An Open Letter to my Deceased Girlfriend
I got the news late on Wednesday, two days before Christmas of last year.
My mom called me first, then your cousin. I had just finished my delivery route for work in Odessa and stopped for gas in New Deal. He told me you weren’t feeling well and made a trip to the emergency room. Shortly after, you collapsed on the floor in the waiting room. An hour later they pronounced you dead. Cardiac arrest. I didn’t respond immediately with much emotion. I offered what condolences I could muster to your family and quickly got off the phone. Shock overwhelmed me. I turned off the radio, rolled up my windows, and sat in the unaccompanied silence. All around me was still. My grip tightened around the steering wheel. I sat there for a long while. Staring into the vast, frigid nothing. I could feel my throat begin to swell. My breathing became rapid as I struggled to compose myself. I grappled with the reality that three years together had come to an abrupt end. The cries came in waves. I called for you in the night. Each one was more pronounced than the next. Memories of what once was, hopes for what could have been, fear of what was coming. I had trouble summoning the energy to drive home. I wanted to vanish into that muted night. Into that inconsolable silence.
I remember the first night I saw you. I stopped at the 7/11 by my house and caught a glimpse of you at checkout. Tall, long legs, black skinny jeans with holes in both knees with standard converses. Hazel eyes tucked behind dark framed glasses. Shoulder length brown hair with blonde streaks on both sides. All accentuated by bright red lipstick. I was sold. I didn’t have anything to say in that moment. I was merely a spectator. We hung around the same group of people at the time, and eventually I found my way back to you. I finally worked up the courage to say something and added you on social media soon after. I messaged you to convey my interest, but you made it explicitly clear it was not a mutual feeling. Despite my failed attempt, we still managed to keep in contact over several weeks. Later on, you told me you were still trying to feel me out to determine if I was worth spending time with. After weeks of courting, you finally gave me a chance. We met the next night at your apartment to watch a movie. I don’t even recall what movie it was. My mind was elsewhere. As the night progressed we inched closer to each other until we met in the middle. We made love for the first time that night. It was everything I had hoped it would be. Passionate, intimate, sincere. I remember you said you thought you loved me after. I felt the same way. I asked you to be mine. I knew in that moment, I wanted to be loved by you.
The first thing I did when I got back into town was go visit my mom. When I opened the door she was there to greet me. She saw how red my face was and embraced me with tears in her eyes. She told me she was so sorry, and how much she loved you. I leaned my head into her shoulder and wept. I was so exhausted I stayed at her house that night. I didn’t have the will to drive any longer. There was food waiting on the stove, I didn’t have much of an appetite. I took solace in the guest bed. I longed to escape into a dream state. To be whisked away to an alternate ending to this nightmare. Where I could feel your touch, listen to your voice, and live out all the plans we had made for the future. I recall one of those earlier dreams in particular. We sat alone at the edge of an unmarked beach. I laid back on my elbows facing the water while you sat perched to my right. We watched the waves move rhythmically up and down the shoreline in succession. You turned your head and placed your right hand on my cheek. I extended my hand to feel the small of your back. Then I woke up. That’s the cruelty of dreams, they feel so real, so authentic.
After that first night together we were inseparable. Where I went, you followed. We found joy in the most mundane things. Grocery shopping, doing laundry, running errands. Every moment with you was meaningful. Every Friday night, like clockwork, we spent a night on the town. Movies, art walks, restaurants, we saw it all together. We never missed a date night. We didn’t always have to go out to have a good time. Some of my fondest memories with you were when we just stayed inside, cooked dinner, and made love. Some nights we stayed up and talked for hours. You told me about your family in East Texas. How hard it was losing your oldest brother in high school. How much you loved your niece, and couldn’t wait to see her again. You shared every part of you with me. The more you did, the deeper my love grew for you. You showed love in a motherly way. When I was sick, you took care of me. When I needed to talk, you listened. When I didn’t believe in myself, you injected confidence in me. You were my biggest cheerleader. I never for a moment doubted your capacity to love me. Not a lot of people can say they were loved wholly, and unconditionally by someone. I’m one of the lucky few.
I vaguely remember Christmas Day of 2020. That whole day was a fog. I spent half the day packing, the other half sleeping. The funeral was in two days, and I was mentally preparing myself for what was to come. It was a seven and a half hour drive to your hometown in East Texas. The last thing I wanted to do was drive again a long distance and be forced to confront the horror of what was awaiting me at my destination. All I wanted was to sleep. To retreat to my falsified dream state. I stayed at my mom’s house for the majority of the day. She did her best to offer words of support and uplift me, but it fell on deaf ears. I watched the families outside of her apartment complex laughing and making memories that morning. I longed for that with you. To create more beautiful sentiments. All I had now was scattered fragments of days gone by. I pieced the memories together like an old puzzle. To this day pieces still come to me that were lost in the recesses of my subconscious. Unprovoked, they find me on my drives, my walks, in the stillness of the night.
You moved in with me later that summer. I think we were both apprehensive at first about being around each other so much. I had never lived with any of my previous girlfriends. There was a learning curve. We had our fights, and our difficulties at times, like every couple. In the end we always found our way back to each other. The bad never outweighed the good. I loved coming home from work and seeing you standing outside waiting for me by the door. The mornings you woke me up with a kiss and fresh coffee. The way we made love passionately, even in the later years of our relationship. The laughs we shared that reverberated off the walls and filled up the room. You don’t realize how important those moments were until they are no longer available to you. We didn’t have a lot. All we needed was each other. The time in that little house with you was like a dream. A time where real love was possible. You gave me a better life. You made me a better man. You broke down my walls, and made me vulnerable in my love towards you. You quieted the cynic in me with your unconditional affections. You were a kind woman, more than my equal. I didn’t deserve the love you showed me, I’m so lucky I got the chance to experience it. Even if it was just for a little while. Some people go their entire lives without finding it.
We buried you on Sunday, December 27th at Roselawn Memorial Gardens next to your brother. It was fittingly dreary with an overcast and a high chance for rain. The service was held at Beaty Funeral Home just off the state highway. I parked my car, said a quick prayer, and began the long walk to you. I was met with surprise and sincere gestures from your family. I had always loved them. From the first time we took a trip to visit them. They were so hospitable, so welcoming. I opened the door to the chapel. A montage of pictures flashed across a projection screen as Dancing in the Sky played in the background. I turned my eyes to the center of the room. You laid still with your arms folded together. Illuminated by a light so bright, I swore it was from heaven. I made my way to the casket. I moved with hesitancy, afraid of what I would see. Your hands were cold as ice, your face was sunken in, you looked so frail. In a matter of days, death stole the girl I remembered and rendered her unrecognizable. I thought if I squeezed your hand hard enough, you’d squeeze back, and the warmth I was so familiar with would return to them again. I placed my head against your breast like I did when we lived together. I’d listen to the beating of your chest as you stroked my hair and whispered poetry in my ear. I waited for your touch, your mouth to move to whisper a sonnet. Nothing. I planted a long kiss on your forehead and told you I’d see you again. I went back to my chair, buried my head in my hands, and wept for you. I put my hand over my mouth to contain the volume of my cries. I don’t remember much of the service after that.
I haven’t dated anyone since the incident. I’ve had a few short flings, but always felt like I was betraying you. The concept of starting all over again is exhausting. When I kissed someone else, or tried to create new memories, I always wished it was with you instead. When you died, a part of me went with you. I spent a lot of time trying to stay busy after the funeral. I threw myself into work. I worked out relentlessly. I don’t know if I was striving for self improvement as much as I was avoiding the idle. It brought with it emotions I wasn’t ready to feel yet. I found out the hard way you can only run for so long. Those feelings will eventually find you, and you will have to work through them. I found a therapist and have been doing my best to work through and make sense of it all. I’ve gotten closer to God and even rededicated my life to him at my new church. I know if you were still alive, you’d be in the front row and would be so proud of me. The people there are so kind, and they’ve really helped me keep my head above water. I know they would have loved you if they had the chance to meet you. I have my good days and my bad days. Some days I wake up and it doesn’t phase me and I feel optimistic. Other days I wake up with a weight on my chest. The dreams have been more frequent lately. Especially in the last month. I never want them to end. In them you are exactly how I remember. It’s one of the last connections I have to you. Some days I try to think of you as much as I can so that later that night, when I go to bed, you’ll be fresh on my mind and come visit me in my slumber.
I still talk to your mom. I check in on her every now and then. Like me, she has her good and bad days. I plan on making a trip to see your parents soon. To spend some time with them and your family. I haven’t been to your gravesite since the funeral. I feel like I’m ready to come see you. I just want to sit in the stillness next to you again. Some of our best moments were where nothing was said. We were just existing in the present. We didn’t need to say anything. It was more than words could ever convey. I’ll find you there again soon. In that quiet place.
I pass by our old neighborhood occasionally when I’m driving for work. There’s someone else living in our old house now. Some days I drive past it and hope you’re still standing outside waiting for me. I prepare for the embrace, and take comfort in the thought of it.
