Page 44 of Truly Madly Deeply

Question: Why did the scientist take out his doorbell?

Answer: Because he wanted to win the no-bell prize.

(Kindly pretend to laugh at this. If I find it extremely funny, even in my current state, then so should you.)

Now that you’re in an agreeable mood, I need you to do a few things for me. Allow me to point out that you are not in a position to turn me down, complain, and/or argue because I’m:

Dead, and therefore cannot hear you.

Always right.

100% going to haunt you if you fail me. I have a lot of free time right now, Callichka. Do not try me.

I thought long and hard about what it was I wanted from you. Birthdays, if you ask me, are overrated. It is death days in which you are granted all your wishes. And sure, I could’ve asked you to finally start your podcast, get things moving, take the plunge. But I believe that you cannot rush art and growth. So I’m going to let you take your first steps into your career at your own pace, even if I find it outrageously slow.

I snorted. My dad had been a teenager when he’d moved to America. He’d still had this Soviet air about him. A sternness that had collectively labeled anyone without a steady career, two degrees, and the durability to drink their own body weight an utter, useless slacker.

These are my two requests for you (and remember, you CANNOT say no):

Take me somewhere nice and spread my ashes. Let me explain. I’m afraid your mother will use my presence in her living room as an excuse not to move on. She deserves to move on. Deserves to fall in love, to laugh, to enjoy the remainder of her days. Which brings me to my next point: I would really rather not be there, on the mantel, when she and her new partner make out for the first time. Yes, I want her to move on. No, I don’t want it happening in front of my face. Or rather, dust. Spread my ashes somewhere beautiful and tranquil. Somewhere with a great view. Somewhere I can be free.

Remember how much you loved running? You stopped for the wrong reason. Whatever it was, it wasn’t worth it. Pick it up again. You’re not truly free until you break the chains of your fears. And you, Callichka, are afraid of running. Once you get rid of that anxiety, you will become invincible. You will record your podcast. You will push the envelope. You were made for stardom. So go on. Touch the sky. That’s where I’ll be waiting for you.

I’ve enclosed a little something for you to consider. Just an idea.

And always remember what I told you: the darkness envies the moon because it helps it shine. Don’t let people tell you you are anything less than perfect.

Love you more than a flower loves the sun,

—Dad.

I was crying so hard, it took me ten minutes to manage to read the card Dad had included in his letter. It was a 10K run for a children’s hospital in Portland. The run was set to take place here in Staindrop on Christmas Day, less than seven weeks away.

Admittedly, the slogan—10K for Kiddies—wasn’t the height of sophisticated copywriting. It sounded diabolical, not to mention extremely illegal. But I got why Dad wanted me to do something like this. It would make me commit to running every day, something I hadn’t done in years. It would be for a great cause—helping children. And it was also taking place right here, so it would force me to stick around for at least a few weeks.

“Jesus, Dad, you know I don’t run.” I shoved his letter and the postcard back into the envelope. In truth, I loved running. I just couldn’t disassociate it from the worst day of my life. “Also, where am I going to release your ashes?” I shook my head.

A knock on my bedroom door startled me. I blew out a breath.

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