Dear You,
I woke this morning, and I cried. I got a letter yesterday that moved me more than words can say, and it gave me hope. I feel like my life changed so much when you died…well, it did. I had to learn to be on my own. I had to fix everything that your existence and presence neutralized. You really were my anchor. Albeit, I was never born for a normal life. But I also just…was so young and clueless and unprepared for, well, anything…I’ve broken down so many times. I’ve made so many mistakes, but I don’t want to focus on that. Can I tell you what I’ve learned instead? (Also, thank you for watching over me…you must be exhausted.)
I’ve learned that nobody is coming to save me. I’ve learned that being an adult means just doing the damn thing, whatever the damn thing is. I’ve learned that being a human being isn’t about not making mistakes or getting it right. I’m still learning not to be so hard on myself. It’s hard…to break down the conditioning. I can do it in my mind, but man, those early patterns…I just don’t want to spend this life stagnant. And even though I do things, nothing feels like it’s “enough”. I know there’s a process. I know I have to just keep going and keep writing and keep doing. I know I have people who love me and care about me…so why don’t I feel like enough?
I don’t always feel that way, but lately, I don’t know…I just want to cry more. I have to remember…the body really does keep score. Tomorrow, six years ago, you were already in the hospital. We are nine days away from the day you almost died for the second time. I’d just learned about the second cancer two days ago. This was the day that I leased that dump trailer to that cretin who robbed us of about $5,000…but you weren’t here for that part, when after you died that guy cursed at me when I told him to return the dump trailer…and then it turned out that he was arrested for being a con artist to a lot of people. I should have pursued justice, but I couldn’t find the contract…I considered many times forging his signature since I (still) have a photo of his driver’s license. Damn scruples.
I dropped off the trailer and did the thing at the Lowe’s in Theodore, and then I came to the hospital. By this time, my GPS assumed I worked at University Hospital. I would have given anything to be able to save you…just so you know.
It was another time where everything I’d worked for was finally coming to fruition, and it was all about to get swept away in a tidal wave. Creative Editing Services was doing well…but in seven days, I’d have to borrow (take) $1,000 from my mom to repay the advance for the new gig I got writing legacy memoirs for clients for a person who ran such a service. I was going to have to fire my other client who I’d been helping query people, so she could publish the memoir about her coming to the United States as a refugee only to one day have her beautiful daughter raped and nearly murdered and permanently disabled. I was going to have to disappoint the old fart who treated me like a secretary but who never paid me. I was going to soon lose my job with University of Phoenix because I just didn’t have the bandwidth to hold it all together.
Do you know how hard it is to come so close to anything materializing only to have it swept away? The same damn thing happened again in 2024 when the devil started stalking me (for God’s sake, darling, can I for the sake of all things sacred get justice for what he did?). I have tried so damn hard to do things honestly and with integrity, and I am so incredibly tired of having my ass kicked. I know it’s not your fault. And while I know it’s all to be lain to rest on the nature of the world and the damn patriarchy, can you please help me? Just…give me a sign. But a really obvious one. Like one with directional arrows and blinking lights? Because I don’t know which way to turn. I don’t want to say I’m losing faith or hope or heart (my mind is long gone) because I’m not (dammit), but I may have lost the plot.
Nobody really tells you how hard it is when your partner dies. In a world where women are largely hated, it’s scary sometimes and hard to choose love and kindness and peace and safety…especially when all you ever wanted was just to be loved…really loved. It’s even harder when you also want those things, but you have to choose to be valued. You valued me, and I know other people do. I value me. It’s just hard to live on fumes and faith alone…to have had no proof other than other people have what you dream of…and other people have done what you were born to do…so why not you? Why not me?
I think about you all of the time. Not every moment of every day, but I just feel like your presence is never far from me. And I feel like you are there doing things that help me and make my life better, and I promise I’m grateful…I just hope I’m handling it right. I’m trying so hard, and I know it’s not really supposed to be hard, but I’m trying.
You were so sick six years ago…you won’t remember Lillianne’s birthday. Can you believe she’s about to be 13? Can you please help me somehow…? I always said you were the better parent. I know you were younger than me (only by two years and two days, though), but you were the one who was the most stable. You were my anchor. I’m trying to be my own anchor, but it’s kind of hard to build an ark and stabilize when all you have are tools and materials and no instructions. This must be how men feel all of the time. I feel like Homer Simpson when he tried to build a grill, but the instructions were in French. That’s pretty much how I feel trying to human.
Like, I started writing cray-cation (I will change the title, but for now…), and I read what I’d written, and I was like, “Oh, this is terrible,” but I know it’s probably not. I went back and read my short story from 2017, and it was good. My old satire was good. Why am I so damn hard on myself? Can you please help me? (See previous RE: signs)
Or just help me put on the right battle helmet, give me a sword, and allow me to run screaming into the abyss hoping and praying something happens…something good. I will say…thank you for everything you have done for me…for protecting me…for showing me my value…for sending me the sweetest people…for staying near me when I’ve been the most alone. Thank you for being with our son, too. I know he was never alone, but still. Also…how’s grandma? And my memaw? Can you tell them both that I love and miss them…and that they’re welcome to send signs, too?
It’s weird…I’m here with the girls, and you’re there with our son. Is there anything I can do to help you…other than not completely screw up? I’m just sad. My body remembers this time of year, and it’s hard. It was hard to have so much fear and anxiety and to just go to war six years ago with courage. I never gave myself a moment to feel sorry for or scared for myself. It wasn’t about me. It was about you, but what I didn’t feel for myself is real, and it’s heavy, and I’m ready to let it go. Can you help me outprocess this trauma? I’m tired of the gauntlet. I’m tired of this time every year being so heavy and so hard to deal with. I’m just tired.
I miss the life we should have had. I don’t want to recreate anything…and I promise…I do love my life. I love the house you sent to me. I love the landscape. I love our amazing daughters. I love what I do for a living…I love that you still provide for me. I love that, and I’m grateful. You do know that? I’m not complaining…I promise…I’m more grateful than I’ve ever been in my life, and I think that even though I’ve been to Hell and back and have done donuts in the cul de sac, I’m the happiest with myself I’ve ever been. I just wish I wasn’t the only one who carries these memories and the weight of this trauma.
I know I’ll write our story one day. I have so many things I want to write, and I am writing them. I just had a thought…I always write with some kind of purpose in mind, but maybe I’ll just write for me…for my sake…let’s see how that goes, yeah? Because if there’s any life theme I’ve been aware of but haven’t attended to is that I make things so not about me, I don’t even make my writing about me…like just for my own enjoyment, my own entertainment, my own delight…and I should, shouldn’t I?
When did I stop doing things that delighted just me? I know why I did…but can you help me go back to that? Just help…with flashes of inspiration and motivation? I have so much joy, but I feel like my spark has faded a little, and I want it back…I want to ignite it. I want to explode with what’s inside of me onto the page like a firework. I want to pause. I want to breathe. I want to see what’s inside mirrored externally.
Most of all I want you to know how grateful I am for you. You have protected me and guided me and sent me the absolute best people. That letter I got yesterday was exactly what I didn’t know I needed. Thank you. I know. It will be okay. I know you know but never forget that I love you.
I’ll like you forever. I’ll love you for always. As long as I’m living, my husband you’ll be.
Eternally,
—A