Dearest Rachel –
You already know I started writing these letters to you to try and remember this or that incident in our lives together and attempt to commit them to paper (or at least pixels) before they were erased from mind and memory like words written in the sand on a tide-washed beach. However, between the effects of time and memory, as well as the onslaught of days, week, months and years since, those recollections have been few and far between, with only snippets put up to compare against current events as they happened.
The next thought was that these could serve as documentation of my mental state as I was left with little choice but to pick my life back up and keep moving forward in your absence. It was a form of therapy, as well as hopefully being a note of encouragement to those reading over your shoulder; a way to say “Hey, I’ve gone through all this, honey, and I’m doing okay – and to anyone else here reading this, you can survive this sort of thing, too! So take comfort in that.”
The problem is that I’m not sure I can confidently say that I actually am doing okay, despite outward appearances. Yes, I’ve done things with the house, with my body, and with my life that might seem like the elements of a person on the road to recovery. I’ve gone places and done things that we never got the chance to, while at the same time getting myself into the best shape I’ve been in decades. It all looks like I’m doing everything right, everything I ought to be doing and then some (since I have the means to do more than most people are able to). But to what purpose?
A number of these things, such as the travel and the remodeling, were simply things that we wanted to do at some point, but always had something in the way. With regard to travel, we needed to take care of Chompers until he was safely escorted across the Rainbow Bridge to wait for you again – and then, of course, there were the restrictions inherent in the Covid lockdowns. And as for updating the house, well… there was all that stuff lying around that had to be dealt with one way or another, either by getting rid of it or finding a place for it, before we could begin, and you just weren’t ready to do any of that yet, even though you seemed to acknowledge its necessity. The point is, these activities weren’t born out of a desire for recovery; rather the opposite, these were things that we’d planned on doing that I was finally carrying out. None of this had as its goal a chance for me to put you behind me and move forward.
As for the health kick I’ve been on, that’s had very little to do with me, either; it’s been rooted in the understanding that, in the shape I was when you left, I would never be able to attract Megumi to me. Sure, there’s the thought that unconditional love would overlook deficiencies such as my appearance, but before that can be cultivated and grown, having those deficiencies would absolutely cause her to overlook me entirely in the first place. So obviously, it was imperative that I change myself for her sake, even though I continue to question her existence. And in the process, I’ve found myself reasonably gratified to see actual results, despite the fact that the daily process can be a loathsome chore.
Although, when I say “results,” I simply mean that I’ve been losing weight and gaining muscle tone. The last couple of days and weeks have seen me pushing around heavier weights than I’d thought myself possible (although I can’t always accomplish the same number of repetitions as I might have on the weights I’ve customarily been using), and I’ve been covering longer distances and burning more calories each time as time goes by. But that’s it; it’s not as if these results, tangible as they may be to those who go for an extended period of time without seeing me, actually snag the attention of someone who I might mistake for Megumi.
The thing is, I’m starting to wonder if this idealized concept I’ve attached that name to isn’t some sort of impossible goal, like the cars that certain dogs are known to chase after. What would I do if I were to catch her, anyway?
I ask this question because of a visitation you gave me last night. Dreams of you have been fewer and further between, I’m afraid, honey, so when they happen, I notice. There wasn’t all that much to this one (at least, not much I can relate), but it was almost tactile enough to seem real. At the same time, there were moments of lucidity when – recognizing that you’re no longer here, despite the evidence before me in my dream state – I found myself wondering what I was doing in the waking world at that moment. Who or what was I touching as I embraced you, and how would they feel to be under such assault (which might be a more appropriate word to describe the situation than I’d like to admit) – especially since they weren’t being recognized as themselves, but rather a dream version of you?
As it turned out, I hadn’t attacked the pillows – or anything else – on your side of the bed. I was still in my place, lying on my side, facing where you would have been, when I woke up; there had been no harm done. But it occurred to me that this would still have been disconcerting to a theoretical Megumi, to have been treated like a lover, but lost in the shadow that you have cast over my mind, heart and other parts.
In short, honey, for all the effort put into the path of recovery, I’m not sure I’m really okay after all. Then again, this may be perfectly normal for someone having gone through what I have; I don’t know, as I have so little to use as a basis of comparison. I wish you could fill me in, seeing that you now theoretically have access to the secrets of the universe.
Then again, if you just want to drop by in my dreams again, I suppose I could live with that, too. But for now, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, as I think I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 