If I had the privilege of engaging in a single conversation with my living self, knowing what I know now, I would have so much to tell her. But of everything, these are the most important:
Don't shut out Dad. He may not be privy to the strange inner workings of Neverton (frankly, who is?), but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to be part of your life. So keep inviting him to the Halloween Festival, dammit, and keep putting that smile on your face. Even if he scowls a little too much at Death for your liking. Because when the time comes that you're no longer able to leave the house and visit him as often as you wish, you will regret the opportunities that you didn't take.
Hold onto Mem. She will be instrumental in getting you through your treatments, and the final moments of your life. And she is the truest friend there ever could be, even if she insists on serving you Cara-flavored coffee that only forces you to relive your most embarrassing moments.
Keep a journal. I know, you're rolling your eyes, but trust me. The spirits that will come to reside in Death's home have a lot to say, and you still have a lot to learn. Be patient with them all, as well. That one goes without saying.
Trust your instincts. You will never encounter Love again, but you will still hear her voice in your head, planting seeds of doubt. You belong here no matter what. The future isn't as bleak as it looks – and I know that's a shitty thing to tell a cancer patient, but you know it's true.
Let yourself feel pain and pleasure. Being with Death will be the greatest joy of your life, but with that joy comes – inevitably – pain. Physically enjoying the fullness of each other only one night a year will test you greatly, but you will also realize that the time you spend together during the rest of the year means so much more. The spirits you help, the old films that you watch, the conversations you have...All of those memories are the things you will hold onto the most, especially when you're in the hospital.
There's nothing I can say to prepare you for that final year. I wish there was.
But because this is a hypothetical letter to myself, I want to tell you how all of this ends. I think it would give you some comfort to know what you can expect.
First, when you die, you will find yourself adrift in a familiar landscape that appears to be filled with white fog. Do not panic: this is normal. Eventually the fog will clear, and you will know where you are, and you will see a house. It will beckon you closer and closer until you see a familiar face at the door. But you won't be afraid to pass through, for you will already know what – and who – waits on the other side.
He will take your hand. It is not Halloween, but you can feel him, and you know that you are home. You are, at last, both one and the same, and there is nothing to fear as you realize that there is indeed life after death.
Nothing will change. You will be forever a pair, forever guides to other deceased spirits, forever residents of Death's once-temporary home. The walls will be filled with new portraits, and though the faces and names of the residents will revolve as the years pass, the love will always be there.
And this, Cara, is the most important lesson of all: Love doesn't always stay, but it lasts.
Oh, it lasts.
THE END