Letters for the holidays
Nov. 21st, 2005 02:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
abetterlieOne sent:
I have never written to the two of you before. Thanksgiving is coming up. I remember a lot of Thanksgivings which never happened, and two which did, and all of them were happy. Perhaps because most of them never happened, but I'm still grateful I have the memories.
I'm also glad that you were there after Emily left. We don't have many good memories together, you and I, and I know that's my fault, too, but now when I think of you I remember more than what he told me and what happened in the year after I left Quortoth. I remember both of you being there. I remember being with both of you. Sometimes I feel ashamed and sometimes I think it was the most complete peace I've ever known. Thank you.
It's good in New York. For the most part, I'm happy. Maybe I shouldn't be, because what brought me here should not have happened the way it did, and it was largely my fault. (Please don't say it wasn't.) But it happened, and though I hope one day I'll be happy in a way that doesn't hurt someone else, I cannot be anywhere but where I am, and be grateful for that, too.
Your son,
Connor
P.S. Did you ever go to that hockey game?
One unsent:
Dear Kara,
second attempt at a letter that isn't an exercise in self justification. Today I went to St. Patrick's Cathedral. To be honest, I'm not sure I'm Catholic - Mom and Dad weren't, they were Episcopalean, but Father (Daniel Holtz) was, and I guess Angel is, too, so I guess I could be either. Anyway, I lit a candle for Father and Mom and Dad and Mere, and thought about confession. Which was when I realized that there is something I have been dishonest about. Now you're probably saying "one thing? hah!"
Somewhere in someone's journal, yours or Cordelia's, you ask why. Why I could do it, if I cared for you. And when we were on the phone weeks ago, back when everyone was still alive, you thought I had done it because of you, to hurt you. I thought you were completely wrong then, but your later question and an argument I had the other day made me face something. Because while I'm still sure it would not have happened if your boyfriend had been anyone else, I've been kidding myself when telling me that I only feel good things about you - wanting you to be my sister, wanting to protect you, and okay, sometimes to annoy you in a good way (pre-Monterey). Because the truth is, Kara, that there is a lot of ugliness there inside me about you as well.
I guess the drinking game was when it first came out. Because I was jealous of you. Nothing to do with him at that point, I was jealous because you were living with my parents in a way I couldn't, because of so many things - their past, my past, my then present with my other father and Justine. I was jealous because the clock was ticking and though I couldn't know my other family would die, I knew I would lose them, and I had asked for it, but it still gutted me when I thought of it, and there you were. I didn't know much about you, remember. I didn't know about your mother or your father. When I called you a little kid running around with a stake, I wasn't just ticked off because we were arguing at that point, I was so envious. Because maybe that was what I wanted to be again. A kid. With just one set of memories and loyalties and no track record for going psycho and aiding and abetting mass slaughter.
Later, when he did become a factor, I was envious of you, too, and jealous. Because he did love you, because you could be together, because I thought it was absolutely hopeless for me, and because each time he told me he wanted you and what you had to offer and how you didn't deserve to be hurt I wanted to scream instead of nodding and saying yes, yes, of course. I kept telling myself that I wanted the same thing, that I didn't want you to be hurt, either, that I could take it and you couldn't. But now I wonder whether that wasn't all self-serving bullshit. Something I told myself so I'd feel noble and self-sacrificing instead like a raging egomaniac who was yelling inside "but what about me?" and "I don't care if she gets hurt, I still want this".
Because if what I told myself had been the truth, the real truth, if I didn't want you to get hurt, if I wanted to protect you so much, then it should have been enough. It should have been enough to keep me away, instead of making just a few paltry attempts at staying away. Because I guess the real test came after I realized Emily was gone and I was still here and that I had a choice. I could have remained in Boston. Or I could have gone back to Stanford and audited for classes at least, and tried to persuade them to take me back. But I can't say I considered that for longer than half an hour. About the time between the phone call to Stanford and getting an email from him. That was when I failed the test.
I don't know whether hearing this will help you in any way, though. When Cordelia was here and she and Harry yelled at each other, he said that it wasn't about any of us being able to tell ourselves hey, we tried, but about what is best for you. And I'm a really lousy judge of that. So I guess this letter, too, will just be a draft. But there has to be something I can say that actually works for you.
Connor
I have never written to the two of you before. Thanksgiving is coming up. I remember a lot of Thanksgivings which never happened, and two which did, and all of them were happy. Perhaps because most of them never happened, but I'm still grateful I have the memories.
I'm also glad that you were there after Emily left. We don't have many good memories together, you and I, and I know that's my fault, too, but now when I think of you I remember more than what he told me and what happened in the year after I left Quortoth. I remember both of you being there. I remember being with both of you. Sometimes I feel ashamed and sometimes I think it was the most complete peace I've ever known. Thank you.
It's good in New York. For the most part, I'm happy. Maybe I shouldn't be, because what brought me here should not have happened the way it did, and it was largely my fault. (Please don't say it wasn't.) But it happened, and though I hope one day I'll be happy in a way that doesn't hurt someone else, I cannot be anywhere but where I am, and be grateful for that, too.
Your son,
Connor
P.S. Did you ever go to that hockey game?
One unsent:
Dear Kara,
second attempt at a letter that isn't an exercise in self justification. Today I went to St. Patrick's Cathedral. To be honest, I'm not sure I'm Catholic - Mom and Dad weren't, they were Episcopalean, but Father (Daniel Holtz) was, and I guess Angel is, too, so I guess I could be either. Anyway, I lit a candle for Father and Mom and Dad and Mere, and thought about confession. Which was when I realized that there is something I have been dishonest about. Now you're probably saying "one thing? hah!"
Somewhere in someone's journal, yours or Cordelia's, you ask why. Why I could do it, if I cared for you. And when we were on the phone weeks ago, back when everyone was still alive, you thought I had done it because of you, to hurt you. I thought you were completely wrong then, but your later question and an argument I had the other day made me face something. Because while I'm still sure it would not have happened if your boyfriend had been anyone else, I've been kidding myself when telling me that I only feel good things about you - wanting you to be my sister, wanting to protect you, and okay, sometimes to annoy you in a good way (pre-Monterey). Because the truth is, Kara, that there is a lot of ugliness there inside me about you as well.
I guess the drinking game was when it first came out. Because I was jealous of you. Nothing to do with him at that point, I was jealous because you were living with my parents in a way I couldn't, because of so many things - their past, my past, my then present with my other father and Justine. I was jealous because the clock was ticking and though I couldn't know my other family would die, I knew I would lose them, and I had asked for it, but it still gutted me when I thought of it, and there you were. I didn't know much about you, remember. I didn't know about your mother or your father. When I called you a little kid running around with a stake, I wasn't just ticked off because we were arguing at that point, I was so envious. Because maybe that was what I wanted to be again. A kid. With just one set of memories and loyalties and no track record for going psycho and aiding and abetting mass slaughter.
Later, when he did become a factor, I was envious of you, too, and jealous. Because he did love you, because you could be together, because I thought it was absolutely hopeless for me, and because each time he told me he wanted you and what you had to offer and how you didn't deserve to be hurt I wanted to scream instead of nodding and saying yes, yes, of course. I kept telling myself that I wanted the same thing, that I didn't want you to be hurt, either, that I could take it and you couldn't. But now I wonder whether that wasn't all self-serving bullshit. Something I told myself so I'd feel noble and self-sacrificing instead like a raging egomaniac who was yelling inside "but what about me?" and "I don't care if she gets hurt, I still want this".
Because if what I told myself had been the truth, the real truth, if I didn't want you to get hurt, if I wanted to protect you so much, then it should have been enough. It should have been enough to keep me away, instead of making just a few paltry attempts at staying away. Because I guess the real test came after I realized Emily was gone and I was still here and that I had a choice. I could have remained in Boston. Or I could have gone back to Stanford and audited for classes at least, and tried to persuade them to take me back. But I can't say I considered that for longer than half an hour. About the time between the phone call to Stanford and getting an email from him. That was when I failed the test.
I don't know whether hearing this will help you in any way, though. When Cordelia was here and she and Harry yelled at each other, he said that it wasn't about any of us being able to tell ourselves hey, we tried, but about what is best for you. And I'm a really lousy judge of that. So I guess this letter, too, will just be a draft. But there has to be something I can say that actually works for you.
Connor
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Email
Date: 2005-11-22 03:03 am (UTC)from: angel_ceo_@livejournal.com
subject: Hi
Connor,
I'm glad you had a couple of real Thanksgivings that were happy. The holiday isn't one that has been important to me before. I grew up in Ireland when I was mortal and I was a vampire by the time I was in the states. I know that beyond the celebration of food it's mostly a celebration of family. Thank you for the letter, it means a lot to both your mother and me.
I'm sending you a package that you should receive on Wednesday. I know you didn't have have much time with Emily and that you are grieving her loss. I'm not sure if the sketches I've sent will help or not, but I wanted you to have them. If you want me to do sketches of the Riley's for you just say the word.
I'm not going to tell you that Kara's pain isn't your fault. You know as well as I do there are consequences for the choices we make. I've always wanted you to be happy. Everything I've ever tried to do for you was so that you would be happy. I can't say I'm pleased that your happiness has come at the cost of Kara's. I can't say that I don't wish you'd made other choices, but what is done is done. I hope you enjoy your Thanksgiving. It meant a lot to your mother and me to be able to be there with you after Emily. You always have a home with us, son.
Love,
Dad
P.S. With everything that kept happening we weren't able to go, but we've kept the tickets. Maybe one day we can all catch a game together.