“Jana, you would love this.” “Oh, Jana, let me tell you about that!”
So many times, I have found myself wanting to share part of my life with her. I carefully write out my thoughts, fold the paper in thirds, place it in the envelope, put a stamp in the corner…but, it remains unsent. It has nowhere to go. No recipient.
Life has turns and twists. Major issues come up that need attention. Jana, I need your input. Your thinking is required, even on the subject of your death. It’s your interpretation of all these things that I am missing. You’re gone, and now is when I need you desperately…to help me navigate you’re departure.
It’s circular thinking. It’s illogical. This entire situation is illogical…at least from my viewpoint. So, I’ll write another letter.
The words in my note will let you know how I feel, what’s happening in my life now, and what I’m doing to cope.
I’ll share the things that will make you proud, and, I won’t hold back on my secret mistakes – that I will only tell you about. If I can get some pictures developed, I’ll send those. Pics of the girls, my deer, and what we’ve done with the house. Oh, you will be happy with it all…
Jana, I’ll tell you again how much I love you. I might even fill a page with these words alone…I love you. Jana, I don’t want to make you sad, but I’ll tell you of my loneliness, too. How I have all of your things carefully stored, and about how I cry when I hear your favorite songs.
By now, I have so many letters. I have spent thousands on postage. The problem is, all the letters are stacked up…piled up around the mailbox. There is no address on any of them. They’re written and will never be sent…never to be read. Words and thoughts, hopes and dreams that end with me.
The letters represent what was. I try to send them, try to reach for her… Every time, there is nothing there. I’m learning, the point is getting through to me, I’m realizing… My letter writing has slowed.
Sometimes, though, just to feel “near,” I sit among the letters. I open a few, that have already been sealed shut, and I recall my thoughts at the time of writing. I remind myself, there will come a day when I will open and read each of these letters to you, if it even matters anymore, on that glorious day of reunion.
He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; grief, crying, and pain will be no more, because the previous things have passed away.