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HelpRe: Create Your Family- Part 5
in reply to a message by Hannah
[I didn't count how many years this is ahead. The multiples are twenty-five, the twins are twenty-two, and the quads are nineteen. The fish and Mikey are dead and gone.]
Dear family,
I'm deeply grieved to announce to you my dear Christo's passing. He lost the battle with cancer on Thursday. We're all very torn up about it--me particularly. I'm not sure what exactly I'm going to do without him. If anyone would be kind enough to come down and sit with me while I figure out funeral things, I'd be very appreciative.
I don't want this only to be a sad-news letter, though; Christo hated those sorts, and I don't think he'd appreciate one devoted entirely to his demise. I say this while my tears fall on the face of my newest grandchild, Christopher Ivers Miller. We call him Chrissy right now, though I'm sure he'll become a dignified Chris when he's older. (He's only three months, and I think he's rather confused as to why Grandivy is raining on him.)
So I suppose I'll tell you all about what's been going on with our brood. That ought to be a bit of a cheerer, if only because I can see Christo in all of them.
Mena, dearest Mena, still lies as peacefully under her linden tree in the cemetary as she did when she was put down there. Christo will be buried in the plot right next to her--I don't want him to be far away from family, and besides that, Mena was his favourite. (He wouldn't say so, but I swear it's true.) I visit her more often than I probably should, and I discuss with her what's going on, and about her own tumultous life. I have yet to have any brilliant flashes as to where she went, or why, when she left home at nineteen. I try not to think on that too much, considering the state her body was in when she was found. The case is still cold and open, of course.
At least we have Joy Angelica (or Janjy, as her Uncle Lock likes to call her) to remain. I do wish Mena hadn't left; the poor dear lost her mother at the age of four, and that's sad. But we love Joy, who tries her best to be happy. She's turning fourteen, and it's amazing how like her mother she is.
Aggie's been singing her heart out as of late. She's mainly doing gigs at little bars, singing the blues (where she got the voice to do so, I don't know, but she sounds heavenly). Her son, James Porter Erickson, is now two, and her husband, Paul, has been hinting that they might be considering another.
Lock's doing wonderfully well; he's going to be a very successful pediatrician once he's done with school. At the moment, he's been seeing a girl named Cynthia, and they've hit it off. I'm hoping he holds onto her. I think she'd be good for him. He's not always too serious, which is fine when dealing with squalling children, but not so fine in other situations.
Jo's been at his computer constantly, programming this or that. It all makes sense to him, of course, but it goes straight over my head.
[I've got no more patience at the moment. I'm going to have to stop it right here for the time. I didn't want to waste what I'd written, though.]
Array
Dear family,
I'm deeply grieved to announce to you my dear Christo's passing. He lost the battle with cancer on Thursday. We're all very torn up about it--me particularly. I'm not sure what exactly I'm going to do without him. If anyone would be kind enough to come down and sit with me while I figure out funeral things, I'd be very appreciative.
I don't want this only to be a sad-news letter, though; Christo hated those sorts, and I don't think he'd appreciate one devoted entirely to his demise. I say this while my tears fall on the face of my newest grandchild, Christopher Ivers Miller. We call him Chrissy right now, though I'm sure he'll become a dignified Chris when he's older. (He's only three months, and I think he's rather confused as to why Grandivy is raining on him.)
So I suppose I'll tell you all about what's been going on with our brood. That ought to be a bit of a cheerer, if only because I can see Christo in all of them.
Mena, dearest Mena, still lies as peacefully under her linden tree in the cemetary as she did when she was put down there. Christo will be buried in the plot right next to her--I don't want him to be far away from family, and besides that, Mena was his favourite. (He wouldn't say so, but I swear it's true.) I visit her more often than I probably should, and I discuss with her what's going on, and about her own tumultous life. I have yet to have any brilliant flashes as to where she went, or why, when she left home at nineteen. I try not to think on that too much, considering the state her body was in when she was found. The case is still cold and open, of course.
At least we have Joy Angelica (or Janjy, as her Uncle Lock likes to call her) to remain. I do wish Mena hadn't left; the poor dear lost her mother at the age of four, and that's sad. But we love Joy, who tries her best to be happy. She's turning fourteen, and it's amazing how like her mother she is.
Aggie's been singing her heart out as of late. She's mainly doing gigs at little bars, singing the blues (where she got the voice to do so, I don't know, but she sounds heavenly). Her son, James Porter Erickson, is now two, and her husband, Paul, has been hinting that they might be considering another.
Lock's doing wonderfully well; he's going to be a very successful pediatrician once he's done with school. At the moment, he's been seeing a girl named Cynthia, and they've hit it off. I'm hoping he holds onto her. I think she'd be good for him. He's not always too serious, which is fine when dealing with squalling children, but not so fine in other situations.
Jo's been at his computer constantly, programming this or that. It all makes sense to him, of course, but it goes straight over my head.
[I've got no more patience at the moment. I'm going to have to stop it right here for the time. I didn't want to waste what I'd written, though.]
Array
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