The Bucket List

December 28th 2010,

Tyler Seguin’s Apartment

5:32 am

“So are you going to read it?” Tyler asked. We were currently at his apartment, because practice would be in three hours, and there was no way either of us were going to bed after the traumatic incidence that had just unfolded moments ago. Instead we sat in his apartment, me making breakfast for the both of us, with a cup of tea. Neither of us were coffee people, which was a relief to me.

“No. Not yet at least. I mean, no offence but I kinda want to do it alone.” I said. “I know its foolish because you wrote it, so you could explain it to me better but..”

“I get it. Its personal.” Tyler said, raising his glass up in recognition. I smiled weakly, grateful for the understanding he was showing me.

“Listen, I can drive you to practice. We have work out session today right?” he asked.

“Yes, and I’m kicking your butts today. I’m going to be worse than Jillian Michaels.” I said smugly. Recently the NHL offered me a deal to be a physical trainer for a hockey team; aka the Bruins. The only reason why it was such a good deal was because they could move me around, making it easier for travels when I played on the USA team, or if I wanted to move after school. They were lenient, the schedule worked, and I got a nice pay. Why wouldn’t I take it?

“Oh god, please just take it out on the other rookie. This rookie is tired.” Tyler pouted, before complimenting my home cooked meal.

“Flatterary will get you nowhere. And anyways, I think I’m setting up workouts for Timmy and Chara as usual.” I shrugged. “You know, Chara invited me to live with him, until I get back on my feet you know?”

“Emily, I’m here if you need me, and we have thirty minutes before we need to get to the Garden.” Tyler said lightly, placing a hand gently onto my own extended one on the kitchen table.

Looking closely; which I didn’t want to, I saw that this could be bad. I still didn’t really know the team, only the ones that I let in. He didn’t know me, but then again, maybe he did. He did spend a lot of time with Ana. He did write that letter. At the thought of the letter, my gaze left his face and instead went to the envelope on the table in-between us. My hand moved to pick it up, and cautiously I ripped the seal.

I didn’t notice Tyler move then. He just left, and I was grateful. The paper was lined, and vaguely close to the loose-leaf papers that littered my binders for school. Smoothing it out on the table, I began to read.

“Dear Emily,

I don’t know really how to start a letter like this? Do I say I love you? (You already knew that though.) However, I think we should start from the beginning.

I’m going to die. There it is, clear as day. If you got this letter, it has happened, I’m gone and you won’t ever see me again. But I will see you.

See, I think, no I believe in God. You might not, I’d never asked you. You went to Church, so I assume you do. I think there is heaven, and I am your new guardian angel. I could be floating around you head right now and you wouldn’t even notice. On that note, I’m going to tell you to not be sad. God wanted it this way, so be it. I’m happy so you should be too.

I am your daughter after all.

I know about that too. I know you were my biological mother, and that mom (well grandma) took a couple of your eggs, and placed them in her body when they were fertile. It’s kind of like Baby mama with Tina fey right? Anyways I know that it happened, and I want you to know I’m not mad that no one told me. I’m scared. Scared for you.

How could you have done it? But knowing you, you probably didn’t know what was going on. Or maybe you did and that’s why you argued with mom all the time. I know that’s why I got the cancer, the eggs we not suppose to leave you, and during the process my cell became cancerous, something that mom (grandma) was warned about. She didn’t listen obviously, and here we are.

Point is; I’m not mad, but happy. You are, were, and will continue to be a great mother. I use to pretend when we played family together that you were my real mother. You seemed so much cooler than your mom. It was like pretending to have Wonder Woman as your mother. A Goddess of Hockey who brought me around the world and spoke different languages to me at night and told me stories about foreign lands and their princesses. And I’m happy that I can say I wasn’t pretending. You were my biological mother. The best one ever.

Now, I know you’re sad, but please for me, don’t be sad. I made you a bucket list. Kind of like the ones I would make for you when you went on trips. Like the “Things to get me” list I always made before you’re trips. But this list is different, because it’s for you. I have no control over what you pick to do on this list, or in what order, but I want you to take a look at how normal it is. Tyler helped me make it. (It was mostly for the hockey stuff.) I’m proud of it. It’s like a list for your next trip, one without me this time.

Take a look.

I love you mom.

Your daughter,
Ana.”

Tears were caught in my eyes when Tyler came back into the room. He set down another thing in front of me, before walking to the door.

“You know, she really loved you, and I think she wants you to know that. She told me I can’t talk to you if your sad because your private, so I’m going to be in my room if you need me.” Then he left as quickly as he came. Wiping my dry eyes, I took a look at what he dropped in front of me.

The notebook was one of the marble ones that teachers insisted for labs and other writing projects, so the paper doesn’t fall out or rip as easily. On the front there is no name, no writing. The only evidence that it was used was the crinkled paper, as if someone struggled to keep it opened and not to close when writing in it. Flipping the cover open, It was Ana’s writing, all big and curly like a normal seven year old’s writing.

The list was scattered though out the book, because pictures littered the pages. Some were photos, of us. Other pictures were drawings. Every other page, writing would come up, that read simple things like “Be happy,” or “Fall in love” or “Live your Life.” She even quoted Wayne Gretzky, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” That must be where Tyler came in.
On the final page though, she wrote something underneath a picture of her and me at one of my hockey games. She wore my jersey, while I wore mine. We were smiling, but underneath it was in Ana’s handwriting, “Follow your dream, and don’t give up.”