"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

It’s been almost four years since you left. It’s been hard. I miss having your around, you who comforted me every time my parents fought, you who kept convincing Dad to stop cheating on Mom because you loved us so much. You who I’d hug every time you went to your sister’s house next door to ours. The one person who loved me more than anyone did.

Ever since you died, my family fell apart. Dad had no one to convince him anymore so he left us. I was so heartbroken at first, because I used to have such a beautiful family. But then I realized I didn’t like him anymore. He left us. He wasn’t gonna come back. I hate him for that. And sometimes I feel I hate you a little bit, too. I mean, I know you didn’t mean to go. I think you were just as shocked as we were. But sometimes I think, well what if you fought harder? Maybe you would still be here. Maybe I’d still have a grandpa. A shoulder to cry on.

If I had known what was going to happen, I would have stayed. I would have told you to drink with your friends inside. I wouldn’t have been vacationing in Japan while you were getting shot down in the open garage of our own home. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I’m sorry I couldn’t hug you in those last moments. I’m sorry I couldn’t beg you to stay. I really would have if I could. The morning I found out was December 24th. Mom was shivering. She woke me up, telling me you died the night before. I vividly remember waking up on a cold winter morning, the day we were going to Disney Sea for Christmas Eve, and being told my grandfather has just died. At first I couldn’t believe it, because it was too hard to believe. But when we got home, it hit me. You were gone. And I couldn’t bring you back. It hurt so much.

We moved to Japan two years ago. It’s crazy. I’ve made so many new friends, my Japanese keeps improving day by day, and I think my life is getting happier again. Of course Mom and I still argue at times, and I still have my bad days, but I am happier than before. But I don’t have a boyfriend yet though, so don’t worry. Still no boys, like you always said. But don’t expect I won’t have one sooner or later, ‘kay?

A few months before we moved to Japan two years ago, I bought this book. And I’m so glad I did. It’s called “Love Letters to the Dead”, by Ava Dellaira. It’s about s girl Laurel who starts filling up her notebook with letters to dead people, writing about her new life in high school and trying to lead this new life all while coping with having a broken family and dead sister. I love it so much because it just feels so real, like you’re really there with Laurel, experiencing her first love, first heartbreak, her grief and her joy and all those emotions. I relate to her, because we both lost someone important to us. She lost her sister, I lost you. And although we have different ways to deal with it, we both feel the same way. Grief and guilt. We both felt like we could’ve done something about it.

Today at school I finished this book again for the nth time. But only today I realized, while going through the bonus materials, we can write our own love letters on the website. I instantly thought of you. I was so excited to go home to write you this letter. By the way, the bonus materials of this book are really interesting. I made a playlist with the songs at the back of the book, and though it’s usually different from what I usually listen to, I love it, because it reminds me of the book. I mean, it came from the book.

I do wish we could send letters to ghosts. Like there’s an official post office for ghosts, and I can send you letters constantly. They better make something like that in the future. But for now, we have this website. This is good enough. It may not go anywhere, but I know it’s still there. This letter.

When I grow up, I really want to be something like a model or an author or just any great job. I want to make you proud. You look down on me from heaven and see how successful I have become, and you feel proud. Brag about me to your ghost friends. “That’s my granddaughter!” Because that’s what you would have done if you did see me grow up.

It’s sad you’re not here anymore. You won’t be the one to walk me down the aisle. You won’t watch me get my own car. My first house. My first paycheck. My first child. You won’t be there for any of my firsts. You won’t be able to watch me and my brother grow up. You know, I’m still so glad that, even though it was for just ten years, you were there for me. My little brother can’t experience the joy you let me feel growing up. I feel so bad for him.

Grandpa, you died younger than most grandparents. You died at 56. It still doesn’t change the fact you left so many people that adored you and cherished you. You made a big impact on so many lives.

We will meet again. Not soon, but in the far future. I don’t plan on dying now, you know. I still want to live my life. But when we meet again, make sure to greet me with a big bear hug, like you always did. Smile at me and tell me you’re proud of what I achieved. I will make sure to achieve great things, I promise. And when we part ways again, do not cry. I won’t cry, too. Because I will always find a way to come back and see you again, even if it’s just for a little while.

Until we meet again, gramps. Love you to the farthest universe and back.