I’m ready now to write my last email to you.
I’ll forever regret not emailing you one last time. It was almost time for another email. Our last conversation being a month ago—we talked about my new novel. I insisted that I’d be basing Merlin after you to which you politely declined and insisted instead that Merlin was a she instead. We went back and forth until deciding Merlin would be non-binary and feminine portraying. And that they would be played by Tilda Swinton. You’d still make a fine Merlin. You always were magic.
I stopped writing when you died. I stopped reading. The first few days, all I did was cry. Shu tried his best to console me—but I think Japanese mourning is much quieter and my grief refuses to whisper.
I saved our email conversations, as many as I could from the cruel clutches of my trash folder. The last one was from when your mother passed away. You said she had flunked. I thought about writing something that would make you laugh like you made me so many times—but the words catch in my throat.
I’m doing better day by day, although I still miss you so much. Even typing this in the dark, I’m crying.
You were more family to me than blood ties. You saved me from myself so many times. And when I was broken and chair-bound, you taught me to walk again. During earthquakes and typhoons, you were always first to find me and make sure I was safe.
I swear, I’ll do everything I can to make Mrs Chalk remember how loved she is. I know you’d hate leaving her behind. It was always so easy to see how much you love each other.
I’m rambling now but it’s the last letter I’ll write to you. A part of me doesn’t want it to end. It means you’re really gone.
I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep reading books. And every time I speak Japanese or have matcha ice cream or tempura, I’ll remember you.
It’ll hurt for a while. But eventually, I’ll be able to smile at these wonderful memories and at the life you helped give me.
I will always love and admire you, Grandpa. There was no better master Jedi.