I don't know what to say, first of all. Or rather, I don't know how to begin with the things that I should say. I know I should say I'm sorry for being unable to visit you, but frankly, I don't know if it's okay to actually visit you. Your Mom does not know the past we shared and I'm not sure if she'd very much welcome the notion considering the circumstances. So I'm sorry for my incapacity.
If it comforts you, I'd like to tell you that I've long forgiven you. Not because of your current condition, but because I already have a long time ago. We were young. We were immature. And youth and immaturity sometimes make very bad combinations. Love back then was a tiny flicker and a little wind was enough to extinguish the flame. So don't carry the burden anymore. I've already left the baggage somewhere along the road to where I am right now.
Along that road though, I've come to realize that love doesn't really end. That although the flames of our previous romance are long extinguished, a little warmth is still there, provoked by small incoherent things like smiles, or sepia windows, or memory. The reality is that the love I had for you was a real kind of love; the kind that doesn't go away but simply sits in a corner somewhere deep in my heart; the kind that maintains it's passivity despite me finding another great love.
What I'm trying to say is that you should get better soon. Because it will break my heart if anything bad will happen to you. Not because I still want you back. But because I know that over the years we've cultivated a friendship that I'm not ready to end yet. So get better soon. We are praying for you.