Dear Marie

Dear Marie,

           This Christmas does not feel the same without you. They probably never will. I know you won’t read this; but I’ve been told writing you a letter, whether or not you read it, will help me process how I feel. I cherished every year we spent together. I remember our very first Christmas. I bought you those cheap earrings, that you only wore once, but swore you loved. You got me those pants, that actually fit me, but were the wrong color. Sometimes I sit and wonder how we grew so far apart. It was all so simple then. The love we shared was the realest feeling I have ever known.

           The second and third attempts at gifts were better, but our fourth Christmas, I know, changed both our lives forever. I know the ring didn’t fit, and the diamond was smaller than you dreamed of as a little girl, but you said yes. In that moment, I am sure, I was the happiest man in the world. You planned a beautiful wedding that next fall. Our fifth Christmas was filled with warmth and understanding and the warm Oahu air of our holiday honeymoon. The unassuming ramen shop we stumbled into and then ate at for the whole next week. I was sure those days would never end. I didn’t want them to. Maybe if I wasn’t so willfully blind all of this could have been avoided.

           Things changed with the baby. You changed. I changed more. I am sorry for withholding my affection. Sometimes, the way you cared for John, and ignored me, made me feel like a stranger in my own home. I liked being the provider, and I tried to find meaning by sliding deeper into that role. But, when the work dried up, I slipped deeper into drinking. I don’t think you ever figured out just how bad it got. I was pretty good at maintaining the charade. Leaving early, coming back late exhausted, always chewing gum. What was harder to hide was the money, or lack thereof. Somehow, we scraped by for a few years before it really became desperate. The generosity of my dying mother turned to resentment as I bled her dry and turned that blood into vodka.

           When we had Andrew, we thought it would help us. Someone for John to play with. Another piece of the perfect family image falling into place. But I never really felt attached to Andrew. I was busy, and with the two boys filling our moments we drifted further and further apart. We managed to hold on for a few years. The boys were the joy of our lives, and I don’t mean to speak about them so callously. I just could never escape the feeling, that they took away the person I loved the most.

Each year got harder. I felt more and more alone. I bounced from part time job to part time job; you picked up shifts at the BBQ place. Well, it started as shifts. But as I struggled more and more you ended up making most of the money. I was a bad primary caregiver. Luckily the boys were school age. Which left me alone to pursue my true passion. Vodka. Things only grew more tense between us. I know now, just how much of it was my fault. I want to sincerely apologize. My heart breaks knowing I never can.

           Things were always better during the holidays. However, last Christmas is the only one I wish I could forget. Unfortunately, every detail is seared into my mind. On Christmas Eve we had that huge fight. So, Christmas morning I woke up in my car. It was cold, bitterly cold. My left foot looked an awful shade of near-blue. I tried to start the car and warm up only to realize I had run it into the ground, and a ditch, the night before. It was a miracle the police didn’t find me overnight. Although, honestly, now I wish they had. They are always too late to help. The car wasn’t hidden, but I suppose it was Christmas Eve. I had to walk home. It was about five miles. I passed so many houses with happy families enjoying their holiday. The joy spilling out from their homes onto the streets.

I got home a little before seven. When I opened the door, the look on your face immediately told me just how bad the fight really was. You were surprised, and afraid. You weren’t expecting me to come back. You had opened all the presents without me. John and Andrew were playing with their new toys in the living room. They barely reacted. I suppose they were used to us. The Year Without a Santa Claus played, jollily, in the background. We picked up the fight right where we left off. I didn’t even know why we were fighting anymore. I don’t remember how it started. I was just so angry about Christmas going on without me. That we weren’t like the people down the street. I was angry at you. For taking the memory from me, for taking my perfect family from me. It boiled over as we screamed back and forth.

           You hit me. You punched me right in the glasses. They fell off my face and shattered on the carpet running down the hall. I didn’t mean to push you so hard. It was a reaction. I felt you were trying to kill me. When your head hit the stairs and the blood started and I couldn’t stop it. The boys cried out. I think they fully understood what was happening. They play too many video games. Watch too much TV. As they screamed and cried, I looked at you, I felt you getting colder. I thought about how they took you from me. What happened next, I can’t really recall. I blacked out. When I came to, we were all laying in the hallway together. Quiet. The perfect family.

           To any pigs screening this letter, nothing in here should be construed as a confession. I fully maintain and attest to my own innocence. This exercise was recommended by my court appointed psychiatrist to process the trauma of witnessing my family’s brutal murder and the subsequent fallout of being targeted as the primary suspect. I once again ask you to carefully inspect the DNA evidence to find the true perpetrator who broke into my home and snuffed the light of my life out while I slept. I will never forgive you all for this.

All of my love,

Justin