after talking to you, I was a mess. So much so, that my mom came from Arizona for five days to be with me. My reason for falling apart was this: Nick was everything I ever wanted in a man. He’s incredibly kind, honest, intelligent, and just amazing. I mourned what could have been. I always thought in my heart that he had to get better; he’s said before that this cancer was a blessing because it made him reevaluate his priorities and take a good look at the friends in his life. I thought he’d get better because he’d been given an incredible gift—the gift of experience that would bring compassion and empathy when helping other cancer patients. It’s too much of a coincidence that a brilliant student in medicine who just finished interviews for residencies in radiation oncology would get the very cancer he would be treating. It’s too much. But I can’t use this logic now, and that tears me up. So I hold on to the memories of the times we spent together, and will hold those forever in my heart.

I’m looking back in my journal, and one event jumps out in particular. It was April 3, and Nick and I were both very grumpy, but decided that we should hang out and try to cheer each other. After about an hour of trying to figure out what to do, we decided that the first order of business would be to get caffeine. We went to the new Starbucks on Euclid, ordered our drinks, and sat down. Not five minutes later, a very drunk man in a fairly nice business suit sat in the armchair next to our table. He started to ask us all sorts of bazaar questions, and it was apparent that this man was in the middle of some great personal trauma. He leaned in real close—I could smell the alcohol on his breath—and he asked Nick, “Do you love your wife enough to let her go?” Nick looked across the table and replied, “Yes, I do.” To tell you the truth, I didn’t get it at the time. I saw the whole situation as one where we were trying to make a very sad man feel a little better about his life. Did Nick mean anything by his answer? I don’t know. But thinking about it now, I realize, wow, this was such a Nick answer! He loves his friends and family so much; he never wanted to be a burden to anyone and always wanted to step up to take care of others. He would want us to go on, remember him, and cherish the life he lived with such passion. So I will remember that night, the way he looked across the table, how he grabbed my hand as we ran across Lindell in the rain, and how the evening ended as so many of our evenings did. This was our usual, bi-weekly evening: It would be cold in Nick’s apartment, so after I sat on the couch, he’d throw the grey fleece blanket on me. We’d sit on the couch, and he’d be restless for a while, trying to get comfortable, the whole time asking me what I want to watch. We’d decide on a movie, or an SNL episode (the one with Feist and Brian Williams being a favorite), or an animated television show. I’d sit somewhat sideways, with my toes tucked into the crack of the sofa cushions, the tops of my feet against his hip and the side of his thigh. If I make a comment during the show, he’d stop the program, and have me repeat what I said before responding. Sometimes I have to repeat myself again. Then he’d rewind the show to where we were before I started talking. Sometimes he’d look over at me. Sometimes I’d steal a glance at him. I loved his loud laugh. He’d look at me when I giggled. His arm would drape across the back of the couch, and he’d lean slightly toward me. Sometimes I would start to fall asleep, but when he laughed, I’d wake up and feel happy. I was always happy when we were together.

I refuse to say bye to Nick. I flat out refuse. And here’s my reasoning. Anyone who met Nick, knew Nick, loved Nick, knows that he is an amazing man. His smile, laugh, silly dances, and love will live in our hearts. We have these special memories that we hold dear to us, creating this common bond. So Nick won't leave; he’s in you, and me, and the bond we share as people who love him so much. So I refuse to say bye to him. Instead, I choose to say, “I love you.” I love Nick, and I love all of you, the family that was his everything, because we all hold a piece of Nick within our hearts.

Love,
Holly