It's been a long, long time since we had a chat. But I often feel that I don't really need to speak to you. I just remember you. Possibly every day of my life. I've learned that I can't promise that I'll never, ever, forget you (just like anything else). But, definitely, I haven't forgotten you yet. You're still in my heart. I'm still that child you came for every week at the end of the his guitar lessons. I still treasure that cheap guitar you carried for me; someone broke it, but I lended it. I'm still here, and so do you.
Recently, I've started to do some work in the village at weekends, in a beautiful house you'd love to see. Surprisingly enough, it's a real pleasure. One day, I went home (I mean, yours, mine and mom's) and poke inside the tools cupboard. You know, it has always been a real mess, everybody put their dirty hands there and took away tools they never brought back, and since I was unable to keep it in order, I usually avoided it. When I got married, I bought my own, small, efficient set of tools. But some weeks ago I collected your old tools to take them to the village. Your screwdrivers (well, the remaining ones), your hammer, your saws, your small axe... They were covered in oxide, like useless relics.
But they work. I put some oil on them, I cleaned them, and it felt like becoming reconciled (once again) with you, and now they're my tools. And I really love feeling their iron in my hands, and building and shaping things with them, and they're alive again, and it feels like both of us, you and me, are doing the work together. And I feel a deep, overwhelming peace.
You know, it's very unusual for me to cry. I cried once, only once, only a couple of minutes, when you left; and after that, I didn't cry for at least seven years. However, I've cried writing this.
Life was a struggle for you, I know. I'd like to tell you that we're OK, after all. I'd like you to see us, to see that we're happy, that everything went well, that everything's all right. I'd like you to visit my house, and have a walk. I'd like to give you some money, and I'm pretty sure you'd boast before your friends at the bar. Actually, we were always reluctant to see you going there, but today I enjoy imagining you there, being proud of us. I'm proud of you.
Everything's all right. And we miss you.