2011
Harris, the old demented frail santa and the hot, sexy, voluptuous mrs claus are sooo proud of you. U have accomplished so much in so short a time. U have so much going on and have had so much success in all that you have done. Mrs claus is always able to find the dark lining in every silver cloud and worries that you have too much going on. Save some energy for you. You are gifted and talented and very cool and you are also beautiful. Clearly you both have inherited your father’s good looks. Harris, the only person who can stop you from reaching your goals is you.
2014
Dear people;
This year almost did Santa in. 2014 had unbelievable ups and downs. Talking of ups and downs, there are always the insatiable needs of Mrs. Claus. Old Santa is worn down. It wasn’t that there was good and there was bad, it was the rapid changes from good to bad and back. Let us remember:
Stephanie had a little girl BUT, The little girl has a hearing problem.
We were told and thought that this precious baby could have the worst genetic hearing problem possible. BUT lots of tests later, No she did not have a bad genetic problem. Now, you are told that she has a mild, moderate, severe hearing loss—Whatever that means. The baby is a normal, really smart 11 month old.
Iris even gets up in a great mood BUT she gets up at 5 a.m.
The voluptuous Mrs. Claus gives new meaning to “thar she blows” Sorry, Santa also has fantasies that will never happen
Mike has finished 1 full year of selling real estate, but Mike had some slow times
Mike sold lots of real estate recently—he is establishing himself and doing it fast
Hold on. Stop the letter. What, not now Mrs. Claus I am busy. Start without me. Insatiable I tell you.
Mike is taking his wife and daughter to Phoenix BUT, Mike is driving his wife and daughter to Phoenix. Can you all join Santa in saying “That is really a fucked idea.” Stephanie believes in Mike. Wonderful to see. Let us see if she still believes in him after she reaches Phoenix.
Harris knows lots of people in LA and does lots of great things.
Harris still loves writing, but Harris has had some rough times. Harris is working hard at doing better. It is tough.
We love and support Harris. He is worth it.
Stephanie, Mike and Harris—wonderful people BUT there are lost liberals. We pray that they find in their brains what scientists call the O’Reilly factor.
Iris is the spirit in the family. Mrs. Claus holds the family together. Santa peas a lot.
Santa thinks this is the most wonderful Christmas of all. This year we were all tested and we survived as individuals and as a family. Say what you want, think what you want, one thing is clear—We have been here for one another this very tough year.
So, keep the faith. Trust 2015 will be lots better and Santa will see you next year.
That was the last letter Santa ever wrote. I read it aloud last December as you lay on the couch, shivering, wrapped up in a hoodie and a blanket, watching your niece eat wrapping paper off the floor.
Now that you’re gone, Dad is done writing letters. Now that you’re gone, Dad is just done. So this year, Mike takes over.
Iris gets her first letter from Santa this Christmas morning. It’s eight pages handwritten and sits on the coffee table in a bulging, fat envelope labeled Iris in red crayon. I pick up the letter as Iris opens her last present and start to read it aloud.
Mom quickly interrupts. “Let’s finish with these gifts first.” I put the letter in my lap until Iris finishes, then try to start again, but Mom is busying herself with the toy manual to the battery-operated Olaf. She refuses to look at Mike or me. She doesn’t want to pay attention, and it’s really fucking annoying to me. “Mom, Mike worked on this for five hours.”
She puts down the card and focuses her attention on Mike.
I continue reading and do fine until I get to this paragraph:
“This year has been hard. Uncle Harris left way too soon. It’s like a big crater was left in Mommy, Momo, Bapa, and Daddy. It’s hard to explain to you now, but any time they thought it was too much, they’d see your smile, hear your laugh, or remember something hilarious you did, you’d start building more and more ground around that crater. Everyone loves you so much for that. I’m sure Uncle Harris is thankful that you’re able to make them smile.”
I pause. I breathe. I try to keep reading, but when I get to the next part about Mom working to help other families with craters, I throw my head down and audibly weep. Mom cries, too. Dad has tears in his eyes.
“These are supposed to be funny,” I say.
“Not much to be funny about this year,” Dad replies.
Iris continues to play with Olaf.
32 Before
December 26, 2014
The day after her first Christmas, eleven-month-old Iris, Mike, and I packed up the Ford Explorer and drove far, far away from Houston and my parents and Harris and heroin. The destination was Phoenix, and we got there via West Texas. It was a lovely road trip for the most part, except for the eleven-hour stretch between Marfa and Phoenix, where I developed a head cold and Iris was done with her car seat thirty minutes in, and I wanted us to drive the car right off the road but played hours of Yo Gabba Gabba! on the iPad instead. It mostly worked.
I hated to leave Harris in the state he was in and wouldn’t had I known it would be the last time I saw him, but
