Scuba Diver Apologizes to Family of Dead Man

nick 1 To Nick’s wife, daughter, and son … You don’t know me, but  I owe you this.  It is an apology delivered to you on so many levels, that I’m not sure which one to address first. I suppose my FIRST apology to you is my anonymous interference in your life.  Secondly, I’m terribly sorry that this will come across as rushed and desperate. Thirdly, even though there may be a comical element to the outsider looking in, I recognize and agonize over the fact that you are not on that same page.

They say that an apology is the “super glue of life”, so I’m giving it my best shot.

I’m a diver much like your beloved and departed Nick. so please try and read this with the filters of a kindred spirit.

I’m in Honduras diving. I’m by myself and went out last night for a night dive to a shipwreck about 100 ft. down. No one else was there. It was dark and all I had was my little goofy flashlight. Weather was moving in so the water was pretty stirred up. About 30 min into the dive I came across a blue box on one of the ship decks. It was about the size of a brick. It looked a lot like the casing that my dive computer came in except it was blue. I picked it up and tried to open it, but was getting tossed around from the current so I just stuck it in my dive vest with the intention of turning it into lost and found back on shore. I figured someone dropped it out of their dive bag or something. I finished the dive and when I got to the surface, I anchored myself against a floating dock so that I could try and get it open; I was just curious at this point. I finally broke the seal and got it open. There was weird random stuff (a few poker chips, golf tees, a Vietnam Vet pin, and a lot of what I thought was just sediment that had gotten trapped inside and dried. The “sediment” all pretty much blew away cause it was super windy out. I closed it up and carried it in my dive vest till I got back. I tried to give it to the little Honduran man that I turned my tank into asking him to give it to lost and found. He got all freaked out. That’s when I learned though a manic Spanglish cursing that I had disturbed and desecrated a dead guy’s memorial.  He frantically wanted to know if I opened it and, of course, I lied (yes!! LIED) and said “no” because I could see where this was going.

I am of weak character.

Anyway, they wouldn’t touch it and told me I had to go right then and put it back. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. It was late, pitch black and would have taken me back out into the ocean by myself for another hour or more. My Spanish isn’t good enough to totally understand what they were saying as I walked away with your dear Nick in the box, but I’m guessing they were certain that I would be visited by demons that would pull me into a watery grave much like the one I just desecrated.

In the light of my room, I could see that there was a name and date written in marker ink that I hadn’t seen before. That’s how I learned that it was your Nick. So Nick spent the night with me.  And, the next day, the ramifications of my ignorance started popping up everywhere in this tight Honduran community.  Rightfully so, I suppose, I was treated like an Elvira priestess by the guys that I have to get my tanks from. They would probably be scheduling an exorcism if they knew the truth … that I actually HAD opened it, and against his wishes, Nick’s ashes are all over the Caribbean by now. I told them I would put him back as soon as I could. But tricking the tank boy into thinking I have atoned does not soothe my soul.  Nick is all over the Caribbean and that’s not what he wanted and it is all my fault.

If I were standing before you now, I would say:  “I am so sorry. I wish you knew even one tenth of one percent of how sorry I am. It was my fault. Can I kill myself here, or should I do it outside, so the stain on your carpet doesn’t just create a bigger mess for you to deal with?

Sister Apologizes to Deceased Brother

amandaTo My Dear Big Brother,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be enough for you. I’m sorry that my choices and taste in clothes made you uncomfortable because I didn’t follow the same gender norms all of your girl friends did. I’m sorry I was depressed all the time and couldn’t pull out of it. I’m sorry I liked riding bikes with you instead of playing with dolls. You were so cool and comfortable; I just wanted to be like you. I wanted what you had, which of course, meant I would never achieve it.

To you, it was simple, if I changed my clothes, more people will like me; I’d have friends and be less lonely. You didn’t know that it doesn’t work like that. You had no idea what you were doing to me. Backhandedly, I think you even thought you were helping.

But that wasn’t me. I couldn’t pretend to be something I wasn’t and that made the loneliness worse. I couldn’t escape the discomfort. At school, I was an outcast, at home, a disappointment.

I’ve always alternated between arrogance and feeling worthless and never being able to make you proud added to that pile. Between rejecting your acceptance and needing it, I left myself totally conflicted. I’m sorry I gave you so much power over me. I’m sorry I trusted that you knew what was right for me and doubted myself for so many years. I’m sorry I was so much for you to deal with…And, I’m sorry I embarrassed you. You really were my best friend and arch nemesis and I could never win with you.

We had glimpses of pulling out of the rivalry and I genuinely believe if we had a little more time, we would have become the friends that were reflected by how close we really were.

I’m sorry you died before we got the chance to work through it. I’m sorry you won’t get to see how I’ve turned out. You didn’t see me get my drivers license or graduate high school and college. You didn’t get to see me thrive in the grimy town I glamorized while growing up with you in that shithole. You won’t meet my kids or joke with the love of my life. You didn’t get to see the world and you’ll never know the joy of getting stamps in your passport. I’m sorry you’ll never see fireworks around the Eiffel Tower or know what it’s like to sleep on a rooftop terrace in Africa in the middle of summer. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see how fun being an adult could be.

It’s been ten years and I’m now seven years older than you were and I’m sorry you missed out on so much.

A Lonely Little Sister

Mistress Apologizes to Rabbi’s Wife

rabbi Dear Rebbetzin,

As the High Holidays approach, everyone is taking stock of their deeds- reflecting on their actions of the past year. Your husband, the rabbi, is preparing himself to lead his congregation through their High Holiday season. Your husband is also taking stock of his own deeds in the coming year. He is a well respected man. He is a kind man. He is a thoughtful man.  The words he puts on paper, the words he shares with his colleagues, and the words he shares with his congregation have weight. People look to him for knowledge, for comfort, for spiritual guidance. After all, he’s a rabbi, teaching and guidance are part of his job. As a Jew and a rebbitzen, you must also be looking back at this year and taking at look at your own life.  I often wonder: what exactly are you doing with the truth?

I know the truth. I know the rabbi isn’t the man he plays on the pulpit or at camp or with his colleagues. I know his lightness is a well orchestrated facade. He is dark. He stepped out of your marriage emotionally and physically. He’s allowed his darkness to control his life and let the power of the facade hide his true self. I know the truth because I was his mistress. I know the truth because I was the outlet for his darkness. I was the place to use his power and his fantasy.  I know you know I exist. But, I have no idea if you know his truth, his darkness or the depths of his inner demons. Because, despite knowing that I exist, you’ve chosen to stay. You’ve chosen the facade of the good, noble, kind rabbi. I can’t say I blame you.

What I can say, is that I’m sorry. Through our entire relationship, I thought of you– I hurt you. I violated you. Your face came to mind all the time: When I laid down and when I rose up. I wanted what was yours. I wanted the light he gave you, but I all I got was his darkness. I am so sorry. I am sorry I took those moments from you. I’m sorry I took those nights from you. I’m sorry I somehow thought I could step into your shoes. But the truth is, Rebbetzin, I am even more sorry that you are still living inside his facade  And it’s not because I want to be in your place. I no longer want him, or need him, or love him. He is not a good man. He is a false idol. He turned from you when we he wanted to fall into his darkness, and he turned from me when our actions destroyed my life. I know I’m not the only one. There are other women out there in words and possibly in deed. There are dollar bills in strippers’ thongs. There are hotel rooms, dinners, tucked away corners of bars. There are explicit pictures. I don’t think he’s going to stop.

When he’s standing on the pulpit on Yom Kippur talking about sin, repentance and forgiveness, take that time to look at him for his true self. I can’t live your life. I can’t sit inside your head and tell you what choices to make. I can’t weigh the darkness against the light of the life you’ve built together. I know firsthand that piecing together a new life after the one you had has been shattered into tiny unglueable pieces. You don’t need to forgive me. You don’t need to pardon me or grant me atonement. But is he the kind of man who can be forgiven? Is he, truly repentant?

The Mistress