Dear John,

I missed having you and your sister at Wednesday’s class. I know you were busy packing to head back to Pennsylvania, but it would’ve been nice to connect one more time before you left. We had a combined group again, with Barbara leading the first hour and me taking the second. There were twenty-six attendees, but it wasn’t the same without you two.

We had three new people this week. I can’t recall the lady’s name, but the two men were Dave and Mike. They’re easy to remember since those are my two sons’ names.

You might remember Myra from last week. She’s the one who arrived within her first ten minutes in The Villages for a weeklong lifestyle visit. She mentioned that her cat was waiting in her car. She came by again this week on her way out of town. She’s decided to sell her home in south Florida and move here. She told us how welcoming everyone was last week, so she stopped in again because she liked us so much. And yes, her cat was once again patiently waiting in the car. Pretty cool.

During the first hour, Barbara asked one of the ladies to read from “The Artist’s Way”. She shared Julia Cameron’s preface to the 30th anniversary addition of the book. It felt just like being back in school when teachers would read to us. The reader even told us we could rest our heads on our desks if we wanted, which really brought back those elementary school memories.

When she finished, she admitted she’d almost cried a couple of times during her reading because, as a child, she couldn’t read aloud. I guess her brain just didn’t work that way. The memories came flooding back, and a few tears did fall. Everyone listened quietly, because we all understood exactly what she meant. Some of us had been there before.

I truly enjoyed having you as part of the group. One of the reasons I like you so much is that you remind me of my cousin Gene, who passed away a few years ago. He would have been about your age and loved cars too. He didn’t collect them like you do, but he cared for them just as much, always washing and polishing. You two would have been best of friends. I’ve enclosed a picture of him. He’s the closest I got to having a brother.

I was thinking about a couple of weeks ago when you and your sister did a writing exercise in class. We were writing about things we were thankful for that had recently changed in our lives. Even though we wrote privately, you both shared similar stories. She had helped you with your recent health issues and invited you to stay for the winter. You both admitted that five months was a bit of a stretch, but I could hear the mutual admiration in your voices. That was the most vulnerable I saw you all winter, and my eyes moistened as I listened to your words. I didn’t mention it then, but I wanted you to know.

The highlight of your stay for me was the evening you and I listened to four ladies talk about their lives. They were very frank. I’d never heard anyone, including my college roommates, be so open. I don’t think I sat with my mouth open the entire time, but I know I couldn’t believe my ears. Holy moly. We both learned a lot that night.

Wednesday, I mentioned with a bit of pride that I was one of the first two guys in the group. I shared that January 8th, 2025, marked a new beginning for me. I was tired of being alone and wanted to find friends who felt the same and I did. I said, “While we’re all from different places, we share the same goal. We’re a group of like-minded friends, traveling through our final quarter together sharing our lives.”

What I didn’t say then, but will now, is that I think I found the group so I could help spread the word. I’m not religious, but I believe there’s something more. Leading the group has become my therapy, and it doesn’t cost a thing. I’ve shared my thoughts in my blog. Too much has happened in my life for me not to believe in something. I’m in no hurry to find out exactly what’s next, but I’m certain I will one day. I don’t imagine a heaven or a hell, but I’m convinced there’s something. I could be wrong about where I’m headed, and maybe, just maybe, that’s why I’m sending this letter on Easter Sunday. I want to be sure I’ve covered all my bases.

Anyway, I hope you come back next winter. I’m going to miss you. I hope you found your time as rewarding as I did.

Love you like a brother.

Bob