Across Impossibilities: The letters of Thomas Vance to both his wife, Corinne (on the anniversary of her death) and shortly after, to his unborn grandaughter, Hemingway. The narratives are scored with music by Brokenkites.
Words by James B Willard, Narration by Matthew Kendrick, Music by Brokenkites
In other, more hopeful news, our daughter's pregnant... three months, and she's already decided it's going to be a girl. I know how you liked to hear all of the bad things in the middle of some good things, so I saved it until near the end of this year's letter. Even better is that she's called me to talk to me about it more than once, which is a great improvement over the years of silence she's offered since you died. I suppose I'll start writing letters to the unborn child as I make my way across the countryside. I hope that she grows up to be a person that finds them interesting, that she's as curious about everything that came before as you were, that she's as excited about tomorrow as she is about yesterday. Maybe you can drop in on her from time to time and read the letters with her, but I'm sure by the time that she's old enough to read them, I'll have already filled you in on everything that's happened between now and then. There I go again; stories and make believe and imagining parallels where we'll carry on and on and on.
But I miss you. I love you, still, if that's possible for you to believe, because I know you won't be coming back. But that doesn't change the way that my heart still reaches for you across all of the impossibilities, hoping - knowing that there's a universe where you're still alive and we're still together.
I still reach for you, Corinne, sometimes, at night.
I'm yours forever,