A Tale of Two letters

    Ever since I first learned how to sound out letters, the power of the written word has impressed me. Reading became a passion and I found books could whisk me away into a different time and place, having the ability to both educate and entertain me for hours on end.

     Not everyone is hardwired to read books, but just about everyone reads. Our social media is filled with quips and tips. Even something as brief as a tweet can inspire. A text can reprimand or uplift. A post can generate conversation, debate, support, or hate. 

   As for myself, my love for reading evolved until I found myself writing. I have the power to make people think, laugh, get angry, and even cry. I've written (note, I didn't say published) many works that have done just that.

  Writing is hard work. Sometimes it keeps me up at night. Other times it wakes me up at ungodly hours in the morning and requires me to drink copious amounts of coffee. Yet I would never give it up. It stirs something in the very core of my being. Maybe it is joy, or maybe it is the manifestation of underlying control issues.

Your guess is as good as mine.

  Recently I was asked to write two letters. This is the tale of those two letters.

   The first I almost didn't write. It was a victim impact letter. If you have never written one, I pray you never will.

    The purpose of the letter is to somehow impress upon the reader the value of human life and tremendous impact poor choices and deliberately harmful behaviour has on the community. It is especially difficult to write when those poor choices have resulted in the death of someone you love. I have never written anything so difficult in my life. Nor did I expect it to have any real impact. After all, there are prescribed sentences for various offences, many of which are paltry when compared to the crime. Writing felt like a pointless activity. The case had already become a plea bargain and was not going to trial.Yet many of us did write those letters, working through anger and sorrow to make our voices and the voice of the one we loved heard. It wasn't cathartic. None of what we put down could change the past or make the present any easier.

   Despite my misgivings, it turned out the letters were not pointless. Those letters were read. Maybe not by the world at large, but both the attorneys and the judge presiding over the case read every single one of the eighteen missives produced by family and friends. Two of the letters were read aloud in court.

   The result... the judge pointed out something to the prosecutor and the plea bargain agreement was changed to increase time to be served. A year is not a huge victory, but in a legal structure littered with underwhelming sentences for serious offenses, it was a positive result in an otherwise flawed system.

The second letter was less painful, but still not easy. I had to get past my ego first.

   This time it was a request. Making a request that doesn't sound like a demand can be difficult, but making a request that is costly is even harder. Now add to the mix that the request will only benefit a small number of people and the rest who will be helping to foot the bill will not likely understand the need.

   I'm talking about updating a building entrance to make it accessible for those with disabilities. At least I wasn't asking for new doors or a ramp to accompany the automated door opener. Why was I asking for this?

  No, this is not my normal mode of transportation, but I have been forced to use it in the past. If you look at the photo more closely, you might see an odd device strapped to my leg. I like to tell people it's a court ordered monitoring device... but the truth is, it is a neurostimulator. A nifty gadget to help a person walk when the brain signals do not quite reach the intended limbs.

  Unfortunately, my abilities have not improved over time and I am currently using a semi-effective leg brace and my husband's right arm for support. If this continues much longer, he will need customized shirts or ones with longer sleeves so he can cuff the left side.

   My husband has suggested a cane or walker to help me remain independent, a proposal that I am not ready to embrace as of yet. Probably a good thing, since I would have been hard pressed to enter church a few weeks ago. Typically there is someone at the door to hold it open, but this was one of the rare occasions where there was no one available and I was walking alone. The doors can be a bit cumbersome and I'm not swift on two feet. Add an assistance device (cane, walker, wheelchair) and I am downright dangerous. If I had to manage the door with said device and the horrible balance issues I was experiencing that day, chances are I would still be outside of church, laying on the ground swearing, a cane sticking out of my eye.

Not a good image for a parishioner.

  So I wrote a letter. I explained my dilemma and my appreciation that there is usually someone manning the doors, but how this is not always a feasible option. To my surprise, the response was quick and affirmative. Sometime in the next three weeks a automatic door opener will be installed. Wow, talk about answer to a prayer!

   I'm a writer. I should know the power of the written word. I want you to believe it too. Still have doubts? Can you remember the last review you read before you purchased an item? Do you have a favorite line from a movie? A tweet that inspired you? A text that made you smile?

   Someone wrote these...

The letters made a difference.

Now it is time for me to do some more writing, lest I stop breathing.

By the way, if anyone is asking, I injured my leg wrestling alligators.