The Alien's Farewell: Alien Warrior Mates V, #10

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Dear Nana,

By the time that you read this you will already know that we didn't return from the factory. We want you to know that we wish that we could have come to say goodbye and that we love you. We miss you every day. We have since we got here, and I know that we will always. Someday I hope that you will understand why it had to be this way. I wish that there had been a better way to tell you what was happening or to give you some kind of warning. I wish that you could know what's been happening and why it was necessary for us to leave as suddenly as we did. There are so many things I want to tell you and there have been so many times when I have turned to talk to you only to remember that you aren't here with me. Know that you are never far from my mind and that I never meant to hurt you. I would never want you to think that I don't appreciate all you've done for me or that I want to be away from you.

I know there will come a time when you will need to make difficult decisions and face challenges that scare you. You will be asked to put all of yourself into the protection of others and the defense of things that you might not even understand. I ask you to be brave. I ask you to have that courage and to remember all that your parents taught you. Know that I believe in you. Jonah believes in you. All of us here believe in you. We know that you are strong and that you can face anything. Never question the choices you have already made and the ones that you will make in the future. You might be doing something that seems so much harder and so much scarier than anything that you have ever done or ever thought you were going to do, but you can do it. You can protect the people who depend on you and ensure that those who are trying to destroy them can't get to them.

You aren't alone, Nana. I know that you might feel that you are and that you are worried about the years ahead, but I assure you, you are never alone. We will always make sure that someone we trust is watching you and taking care of you. You are an important part of this. You have always known that. Now it is time for you to really understand what that means.

Thank you for all that you have done for me, for Jonah, and for the rest that you continue to protect. I will never forget what you've done or how much you have meant to me. I know, more than ever now, that without the love that you gave me and your willingness to care for me when my parents couldn't, I would never be where I am today and wouldn't have the life that I was meant to have. There is so much more to tell you, but it will have to wait for another time.

I love you, Nana.

We are with you always.

Love, Aubrey

Nana wiped a tear from her cheek as she folded up the paper and tucked the letter back into the envelope. Both had the slight grey tint of age around the edges and felt dry and slightly fragile in her hands. She had been waiting for so long to open the letter. They had been with her throughout her entire life, following her, waiting for her since she found them in her mother's belongings in the days following her death. That had been one of the hardest times in Nana's life. She had already suffered through the loss of her father and watched the devastation that it had caused her. During those days she had been able to cope with the difficult emotions that she was feeling because she knew that she had to be strong for her mother. As long as her mother was struggling, as long as she was trying to cope with the pain and confusion that came with suddenly being without the man she had loved for so many years, Nana had been able to push away her own thoughts, her own pain, and instead focus on her mother and trying to comfort her.

She didn't have that when her mother died. The death of her mother left her alone. All she had left was her son Frederick and his wife Marie. But they weren't able to be there for her the way that she had been there for her mother. This was before they had found Aubrey and they spent so much time away from home. Nana had to face the reality of her mother being gone on her own. That is what made the days stretch after her death before Nana had been able to go into her mother's bedroom to begin the unbearable and truly unimaginable process of going through her belongings so that she could decide which to keep as they were, and which would need to be removed. It was a strange and unbalancing sight when she walked into that room and saw it still and quiet, as if it was still waiting for her to come back. Nana stood at the doorway, hesitating to even step inside. There was a pull inside of her that said if she did step in, she would somehow break that stillness, would ruin the preserved moment that was the last that her mother experienced in that room.

Nana could still remember what that felt like. She felt almost silly when she thought back on it. It didn't make sense when she tried to think logically about it. Her mother was gone. That was reality. And yet she didn't want to admit it to herself or to anyone around her. Taking anything that belonged to her mother out of the room or even taking the blankets off the bed was too much of a recognition that she would never again use those items. She would never again sleep in that room. She didn't need the clothing or the pillows. She wouldn't be looking at the decorative figures sitting on the dresser. She wouldn't be reading the books that were stacked on the shelves and sitting on her nightstand. She wouldn't be writing on the stationary that was sitting on the little desk tucked in the corner. That was one of the elements of her mother that would always stick with her. She loved to write letters. While others communicated in countless other ways, her mother would always happily sit down at the desk and write out her thoughts on the thick paper in her flowing, flawless handwriting.

Nana remembered teasing her mother about the letters when she was younger. They seemed so old-fashioned and almost silly to her. She didn't understand why her mother would want to take the time to write out the letters and send them through the expensive and highly limited personal courier service to the recipient when she could have so much more easily sent an electronic communication. Now that she was gone, Nana understood. Suddenly it all made sense to her. As she picked up the paper and the pen that her mother had once used, she could almost feel her on them. She realized that anyone who had ever received one of those letters would have that same feeling. The electronic messages were there in an instant, but there were also there for an instant. They were nothing but symbols expressing what her mother had been thinking or wanted to say in those moments. They didn't hold any of the real essence of her. When she sent one of the letters, she was sending a little bit of herself. She had touched the paper, she had created each of the words with her own hand. When the person who she had sent the letter to held that letter in their hands, they knew that she had once held it in her own. They were able to keep that letter and feel her in it.

That made the letters that Nana found in the wardrobe even more precious. Not only was she surprised to discover the messages, surprised to find obviously old envelopes addressed to her from her mother, surprised to see that some of them were dated from before Nana was even born, but she was also excited. She was excited to hold something that her mother held and touch the words that she had written. It had been so hard not to immediately open the envelopes right then. After all the pain and sadness that had come from losing her mother and realizing that she was now without either of her parents, Nana had wanted to tear open the letters the moment that she picked them up and read what her mother had left for her. She wanted so much to know what she had been thinking in those days so many years before and how she could have possibly known to be writing to her, a child who she wouldn't even carry for years after she wrote the first letter.

But she couldn't. Each of the envelopes had been carefully addressed to Nana and dated, but had also had a note across the back flap giving specific instructions as to when that letter could be opened and read. The words stretched across the seal of the envelope as if further securing it closed, preventing her from even lifting the flap a small amount to glance inside. Occasionally she would take the letters out of the hiding place where she kept them and look at them, holding them in her hands and feeling the meaning and intensity behind them. She would count the days until she would be able to open the first letter, not knowing what she might find when she unfolded the paper and finally got to read what her mother had written. Today had at last been that day and now Nana sat, perched at the end of her bed, tears softly gliding down her cheeks as she tucked the letter away after having read it over and over again.

Her heart thudded in her chest and her mind felt like it was spinning. How could this be possible? How could the letter that had been hiding away in her mother's belongings for so many years have been written by Aubrey? Nana knew Aubrey's handwriting. She had seen it countless times throughout her granddaughter's life and had always found it remarkable that it so closely resembled her mother's. Aubrey was adopted as a newborn. She shouldn't have anything about her that was similar to that of her or her parents, and yet there had always been things about her that had struck Nana. She had mannerisms that were so similar to her mother, would often laugh in a way that reminded Nana of her in a way that was almost eerie. Over the years she had told herself that these similarities were only coincidences and that they weren't as strong of resemblances as she tried to convince herself that they were. It was only that Nana missed her mother so deeply that she was always looking for things around her that would make her feel closer to her. The similarities that she noticed in Aubrey were just the wishful thinking of a grandmother who knew that her own mother would have adored the curious, sharply intelligent child she was privileged enough to raise.

Now Nana didn't know what to think. She was confused and upset in a way that felt unbalanced and dizzying. The letter didn't give any more explanation of what was happening, and Nana wanted more than ever to open the other letters that were sitting on the bed beside her. There was more in there, she knew it. There were details, explanations, answers to her questions. In those letters she may begin to understand. But she couldn't open them. Just like the letter that she had finally be able to open, there was a note across the flap of each of those envelopes, telling her exactly when she was supposed to open them. She would still have to wait. Fortunately, the wait wouldn't be nearly as long as she had waited for the chance to open the first letter. The appointed dates would come very soon, though the dates written on the fronts of the envelopes told her that these letters were written months, and sometimes years, apart.

Nana's fingers burned and tingled with the curiosity and desire to open the next envelope. The realization of what the letter meant was settling in and it was making Nana more and more uncomfortable, though she knew that of all people she was likely the best prepared for this kind of revelation. Throughout her life her parents had brought countless people through their home and Nana had encountered more species than she could even remember. She could remember many times when she was young when they would have groups come to the house not for parties, but rather for intense meetings that would go late into the night. They would gather in her father's study or into the kitchen and lean close to each other, talking in low tones that were occasionally broken by outbursts that Nana could barely understand. She knew that she was supposed to be in her bedroom when they were there, but her curiosity had drawn her out to her perch on the top of the steps or around the corner of the corridor so that she could try to listen to what they were saying.

She rarely understood what they were discussing, but sometimes she would catch a few words and soon she realized that her parents were important in a way that she didn't understand. Though Nana was never really able to follow what they were talking about or the significance of their conversations, there were things that always stayed with her. It was through those conversations that she learned her respect and appreciation for all those she encountered, and her deep interest in making sure that she did everything that she could to help those in need. Throughout her life, even after her mother died, she had committed herself to understanding those who were marginalized and overlooked, helping those who were mistreated, and carrying on with the work that her parents had done in whatever way she could. Though she had never been really sure of what they were doing or if she was making any difference on her own, she did her best to follow through in the way that she believed her parents would have wanted her to. As Aubrey had gotten older, she had done her best to instill the same beliefs in her granddaughter. She wanted the child that she was raising to have the same passion, the same dedication that she had had. She felt like she hadn't been able to fully give that to her son. Frederick had worked extremely hard, but Nana had never known what he was doing when he left for the long stretches and returned unwilling to talk about anything.

Now Nana knew that there was far more to that than she had ever suspected, far more than she would have ever been able to imagine. The thought of Aubrey and all that she had tried to do for her made the strange, tight feeling in her chest even tighter. Her hands shook slightly as she took the envelope in her hands again and pulled the letter back out and unfolded it. It felt harder to breathe as her eyes scrolled over the words again. She took them in, trying to let them sink fully into her mind, but even as she read them, she knew that there was nothing that was ever going to make them truly make sense to her.

But it wasn't herself that she was truly thinking about. It wasn't her own confusion or the struggle to understand.