THAT

Subject: Well, I Did a Dumb Thing

Hey Sarah,

So, I got a traffic ticket last week. Yeah, I know—classic Ethan move. I was rushing to work and didn’t notice the speed limit change. Long story short, I’m now the proud recipient of 10 hours of community service.

The worst part? I have to spend those hours visiting elderly patients at a hospice place called Arcturus. I mean, I’m all for helping people, but I’m not exactly the “chatty with strangers” type, as you know. Wish me luck—I’m going to need it.

Anyway, how’s life on your end? Tell the kids I say hi.

Ethan

Dear Margaret,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to thank you for making my first visit to Mom's abode so enjoyable. Your stories about the design adventures as an architect  and your love of tennis were fascinating. I’ve never met anyone who’s lived such a full and vibrant life. And that bullet that finds its way into your thigh while breaking the evening curfew in that small town you went to school to ! 

I brought you some apples today—I remember you mentioning how much you love fruits. I hope they’re to your liking. Next time, I’ll try to bring something more exciting. Maybe a mushroom pizza from Fellini’s? I hear it’s the best in town.

Looking forward to our next visit.

Warmly,

Ethan

Subject: Re: Well, I Did a Dumb Thing

Hey Ethan,

Community service, huh? Well, look on the bright side—at least you’re not in jail. And who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone interesting at this Arcturus place. Stranger things have happened.

The kids are good. Emma is doing reasonably well with her soccer, and Jake is obsessed with dinosaurs. I swear, he can name more species than I can remember. Anyway, keep me posted on how it goes. And try not to get another ticket, okay?

Love,

Sarah

Dear Ethan,

Your letter brought a smile to my face. Thank you for the apples—they were delicious. I’ve always believed that fresh fruit is one of life’s simplest pleasures. When my girls were growing up, I never let them touch junk food. It was all home-cooked meals and fresh fruits, and look how they turned out—strong, healthy, and full of life.

As for the mushroom pizza from Fellini’s, you’ve piqued my interest. I haven’t had a good mushroom pizza in years, looks like they have decided my system cannot process a simple innocent old fashioned slice of pizza . If you smuggle one next time, I might just have to adopt you as my honorary grandson. Who let you in on my mushroom obsession, it must be Rebecca !  

You asked about my father. He was very successful businessman. Everything he touched became gold. He amassed thousands of acres of land, including five thousand oil-rich acres in Virginia. For years, those acres lay dormant, waiting for the right political climate. And then, as if on cue, this government decided to "drill baby drill", it seems, the head nurse here was telling me this morning. Overnight, those barren fields must have become a goldmine.

But here’s the cruel irony of it all: while the land began to mint money, I found myself stripped of everything. My elder daughter, Martha, convinced me to stay with her for a few months, promising to build me a beautiful home next to hers. She took millions from me, claiming it was for the construction. And she did build it—a sprawling, palatial bungalow fit for a queen. But the moment it was finished, she kicked me out. To add insult to injury, she had me sign property documents while I was vulnerable, effectively stealing everything I had. 

Now, I’m here, in this nurse care facility, dependent on the kindness of my second daughter, Rebecca. She visits often, and for that, I’m grateful. But sometimes, I can’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if I preserved all that I had inherited. A palatial bungalow, servants, nurses—all the trappings of a life I once knew. Instead, I’m here, writing letters to you, finding solace in the small miracles you’ve taught me to appreciate.

Life, Ethan, is a strange and unpredictable thing. It gives you everything, only to take it all away. But perhaps that’s what makes it so beautiful—the impermanence of it all. Thank you for being a bright spot in my days.

Warmly,

Margaret

Dear Ethan,

I hope you don’t mind me reaching out. My mother, Margaret, has told me so much about you, and I wanted to thank you for the kindness you’ve shown her. Your visits and letters have brought her so much joy, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.

I know she’s shared some of her stories with you, including the difficult ones about my sister, Martha. I want you to know that not all of us in the family are like Martha. I’ve tried to make up for her actions by being there for my mother as much as I can, but it’s not always easy. I have my own family to care for, and the guilt of not being able to do more for my mother weighs heavily on me.

Thank you for being a friend to her. It’s a comfort to know she has someone like you in her life.

Warm regards,

Rebecca

Dear Grandma,

I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Mom and I aren’t speaking right now—I can’t forgive her for what she did to you. It’s not just about the money or the property; it’s about the betrayal. You’ve always been so kind and generous, and to see her take advantage of that breaks my heart.

I want you to know that I love you, and I’m so proud to be your granddaughter. I’ve been writing to Aunt Rebecca, too, and she’s been helping me understand everything that’s happened. I just wish I could do more to make things right.

Please take care of yourself, Grandma. I’ll write again soon.

Love,

Lily

Dear Lily,

Your letter brought tears to my eyes. I’m so sorry for the pain this family drama has caused you. You’re young, and you shouldn’t have to carry the weight of your mother’s mistakes. Please don’t let this situation harden your heart. Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself, not just the person who wronged you.

I’m so proud of the person you’re becoming, Lily. You have a kind heart and a strong sense of justice, and that’s something to be proud of. Keep writing to me and to aunt Rebecca. We’re here for you, no matter what.

With love,

Grandma

Subject: Margaret’s Wisdom

Hey Sarah,

I had the most incredible experience today. I was sitting by Margaret’s bedside with Rebecca and Lily, and she shared something so profound that I had to write it down and share it with you.

She said, “Life is like a dream. When you’re dreaming, everything feels real—the joy, the fear, the love, the loss. But when you wake up, you realize it was all just a creation of your mind. Life is no different. It’s a beautiful, fleeting, unpredictable dream. So why not make it a happy one? Why waste time with sad faces and long sighs? Laugh at yourself, at the absurdity of it all. If you can laugh at yourself, no one can laugh at you. They’ll only laugh with you.”

Then she paused, her eyes twinkling, and added, “And remember, the ups and downs—the pleasure and pain, the joy and sadness—they’re all for the body and the mind. But we are not those things. We are something much greater. We are ‘THAT’—the same essence that runs through everything and everyone. When you remember that, the vicissitudes of life don’t affect you as much. You can rise above them, like a bird soaring above the storm.”

It was such a powerful moment, Sarah. I felt like I was witnessing something sacred. Margaret has this way of making you see the world differently, like she’s handing you a new pair of glasses. I’ll never forget it.

Hope you’re doing well. Give the kids a hug from me. BTW, I saw Emma's game yesterday. She was in defense. I thought she was forward. 

Ethan

Dear Grandma,

Aunt Rebecca told me about what you said the other day, about life being like a dream and how we are not our bodies or our minds, but something much greater. It really made me think.

I’ve been so angry at Mom for what she did to you, but your words helped me see things differently. If life is a dream, then maybe the pain and the anger are just part of the experience. They don’t define me, and they don’t define Mom, either. We’re all part of something bigger, something eternal.

I’m still working on forgiving her, but your wisdom has given me a new perspective. Thank you for sharing it with us. I feel like I’m starting to understand what you mean when you say we are ‘THAT.’

I love you, Grandma. I’ll write again soon.

Love,

Lily

Dear Ethan,

I’m so glad my words resonated with you. That’s the beauty of wisdom—it doesn’t belong to me or to you; it belongs to all of us. It’s just waiting to be remembered.

I’ve lived a long life, Ethan, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the secret to happiness isn’t in avoiding pain or chasing pleasure. It’s in remembering who you truly are. When you can laugh at the absurdity of life, cry at its beauty, and let go of the need to control it, you’ll find a peace that nothing can shake.

Thank you for being such a wonderful friend and student. You’ve brought so much joy into my life, and I’m grateful for every letter, every visit, every moment we’ve shared.

Remember, Ethan: you are ‘THAT.’ And ‘THAT’ is forever.

With love and a wink,

Margaret

Subject: Margaret’s Final Lesson

Hey Sarah,

Remember I wrote to you you about Margaret's husband cheating on her and ending up marrying her sister? This morning, me and Rebecca had a walk around the building when she told me that her father and mother were married for 50 plus years and they were very much married when he passed away 11 years ago. Her aunt, who Margaret said " stole my husband" never even visited their house before she herself got married and moved to South Africa. "She is slipping, Ethan", she said sadly.  

I received what might be Margaret’s final letter today - Rebecca said the doctors are advising against the stress of reading and writing. They are giving her a few week at the most - I feel like I’ve been given a gift, and I want to share it with you. Margaret’s wisdom has changed me in ways I’m still discovering.

Hope you’re doing well. Give the kids a hug from me.

Ethan