"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

I remember the day you died. I was only twelve, but I can still hear my dad sighing loud and saying “She was one of the good ones” when we heard about it on the radio. Now, five years from your death and two from his, those memories seem to be stick to my soul forever. I wonder if you two met over there… Wherever “there” is. I like to think there is actually something more to life and death. That we don’t just leave this world like we were never in it in the first place. Kind of like heaven, I guess…

My dad was nothing like yours, maybe if he had been, I wouldn’t miss him as much. Is it terrible that I sometimes wish he would have been a worse dad so my pains stops? But the thing is… He wasn’t. He was the best dad I could ever ask for, or anyone for that matter. He was the kind of dad who took you and picked you up from school everyday. The one who would never ever miss a school play, even if you’re playing a tree, he would be standing there with his proud look. The one who would get into your room and kissed your forehead before going to work. And the one who always make sure you knew how much he loves you. Despite all of this, I’m still mad at him.

I’m mad at him for leaving me, maybe that’s why I loved “Love letters to the Dead” so much. I could feel Laurel’s feelings. It’s that kind of anger that you think you shouldn’t feel so you don’t ever confess it to anyone. But I also think that’s what people feel when they lose a loved one. Abandoned. Left alone. His death was so sudden it made me even angrier. Everything about it seemed so unfair. And I was mad at him.

Mad at him for driving through a storm. Mad at him for not telling me he was going away. Mad at him for not looking at his phone when my mom texted him to be careful because of the storm. Mad at him for not having thought what could happen if something happened to him. Mad at him for not thinking about me or my brother before not being careful enough. Mad at him for dying. Mad at everything for supposing that I could take all that pain.

After two years I don’t feel so much anger anymore. Life’s taught me that I should always seek for the positive side of things. It is always there. I know it sounds crazy after all I’ve said before. It used to sound crazy to me. How could anyone tell me I had to see the positive side of my dad dying? Dilusional, right? But I’ve grown so much since then. It toughened me up. I’m a whole new different person. And I know he would be proud of who I am today. And that’s enough for now. The rest I’ll have to take on faith.