Dear Uncle Oliver,
I don't know how short or how long this letter will be, but in case you don't want to skip all the way to the end to see who wrote it, it's Severin (I had to use my dad's return address labels so my name's not on the envelope). At this point, I don't even really know what I'm going to say. But I feel I have to say something. I have to write this out. Maybe then I can get past this wall that I've hit, maybe then I can begin to understand anything of what's going on. I have to tell someone about everything that's going on, someone who can understand and maybe give some sort of explanation or solution, and you're the only one I can think of, Uncle Oliver. You always seem to have explanations.
I think it was three days ago, but time doesn't seem to be working right lately. But I think it was three days ago. I was getting ready for work. My cat tried to climb up my dad's pant leg again, and mom had to convince him not to throw Darth Furball out the window.
I was looking forward to getting back home. My dad had said he was going to make decorations out of the snow because he figured out you could stick it together.
And then it was about thirty minutes or so before I left. And I was just struck with this awful feeling. In fact, awful just doesn't describe it. It was hell. It was as if my soul went to hell and then returned back to my body, dragging hell with it. Just this sudden realization that everything was wrong, that things were not alright. I had no idea what was going on. I wondered if maybe I had finally lost my sanity from that hellish work day.
But I look back on it now, Uncle Oliver, and I know what it was. I know what happened that moment while I was at work.
Do you know how much I utterly hate myself right now, Uncle Oliver?
Anyway. I wasn't there. My dad was, though. He still hasn't told me much about what really happened. He hasn't been able to talk about it much yet. He never told me whether he was able to say goodbye. At least he'd told her that he loved her before it all happened. My dad was smart. My dad was a good man. Quite the opposite of selfish, careless me. I could've told her I loved her before I left for work. But I didn't.
What must dad have seen? What was it like? I'd seen the Reaper just a few days before, in the gym. We actually worked out together for a little while. It was a bit out of the ordinary, but pretty interesting. But how did dad see him? What was dad's reaction when the Reaper came, not to take some unknown soul and then hang around a while, but to take my mother away from us?
Was she ready to go? Was she at peace?
Hell, even my cat was there. My cat saw the whole thing. He's been a bit mopey as of late. Can cats really be affected by the sight of death?
I feel like it's pointless to describe how I felt. It's making me angry because I can't find the words.
I felt so out of control of my own body. I don't think my mind could keep up with it. It seemed like I could hardly think through the fuzz in my mind, but I remember I ended up collapsed in my dad's arms, bawling all over his shoulder like a five-year-old boy.
I'll apologize to my dad someday for that. I really appreciated him being there for me, though.
We decided to have the funeral at the castle the next morning. You know that, of course. You were one of the first people I sent the notice to. I couldn't sleep at all that night. I eventually just got up at 4:00am and went to check on Katt. She wakes up at odd hours of the night, and I didn't want her to start bawling or anything. Dad sleeps right outside her room now.
Katt was up. Of course she was up.
The night before - the night mom died - I'd found some old diary entries and things of hers. I discovered some things I never knew before, like who Soren's and Tobie's dad was and the day when she first fell in love with my dad. But of all things, I think she wrote about her children the most. Soren, Tobie, me...so frequently she wrote about how much she loved us and wanted the best for us. She worked hard to take care of us. She went through heartbreaks and loneliness and difficulties, but she had strength and she had joy because she loved us.
She gave her all for us. She gave everything. Even the ambitions for the family legacy weren't as important to her as we were.
I have sacrificed nothing. I am a worthless, gutless, terrible father.
But as I held her, I realized all my mother did for me. I finally realized it. And then Katt unexpectedly grabbed my face with both her hands and smooched me right on the cheek and said "Muah! Kissy!"
And I had another moment where my body moved in automatic while my mind stayed a clouded, fuzzy mess. Another moment where I hardly knew what I was doing, I was just going on autopilot. I set her on the floor to give her her bottle, but before I did, I kissed her back. Right on top of her head. I've never kissed my daughter before, Uncle Oliver. Never.
She told me, "You good daddy." I'm starting to question her intelligence. But if that's what she wants to believe about me, I can let her believe it.
I let her see grandma's urn.
Even toddlers can smell death, it seems.
The funeral began at 9:00. Nothing fancy. Just a gathering to give condolences, comfort each other, share her memories. Only it was cold. And snowing.
Anyway. My friend Candy was the first in the door.
And then you came. Of course you'd be right on time, one of the first to show up. You really don't need to have any ties to this family, especially after the stories I've heard of how it was when you and my grandmother, Midnight, lived together. Yet you've always been there anyway.
I almost think my dad needed you more than I did. He seemed to talk to you for an awfully long time.
More guests showed up. Uncle Phantom and his family made their appearances. Whenever Uncle Phantom shows up, the air just feels a little lighter.
Spent more time with Candy inside. She's a cool girl too. I rather hope you can't read my mind through writing.
Eventually, as the funeral came to a close, I got out my guitar and played a few of my mom's favorite songs. She'd always told me how much she liked them.
I did appreciate you playing with Katt for a while. I could tell she loved when you danced with her to the music.
This is kind of where the letter ends. Although really, I've practically written you a novel. I don't even know when you'll have time to read all of this. But I had to talk it out. I had to get this out of my system. I need to be able to move on so I can go through with my plans for the legacy, and be a better parent to boot.
I'll miss my mom always. She was the most wonderful woman. I wish I could have appreciated her more while she was still here. I wish I could've been a better son. I wish I would've told her what she meant to me.
One thing I ask of you, Uncle Oliver. It's a familiar request, I'm sure. Grandma Midnight made it of you in regards to my mom, and my mom made it of you in regards to me and my brothers. Now I want to make it of you.
There's no reason for you to have any ties with this family, Uncle Oliver. But for one more generation, please stay with us.
Thank you for letting me write all this to you. I already know it's helped me a lot. Tomorrow I plan on waking up, taking a big breath, and preparing to move on. I will allow myself to grieve when I need to and not get stuck against a wall of confusion. Life will move on and so will I.
Your nephew (grand-nephew, actually),
P.S. My dad took mom's urn to the cemetery this morning, to bury her with my ancestors. It's late afternoon as I write this and he still isn't back. It is difficult enough for me to go through this time. I can't imagine what my father must be going through.
Stop. Breathe. It will be over soon. I'll just keep telling myself that.
Author's notes: At the start of my legacy, I set the lifespan to 52 days. Amaranth lived exactly 52 days.
This stupid legacy blog has gotten me too attached to my Sims. I almost cried when the Reaper came for Amaranth while I was playing. Gator was making snowmen and I decided, after Amaranth put Katt to bed, that she and Gator could make snowmen together. It would be really cute. I couldn't wait to see how the screenshots would look. After asking her to join him, I focused back on Gator as he finished building his snowman. Two seconds later, the game immediately shifted back to Amaranth, and I knew her time was up.
THIS. This is why I kick out the previous generation when the new generation starts. So I don't have to put myself through this. Ugh.
The aftermath is almost as bad too. Severin and Darth Furball have their fair share of mourning moments, but my goodness, Gator can only be described as hysterical. He breaks down in full-blown sobs seemingly every ten Sim minutes. Like, literally, Severin cries, Gator bawls. I hate having to watch it.
I don't often write in first person. It's actually very difficult to be excellent at. I've written novelettes in first person, but it takes a lot of time and editing. So I won't do this very often for this story, but I felt like it fit better here, to give a personal feel to the funeral and the effects of Amaranth's death.
Comments can be left below. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm going to miss Amaranth like crazy.