A Loved Letter

How do I begin? I'm not really sure. Hell, I don't even know why it's hitting me now, I've known for months. And it wasn't something that necessarily surprised me. The one she chose surprised me, I'll say that much. I don't know if she'll be reading this. I know she's been here, but I don't know how often. Once? Twice? Daily? I don't think she was too interested in my ranting, having heard some of it before. But if there's a chance she's going to read this, I have to take that chance. (This is another one that's absent the ranting and swearing, so if you're not interested, move on. But you may learn something about letting go. Or not letting go. It's really hard to say, so I'm just going to get to writing.)

Years ago, we met. We talked for a while before we actually got together, remember? A good year or more. It was pretty difficult, not being able to see you. The phone conversations were wonderful, don't get me wrong. But when we finally decided to meet, in Chicago, I had no idea how difficult it'd end up being living so far apart.

Chicago. Man, what a time that was, huh? I went along with the sight-seeing, but from the time I saw you get off that plane, you were the one thing I couldn't take my eyes off.

Remember the snowstorm? We went into that mall, barely a flake falling, and when we emerged a few hours later, you couldn't see anything but white! We somehow made it back to the hotel, after getting lost. Twice. I remember we ended up at a gas station, asking for directions, and the damn hotel was right behind it! We ended up in the hotel bar, and ordered pizza. Spinach and feta cheese. It was delicious, probably the best pizza I'd ever had; but wasn't that really the company I was keeping? I know it was.

We stayed up late, watching "Sleepless In Seattle" and the irony? We both fell asleep before it was over. Separate beds turned into you crawling into mine.

Two days later, we sat in the lobby, too afraid to say goodbye. We both had lives to get back to; and I told you "It's a good thing this wasn't more than three days." Remember what you said? "I know." I didn't think you understood what I meant; until you told me you did. A kiss and a goodbye, and that was that... until two weeks later...

It was the first time I'd driven that far, seven straight hours (eight, if you count the hour I was lost). We met at that Drury Inn, and I remember getting there and parking next to your car, though I had no idea what you drove. You came out as I was walking in, wearing that sweater I'd left with you. I almost collapsed into your arms, I was so happy. We spent the next six hours together. I drove a total of fourteen hours to spend six hours with you. And on the way home, I cried when I passed the Gateway Arch, because I had no idea what I'd do without you. It was then that I realized I loved you.

Fast forward, two months. I transferred from my job in Columbus to a job in St Louis. For six months, I was happier than I'd ever been. Ever. And then I got in the way of us. And with a last kiss and a tearful goodbye, we weren't "we" anymore. And for the next seven hours, all the way home, I cried. I cried until my face swelled so much I had to pull over at a rest stop and grab a can of soda to hold over my eyes, just to get the swelling to go down.

We've stayed in touch over the last ten years, sometimes talking every single day, even though we were still so far apart. I've heard of the good ones, the bad ones (one of which is still on my list... you know what I mean), and even seen the ugly part of one in particular (yeah... ex-hubby). When WJ and I came to visit, it was the first time I'd seen you in eight years. Know what's funny? I still couldn't take my eyes off you. I know you noticed.

And then there was that little conversation we had on your back porch.

I've loved again, you know that. I've cried to you about a few ladies, and always listened to your counsel (even when I didn't heed the advice).

If I sat and thought about it long enough, I could recall every single second we spent together. Every. Single. One. You could argue that this is about how I can't let go. But I say it's a work in progress, and probably always will be. All our great loves should be. And knowing the circumstances surrounding the man you're going to marry, I just want you to be sure.

Learning to let go is one thing. Learning to love is... wrong.