Dearest April, How far did you get before the funeral home director caught up to you? I glance around nervously. I’m here, but I’m not here. I don’t write these letters to mess with your mind. I write them because I know you so well. Anyhow, I asked the director to give you this letter if you denied my request. Which I knew you more than likely would. I’ve never told you this and I’m not sure why, I guess it was because I felt you had so much pressure on your shoulders to speak that asking you to sing seemed cruel. Anyhow, I never told you how I found you. We had cleared your father’s
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