Dylan Stafford

 

My Dear Sister, Lisa,

This is my fifth letter to you since you died. Wow that was quick. Five years ago today, on the 4th of July 2015, we were together in Colorado. Now you’re in heaven.

How are you?

We miss you down here.

Big-picture update in 2020:

We have a pandemic. People are upset about justice, and the lack of justice. We’re going to have an election this year, and we will have to agree on the result. There’s a lot happening this year in society. I wish you were here to help me digest it.

Small-picture update:

We have puppies!

Last weekend we drove from Los Angeles to Phoenix, Marisa and the boys and me. We made the trip to get two beautiful little puppies. We’ve expanded our family.

I thought about you a lot because you ALWAYS loved dogs. And I thought about you a lot because of our family memories from childhood, of visiting grandma and grandpa in Arizona.

During the puppy weekend, I made a side trip over to see grandpa and grandma’s grave site. On the drive to the cemetery, I called Mom in Ft. Worth. She and I talked all the way through my visit to Double Buttes Cemetery.

The olive trees have all been removed at the site. Everything sits in the full Phoenix sun, Arizona-dry desert. Mom heard my shock as I realized all the olive trees were cut away. The olive tree over grandma and grandpa’s plot was always special to me. I texted pictures to Mom, and she could see what I saw.

Mom and I said a prayer together, the serenity prayer, Mom in Texas and me in front of her parents kneeling at their grave. I was thinking of you and family last weekend.

And I think of you daily because of sobriety; You are still gifting me Lisa.

You guiding me into sobriety is still paying dividends to life here on earth Lisa: Your sister-in-law has a sober husband; Your nephews have a sober daddy; The gift of your guidance still pays itself forward in the lives of Marisa and Jackson and Christian.

I wouldn’t be sober these last 19 years without you Lisa–Your life made a difference.

We have a global pandemic in 2020. You’ve probably met a lot of new souls coming to heaven right now with news of a virus. It has sent about 125,000 people from the US and a lot more globally.

One of the many impacts of the pandemic is that sobriety and recovery, twelve-step meetings, have gone online; No in-person meetings for the last three months.

Remember Harbor, the 7:00 am recovery meeting you took me to in Ft. Worth during the first year of my sobriety? Well in this pandemic, I get to go to the 7:00 am Harbor meeting online.

Except 7:00 am in Ft. Worth is 5:00 am here in Los Angeles.

I’ve attended almost daily for the last six weeks.

Every day, my alarm goes off at 4:45 am. I find my glasses and my slippers. I shuffle to the kitchen and brew my coffee. I heat up half a glass of milk and boot up the computer while I wait for my cuppa Joe.

And from 5:00 – 6:00 am I’m on “zoom”, a video conference, sitting with my hot homemade latte, looking at fifty faces of friends in the fellowship. And you know many of the faces Lisa. Many of the old-timers were there 19 years ago.

When I get called on to share, I very often reflect on you and the old-timers know who I’m talking about because they remember you too. It is a gift, to get to share about you with people who talked to you and walked with you and hugged you and mourned your passing when you died.

I told them that I was going to write my fifth letter to you. I told them that I was going to honor my word to myself to write you every 4th of July weekend for the first twelve years after your passing. Writing you helps me grieve the loss of you.

Everyone dies eventually, there’s no big victory in dying since we all will do it once. But do we live? That’s the game, to live. You lived and you mattered, and that is why I write you, to honor your life.

More about puppies.

It’a been over a year since we lost our first dog, Koko Buddy, on Easter Sunday of 2019.

We felt it was time to get a new dog and Marisa started working her magic, seeing what we could find. She and Jackson were always looking at websites, searching around. I’d boot up the computer to find multiple browser tabs about dogs and rescues.

But we found these puppies the old-fashioned way, through a friend. Marisa’s girlfriend in Phoenix had a friend with a litter of cockapoos, little puppies born in early April.

“What do you think Dylan?” Marisa asked. “We could get either a boy or a girl. They haven’t found homes for all of them yet,” she told me.

“What if we got two?” I asked.

“Two?” Marisa looked me in the eye. “Really?”

“Well they could keep each other company,” I replied. “That could be good.”

We started talking about two instead of one.

That was six weeks ago. We have been puppy-prepping ever since. We are fixing the backyard fence. We got their sleeping quarters set up. We placed a toddler-gate by the kitchen so they won’t run throughout the house. It was like getting ready for a baby again!

The puppies’ names?

Oh you’ll love this.

Remember the names of our two dogs back in Denison when we were kids? Duffy and King Tut?

Well it’s kind of like that.

“Buttercup” is the girl puppy.

That’s a normal doggy name, like Duffy was. We watched “The Princess Bride” during the COVID quarantine for family movie night, so we had recently heard about Princess Buttercup.

“Lord Shax” is the boy puppy.

That’s more the cool name, like back in the 70s when we were kids and King Tut was a reference to Steve Martin’s comedy routine. “Lord Shax” is the name of a gaming character in one of the video games that Jackson plays. Every time we tell people their names, “Buttercup” gets no questions, but “Lord Shax” requires an explanation.

So our family has grown, from four to six. There are two new souls sharing the home, with all their wagging and wiggling, their licking and loving. I’m not sure if the kids are happier than me, or me than the kids, but I know it’s the highlight of the summer.

I hope that Koko Buddy hangs out with you up in heaven. I hope that you two are looking down at us with Buttercup and Lord Shax, and that you’re smiling.

You always loved animals. You were so magnetic with dogs. You always could befriend any four-legged furry with your high-pitched voice and your long delicate fingers. Dogs loved you. And dogs were always so important to you. I think how happy you would have been as a little girl if you had gotten two puppies at once.

They wrestle, these two. They growl and tumble and sound like a little hurricane when they go at it.

Christian wakes up before Marisa and Jackson, so he lets the puppies out each morning. We were out with them today. I can hear them now beyond the kitchen. It’s still and quiet as I’m writing you.

It makes me happy that we got to keep two puppies together.

You, Jon and I were puppies together once.

I’m grateful to have a sister and a brother, to be one of three puppies.

Usually, puppies get moved to different families. All the warmth of snuggling-together as babies, all that safety of being in a group, all that fades away. That’s the normal path to grow up.

I watch Buttercup and Shax continue being connected to each other. It makes me happy that they are still together.

When we were kids, Saturday morning cartoons were the highlight of the week. I remember you and Jon and me all tumbled together on a couch, under blankets and pillows, watching Scooby Doo, warm and secure.

Those are special memories Lisa. Those are the comforts of childhood. That was the start of my life and you were there.

Now it’s the middle of my life. You are still here Lisa, even though you’re gone. You are still a warm blanket around me. I still see you in the clouds. I still hear you during twelve-step meetings. Mom and Dad and Jon, we all still talk about you.

Your life matters Lisa.

Thank you for being you. Enjoy heaven today. Enjoy the view of the fireworks from up there. Let Koko Buddy sit next to you, so he won’t get scared from the sound of the fireworks.

We miss you Lisa.

With love,

Dylan