The Gift

I see her every day. At least every day I show up.

Today she sits and scribbles as before, constantly writing in her little black book. I don’t know why I said scribbles; that sounds like a judgment. As if her devotion isn’t of value.

And I think it is of value; it must be. The way she so strongly has something to say. I wonder who she has something to say to. I wonder what it is she has something to say about. I wonder if she has a sister she would do anything for.

As usual, she doesn’t look up. Or stop to take a break.

I like to think that I’m an intense writer too. I journal in my own little black book all the time.

I used to scribble in my journal when I dwelled in my sadness. Circled and looped and crisscrossed around all the things I tried not to feel after Jenny died.

Now I doodle mostly and tell myself I’m good enough and I need to try harder with this living thing and this taking care of myself.

I watch her and she finally notices me. At first, I’m embarrassed to be caught, realizing I was dozing in my thoughts as I stared. We smile and nod and then our heads go back down. I feel like a dodged a bullet, which is odd considering the self-imposed connection I have flung on her. She has no clue that it’s her I’ve chosen for my plan. Maybe it’s time she did.

If you always give, you will always have.

Jenny had this taped inside her own little black book. She said she got it from a fortune cookie.

I consider this girl who seems to love writing for the final time. I remember when I first really saw her and realized I’d been unconsciously studying her for a while. Little similarities and little signs; little nudges that became a shape. I didn’t realize I was thinking about making a decision around her until I’d made it.

There’s her obvious devotion to her pen and paper which is an attribute I admire. But I also see her freckles. And she just revealed her enormous brown eyes. She seems to know herself. She LOVES writing. I mean, you can’t fake the gusto.

Every time I’ve seen her, she’s wearing bright sunny colors all mixed together. Typically, I think that would be too flashy, but her wardrobe is polished in the way they fit her and make her seem confident and self-possessed. She understands the angles of her body and how to minimize any perceived flaws. Just like Jenny.

Jenny loved writing. Jenny knew herself.

There were so many subtleties that lead me to know she was the one. Not to mention, I was ready to be ready to find someone to be the one.

I took out a new little black journal and started to write.

‘If you always give, you will always have.’

My sister, Jenny, believed that. When she was sick, as she was dying, I saw how her desire to help others was a way to try and help herself. Spread the good in the world; create good, be good and hope that will be enough to give her a victory against her cancer. I think she believed giving could give her a chance. I believed it too. My sister had always been so big and I felt her pain as her illness diminished her.

She was good; she gave. But it wasn’t enough. The powers that be didn’t take her deal. But not for nothing, she tried.

Now, lots of time has passed and I’ve started to see how stagnant my grief has made me and how ache and loss is not going to leave me anywhere good. Jenny would be angry with me if I weren’t trying to live a life worthy of myself. I have a responsibility now to do what she cannot.

So…here I am now. I don’t know who you are, and I know I am perhaps taking this ridiculous chance. On you. A stranger. But I don’t know. There’s something in me that wants to do something in her honor. Something big like her love and her spirit.

She and I talked about this when we were kids. The idea of helping strangers with a big chunk of cash, unexpectedly with no constraints. Admittedly, we were imagining it would be us as the recipients, and us who would become extra amazing from this magic endowment, but still. You get the idea. I always liked this idea.

I want to give someone a chance. And I’ve picked you.

You show up at this library where Jenny used to work. You choose the table with the plaque of her remembrance on it. You are about the same age she was when she was last healthy. I like how you are always writing. You appear to be a hard worker. Like you want to get yourself someplace and understand what it’s going to take to get where you want to go. Like her.

And the way you carry yourself is, well, all of it is enough to convince me this gift should go to you. Because I see things in you that remind me of her.

I’m ready to set this part of her free. Maybe it’s time I know myself in the world without her. Work towards where I want to go. I want to give away a piece of Jenny so that maybe I’m a little bit lighter. Freer. The weight of my sadness over losing her, really has been so heavy. And I think that if I have given you some happiness, I can imagine the happiness it will bring me. I will always know I did a tribute and a kindness. I will have given, and I will have gotten something by giving.

Please accept this piece of her; a gift of $20,000 and make yourself a great version of you.

Live and be well.

With love and so many other feelings,

Jenny’s sister

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She was at the front entrance of the library, seemingly looking for me. I was in my car but couldn’t help checking the door, daring myself to see her reaction. Our eyes met and I gave her a nod and a wave. She waved and the grin on her face was tremendous: surprise, shock, awe and gratitude. After seeing that, I was able to drive away. The gift was in her hands.