Dearest Rachel –
The other day, when Lars called to arrange a day on which we might meet to walk this week – despite the fact that we’ll be heading out of town together this weekend, and will have plenty of time to walk, be it through airports, over beaches or from one end of the ship to the other – he mentioned that today was the best day to do so for both his own schedule and the weather, but he was reluctant to do so, “because this is a very special day for you.”
I confess to having been momentarily puzzled by his remark before the penny dropped. Look, I don’t keep track of days and dates like I used to, so a particular one will sometimes get past me. In particular, the twenty-third of any month will sneak up on me and hit me with the fact that it’s been another month gone since you have been. But of course, this isn’t the twenty-third of just any month; this is the day it happened, four years ago. Somehow, he concluded that this day should sting more for me than any other day on the calendar, and the matter needed to be addressed gingerly.
And maybe it does. To tell you the truth, though, honey, I don’t think I feel any more about things today than any other day. As with the turn of the year, which we just dealt with barely three weeks ago, one day doesn’t really seem all that different from the day before. The bedroom is no more empty than it has been for the last four years; indeed, there’s actually more of a weight on your side of the bed than usual at the moment, since I’ve got my suitcase sitting there, waiting for me to finish filling it and close it up for Saturday’s flight.
Which brings up the possibility that I might just be running away from facing things like this; the irony is that any effort on my part to deny that would just lead someone to conclude that I “protest too much,” and in my denials, I’m confirming that the anniversary of the day does, in fact, get under my skin still. In which case, maybe I should just admit that yes, I am running away from something; it’s been too darn cold here, and I’m running away from that. Can everyone be satisfied with that explanation?
The truth is, I don’t want people to be walking around on eggshells about what today is and represents; if you were here and able to be a part of it, I’m sure you would agree about this (of course, if you were here, all this discussion about the anniversary of your departure would be a moot point, but let’s set that aside for the moment). Such pussyfooting around the situation just serves as more of a reminder. I might not have taken into account what day it was until I got to my reading today and opened up to Proverbs 23. As it is, I’d been given a heads-up several days in advance, and in the ensuing days between then and now, time to think about it more than I would have otherwise – and more than I would have wanted to. Sure, it gives me something to write to you about today, but it’s not a topic I’d choose to dwell on, to be honest.
It’s not that I’m trying to forget you, honey; far from it. I’m writing these letters to keep in touch with you on a daily basis – at this point, I think I may have surpassed your streak on Candy Crush that you were so proud of by a factor of two. Meanwhile, I spend more of my time working with AI art generating pictures of you than working on any T-shirt designs or the like. So I have your face in front of me, and I’m communicating with you, more than most widowers, I suspect. The only thing I lack is to hear your voice – both in terms of its actual sound and the things you might say (contrary to popular belief, I never got to the point where I thought I could read your mind) – and feel your physical presence.
That’s enough picking at the wound as it is without having to consider what happened four years ago today. For others to treat me with kid gloves just because this is January 23rd – and we all remember what happened then – just serves to bring that to mind that much more. It essentially defeats the purpose they’re attempting to achieve. Better for them to treat this day like any other, so I can do the same, and we can all get on with life. I’m meeting with you… well, it sounds harsh to say “enough as it is,” but considering that it’s “until death do us part,” and that’s happened, I’m keeping up with this long-distance relationship – and it is the longest distance one can possibly deal with – more than I ought to already. Why add to it further, especially since that’s the opposite of what those around me want to provoke?
Be that as it may, though, I would still appreciate it if you could keep an eye on me, honey. Oh, and wish me luck, too; I’m sure I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 