This summer feels different. Every year, after every school year, I can feel the seasons change. Not just in the weather, but the seasons here in our home. Every year, Sophia gets bigger, and every year, I start to miss you less. I think that’s okay now. It used to scare me. I never wanted to let you go, and when the memory of you started to fade, it would terrify me. But I think that’s the beauty of grief. We can remember you when we want to and when we can. We can think about the short but wonderful time we had with you and still be happy and grateful for all that has happened since you. We don’t need to be scared to let you go. I think you would’ve wanted that.
I know that by being okay to move on doesn’t mean I’m suddenly cured. I know there are still parts of me I need to work on. I’m going to probably spend the rest of my life figuring out how to deal with my…everything. I’ll always grieve, but I can learn how to exist with all of it. And on the days when it gets really hard, I know who I can turnto. I have people who care about me and are able to help me when I need it. Asking for help is also something I need to become comfortable with too. I need to learn to not feel like a burden for simply existing. I’m getting there. Work in progress.
This isn’t goodbye, this is see you later. I’m going to keep you here, in these emails, where I can visit you whenever I want. And you don’t have to stay here forever. You can go off and be wherever you need to be, but let’s promise to meet here whenever we need each other. When we find ourselves reaching for each other or on those days we’re having a little bit of a harder time, let’s find each other here. And maybe one day, we won’t have to come back here. We can look for each other in another world where emails or missing each other or guilt don’t have to be in the mix. We can just love each other and know it wasn’t our time before, but it’ll be our time later.
Love,
Mommy
It’s justafter nine in the morning, and Sophia isn’t up yet. James left for work over two hours ago, a little earlier than normal, but with the holiday weekend ahead of us, he wanted to get an early start to get back earlier this afternoon.
It’s a quiet morning. Most people don’t get to experience the summer vacation period like I do. They still have to go to work and drive their commute, most likely sending their school-age children off to summer camp or to a relative’s home, but it’s niceI get to have a lazy start to my day. I have a lukewarm cup of coffee held between my hands. The usual rise of steam is long gone, and I blow at it more out of habit than to cool it. My laptop is open to an email, the sender portion already filled in. I spent the last twenty minutes typing out what I want to say, and I think I’m ready to send it. James might read it at some point. Maybe later today or maybe in another nine years, but those words are as much for him as for our baby. Knowing the letters are for the three of us, and in part Sophia, feels freeing. They aren’t meant to be kept like a top-secret journal with a brass lock, but more like a scrapbook full of memories. We can open them whenever we want and stow them away when we need to.
James and I briefly glossed over the topic of these letters. We decided to keep the account open, allowing us to go back to it whenever we want. Things like this aren’t kept quiet between us anymore. At least not all of it. Some things we keep to ourselves, waiting for when we’re ready to share with each other. But we don’t hold back out of fear or resentment. We do it out of care and respect. We’re slowly sweeping away the remains of those pesky little eggshells, even the sharp crumbs, and we’re walking around barefoot. No heed to be paid so we don’t step on something and splinter a cut into our soles. Just him and me, wide open like a book hitting the second act.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and when I look at the screen, I smile at James’s name flashing.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hi,” he says. “Is Sophia up?”
“Nope,” I tell him. “Still sleeping.”
“What are you guys going to do today?” I hear a phone ring through the line followed by some chatter from his office. I can tell he’s having a somewhat hectic morning, but he’s making the time to call me before he’s thrown into the throngs of his day.
“I was thinking of taking Sophia for a haircut and then getting her a new swimsuit. Maybe some lunch. Oh, and I have to make some returns at the craft store.”
“Sounds like a busy day,” he comments.
“You just called to ask me what I was going to do today?” I ask with a smile.
“Yeah,” he answers boldly. “And to say good morning since I left before you got up. So…good morning.”
“Good morning.” I was still in bed, stirring and half asleep, when he left in the morning. I felt him kiss me goodbye but was still a little groggy with sleep to kiss him back.
“I was thinking that maybe for dinner we could go out,” he suggests.
“I’m okay with eating at home,” I tell him. “I was going to cook those steaks we’ve had in the fridge. I can make a salad with that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” I say. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just thought that maybe…you’d want a break from making dinner tonight,” he says with what I assume is a shrug while he’s seated at his desk. I’ve been cooking every night since we’ve been back home, but I really don’t mind it. It’s been a nice routine, something my therapist said would be a good way for me to work with my depression. And I think it’s been helping. But it hasn’t been so much work that I can’t handle it.
“James,” I say, sniffing out where this is going. “Are you worried I might resent you for making me cook dinner every night?”
“No,” he argues, his answer firm. “I just don’t want you to take on more than you need to.”
“I don’t mind,” I tell him.
“I know, but I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
I sigh and it comes out more frustrated than I intend to. “I can do these things. Iwantto do these things. I mean, I also would love to go out to dinner with you and Sophia if that’s what you really want to do, but we can do that another time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
