Dear Hannah*,

Today I thought about you while I was in the English countryside. Not all day, not even a significant amount of the day—at least not in the amount of minutes. It is weird to be here again. We walked about two miles today from Burton on the Water to Upper Slaughter in the Cotswolds county. I have no idea why such a colorfully violent name was given to this group of houses and sleepy old church. As I walked through the fields and weaved in and out of sheep gates, I thought about how much any person with whom I went to England with this Spring would give to be in my place right then. The green in the trees weren’t so brutally beautiful, burning into my eyes. Instead it was faded, more yellow, moving toward autumn. The grass was still soft and shiny and luscious, and I fell in love again with enormous trees and sheep-covered hills and happily situated estates, even though I had never fallen out of love with them. We walked for a bit, and I felt the longing to stay there. The longing that comes when you only have time to glimpse.

We arrived at Upper Slaughter and walked up a small hill with very old houses built of old limestone and an old church that was being suffocated by vines and the clock tower wasn’t fully visible over all of the old buildings. Crosses and headstones were crookedly poking from the luscious grass, and the evening sun cast warm yellow light over all of the houses and the trees, and the church, and the stream we were walking toward. I had come here when I was about two years old. Had played here, throwing rocks into the stream and wading through the cold water, holding up my dress. Grass lined the stream that led to an old stone house with vines growing on the walls, and enormously tall trees standing next to the house, and a sheep-covered hill rising above the house topped by trees. The clouds were growing more yellow as I sat down on the bridge with my dad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more perfectly beautiful, old, and quaint town in my life. I wish I had another way to say this, but it really seemed to exist independent of time. The church overlooked the stream, and so did the large tree, but I focused on that house and the hill rising above it. I was perfectly content in my leather jacket, and there was no breeze, and I simply sat, perfectly comfortable on the bench, not a hint of wind, and just the sound of chirping birds and a giggling stream. I had no responsibilities right then, Hannah. None at all. I was perfectly happy, and perfectly content, and I couldn’t imagine a more perfect setting, and there was not a soul that I had seen in that tiny village, so it was quite possible that the village didn’t exist before we came. We discovered it, and no one lived there, no one was there to distort our vision of this perfect setting. And I sat there on that little stone bridge and stared at that beautiful house with perfect windows, and I couldn’t imagine how anything at that moment in that setting could be more perfect. Hannah, I have only had a few moments like this in my life. You can't plan them. Where everything is so rich and golden that you wish you could just fill it up in one of those huge 711 cups and carry it around with you and suck on that thick, golden goodness always. And then I thought of you. I remembered that you are feeling sick right now. And I remembered that you get sick a lot.

“Daddy?” I asked, “does having diabetes make you get sick more often?” And he answered that it leads to things like heart disease and kidney failure and things like that. He said all of these things normally, like a doctor, and I thought of you having to be hooked up to a machine because your kidneys don’t work anymore. Your strong, powerful body that I have seen running and playing soccer, and I have crushed when I pinned you on the ground and the neighbors were angry. Hannah, you don’t make a big deal about your diabetes at all, because among other reasons, you don’t want people to pity you. I don't think I've ever pitied you before. I just tried to understand. Somehow.

“Daddy,” I started again, and I had to concentrate a little bit so that my voice wouldn’t shake, “do people have a shorter life expectancy when they have diabetes?” and I watched a feather floating down the stream, bumping over each ripple in the water. And for the first time, I realized that you still live everyday, knowing that you are at risk for all of these things. That somewhere in the back of your brain, or maybe it is at the forefront, is the lurking thought that it is a matter of time before things get complicated. More complicated than they already are. Mostly I have just thought it was an inconvenience for you, having to regulate your blood sugar. But Hannah, I don’t want you to go away from me. I told my dad about how you take such good care of yourself and the way you keep your blood sugar under control, and most people don’t even know, and how I always try to catch you giving yourself insulin. It’s a game. But you give yourself insulin to stay alive. I remembered how I am alive, and I could see the stream clearer suddenly, with the yellow light reflecting, and the pebbles at the bottom of the stream, and I could feel my legs swinging and the stillness of the air and the birds and the laughing stream. I missed you, and I was afraid of a time when I will miss you so much more.

My family and Cami and I left that spot and we were walking back, racing against daylight, and I was thinking about you, Hannah. And I remembered that while I was on that bridge, I didn’t have my camera, and I wanted to remember that view, and that moment from the bridge forever. I ran back, running in my hiking sandals, running up the hill on the path, and on the street, and down to the bridge. I was breathing hard, and I was afraid I was going to burst into tears, and I felt the way I could make my legs move even though they hurt, and I could keep going even though I was breathing loudly and hard, and I was desperate, desperate to get that moment before it was too dark, desperate for that moment to stay forever, and desperate because I felt like if I didn’t get that moment, somehow you would be gone too. And so I took a few pictures, but the sky was already more pink, and it was different. But it was still beautiful, and somehow I saw you in that water, Hannah. And I guess I saw me too, and everyone who’s ever been alive, but your mortality suddenly became a terrible reality to me. Moving like that feather down that stream. No decisions, just gravity. And I don’t want that Hannah, I don’t. And I miss you.

With so much love, Emma

*name has been changed for awkwardness' sake, even though I know that it's pretty obvious who this is...anyway. sorry, kind of weird.