A Little Late

Dear Will -

 I know that we forgave each other toward the end, when you were still mostly compos mentis and I had yet to become your caregiver. Still I feel some guilt over these things having to do with travel.

I’m sorry I believed you when you said you were okay with traveling and didn’t make more of an effort to understand that you were not okay.

I’m sorry for that night in 2014 in New York City, before I knew your brain was dying but when I already knew you were old, that I let you walk alone back to the hotel when you exploded in anger at the cost of a theater seat.

I’m sorry for not being more of a busy-body caretaker, sorry for letting you travel even though you were sicker than I understood

I’m sorry for not understanding that you were incapable of reading a map and only knew how to find your way around cities laid out on a plat.

I’m sorry I got us lost in Paris on that day of the downpour.

I’m sorry I made us go on that last trip to Bilbao with Chuck. It was so difficult, with its 12 hour layover in Kennedy airport, kids fucking loudly in the room next to us, and cold, cold, cold pit stop in Madras. 

I’m sorry I could never really understand how you thought or how you made decisions.

I know you’ve forgiven me but I just wanted to get it in print since I’ve been thinking so much about you.