Viewpoints Staffer Kalliope Samaltanos poses for a picture with her father, Michael Long, in May of 2009. Samaltanos retells her story of grief and acceptance in a letter to her younger self. Photo courtesy of Elleni Samaltanos
Hello, my name is Kalliope Samaltanos, Viewpoints Staffer with the ODYSSEY Media Group at Clarke Central High school and this is a Letter to my Younger Self. In this podcast, students share a letter they would like to give to their past selves full of advice, warnings, encouragement, and insight into what their future holds. This is my letter to my younger self.
Dear Kalli,
Currently, you are approaching one of the hardest times in your life. I know sometimes you find yourself wishing that you spent the day anywhere besides your dad’s house, but hold on tight to the bond that you two have. Cherish every time you argue, or get mad at him for disappointing you again. Trust me when I say you need to soak in every ounce of love he gives you.
Eventually, you will stop talking to him and you’ll wish he would just stop calling. One day, he will stop calling. His bubbly personality won’t make the room light up anymore, but will (instead) leave a trace of sadness from the memories associated with it.
You will slowly start to miss him, but you will remember the toxic traces he left your family. One day, mom will sit you down on your front porch, tears streaming down her face and down yours too. You’ll already know what she was going to say. You felt it. You think about all of the things he won’t be there to see. Your wedding, your graduation, prom.
You’re not going to want to accept dad’s death. In fact, you’ll zone out and ignore the whole situation for around six months before the feelings really kick in. You see, that’s the thing they never tell you about grief. There is no time limit on it, and there are no warnings. One minute you’ll be laughing with your friends, completely fine, and the next you’ll start to fall apart. You’ll learn to manage this.
You will also learn to realize you’ll never be the same person you were before he died. That will hit you the hardest. You’ll spend months being jealous of who you used to be, and will try to fake happiness to be the old you, but the old you isn’t there anymore. And sometimes that’s okay. Then, you’ll realize that faking happiness doesn’t help anybody. Not yourself, not your mom and not your friends. Moments like these will change the way you think. Forever.
Then, when the sadness slows down, you’ll feel inspired. Inspired to tell his story, the good and bad parts. Inspired to learn the things that he loved to do. Painting, playing the guitar, fishing, all of it.
Remember to give yourself the space to miss him and feel your feelings. Some friends will tell you to get over it. Never listen to them. Let your tragedies inspire you to become the best version of yourself.
When you miss him, talk to him. And when you miss his voice, listen to the voicemails he left in your mom’s inbox. I promise it isn’t weird, even though you may think it is.
Remember that everything will work out. And take your time! I love you so much, and you’re going to get through it.
Sincerely,
A sixteen-year-old you
