Jeremiah's Letter to Joyce

Joyce,

We both learned a long time ago not to apologize for things we weren't actually sorry for. We know how it goes. It never stops -- you start apologizing for your whole life, for the space you take up and the air you breathe. I figure you don't want that. You've never taken any shit from me anyway, so let's not start here.

You aren't happy with the deal. That's okay. I won't ask you to be happy with it, only to read the rest of this letter before stoically ignoring all of this again.

You don't know what it's like to die. And then to undie like that -- and you can't move, you can't see, or speak unless someone else lets you. At first I thought it was Hell and all the things that [this part is scribbled out fiercely]. (Sorry for the mess. I'm not rewriting this.)

I want to tell you this because I want you to understand. If you think Martin did something without my consent -- let me reassure you -- he asked me and I wanted it. I wanted to live.

I respect you. I know you think it was a bad idea, and I don't take that lightly. We did not make this decision carelessly. We did not do it for something frivolous. Maybe that doesn't make it any better to you, but the best that Martin and I can do is make our choices deliberately and live with the consequences.

I hope we can come to peace over this.

Jeremiah