Letter to Jesse

From time to time I dream about you and it reminds me of how bad things were for me back then.

There was no question, you were the good one in the relationship. After all, I was pulling down straight As, working as a reporter, getting attention and praise while you were struggling to keep up with the work load, taking fists full of meds three times a day and losing your kidney anyway.

So of course I made sacrifices for you. What kind of person would be so devoid of compassion, so lacking in gratitude for her own good luck that she would overlook the hand fate dealt you. It wasn’t your fault. No, it wasn’t your fault that your kidneys failed completely by the time you were 14. It wasn’t your fault that the transplant began to fail in college. Everyone loved you. You were funny and friendly and you were only 24.

By contrast, I had fought my way to University. I was acerbic and arrogant. I knew I knew more than most people. I knew I fought harder to be where I was. My parents didn’t pay for my education, in fact, they tried to stop me from going to school at all. Of course I made sacrifices for you. I knew how lucky I was, I knew I owed the universe a debt of gratitude for making it possible for me to reach for a dream. I knew I was lucky. I knew you were not.

I sacrificed my time, a few jobs, some trips and assignments. I went to your professors and pleaded for mercy, for you, more than once. I explained the things you would not admit. I told them about dialysis, about the hospitalizations, about the state…