Dear Jacob,

As your roommate from Yale said, "(You) would never tolerate any of us …. speaking untruths and white lies about (you) even out of sorrow." The truth is to my dismay, we did not spend a lot of time together so my relationship is more my conception of you. This is apparent from the eulogies and letters that I have experienced since your death.

Two weeks out of the year for what, 25 years? We vacationed together. You were a little younger than I and were usually off with Dylan or reading some interestingly titled penguin classic, or trying to dodge obligations that you seemed to resent. I remember you in a navy Jacket and tie and that big tussled head of hair framing your rugged features. I think of you most on Scott beach at Caneel where we shared I think the first long conversation that we had in years. Your graceful lumber up the stretch from cottage seven on the way to the Turtle Bay dining room, the new and improved Jake- strong sculpted, draped in your shades- I wanted so much to know what you were really thinking or feeling but I could not see your eyes. Our conversation is now vague to me but I do remember it was truthful. It is ironic that I felt I had to prove myself in speaking to you; and that beneath your physically and intellectually perfect visage you may have felt the same- not to me in particular but in general. I wanted very much to be your friend. You were one of the few people I felt could affirm my own brilliance in some way.

I recall discussions primal in nature, enjoying the bacchanalia that your grandfather enabled by creating Caneel bay- where my parents honeymooned and I believe I was conceived and then returned to almost every year since- a pilgrimage to our mecca of nature. Putting to words our lustful looks at a new addition to our vacation scene at the bar, drinking fine wines together, Freds etc., downtown, the cab rides back and forth, sitting at the end of the dock with our friends- staring at the stars- the mischief… New Years on Scott.

As we grew older I struggled to find myself in work, or various attempts at creative endeavors that would make me money. Somehow I felt that set me apart from you and I imagined you to be leading a jet setting life of luxury, traveling, reading, writing and trying to find meaning without the necessity of the struggle for survival on the lower rungs of maslow's conception. I knew in passing of your struggle with various substances and am a bit reticent to admit that I held that up as some type of badge of honor, there was this glamour to it. A perverse glory that is rooted to the pain and struggle that leads to that. I have numbed myself in many ways and know that thirst for oblivion, but I know you were stronger than that and this was a freak accident.

I learned more about you and your family and of the power you could wield. I hoped that someday you would do so justly. I know those expectations contributed to the pressure that led to the desire for oblivion. "Jacob Rockefeller Waletzky" as the pastor repeated numerous times at your eulogy… "names that all have expectations of greatness" (I don't think I am alone in trying to guess your comments regarding his sermon). Regardless of all that, I knew you better than you thought- we had a common family background- healers- my father a psychiatrist and mother a psychologist. Does that possibly create the illusion that a perfect state of mind was somehow attainable; maybe through enough therapy and introspection? Did we share the maddening state of illusion that happiness may be an attainable ideal?

What does this all teach me? Frankly, the sight of Naomi, Jake, and your Mom and Dad- stoically staying goodbye to you- this taught me of the rift that we leave when we pass on. To appreciate our lives—oh the thought of Joy (my sister), how many birthday cards did she address to her "Big Bro" as Naomi called you?. You have inspired me to continue to try to forgive my ancestors for the pressures that are the source of our sometimes paralytic aspirations of greatness- to let go of the anger that that legacy produces and manifests in our harsh criticisms of ourselves and in turn others. These lofty ideals that command us- possibly outside of our capability; that struggle to find a balance between our capabilities and the ideals. To learn to embrace the beauty of my raw spirit and it's source from God above, and to gracefully embrace the pressures of form.

Jake, I'm sorry we did not spend more time together. I wish you peace in an amazingly graceful state for eternity. To your family, all my love and compassion.

Love,
Seth