Dear You,

That morning, just moments before I went out the door, I felt a slight twinge that something was wrong. You were sitting in the living room chair watching TV as I gathered my coffee and my car keys. You were sitting almost perfectly upright with your back to me and your head stiff. When I said goodbye and came over to kiss you, it took you moment to snap out of the daze you appeared to be in. We kissed eight times, not three or six because of my silly superstition, and then I went off to work. Maybe if I stayed home that day we would still be in our tent fort together.

It was a mundane Tuesday and it was the day of our last kiss. I was told what had happened just a few hours later while on my lunch break. Immediately my legs froze. Everything froze. Every night for five years going to sleep while holding my best friend and my wife in my arms was now gone in an instant. If I had stayed home from work that day, I probably would have told you that my stomach dropped and my heart broke every time I saw you in pain. But I had told you that many times before. Your strength, your soulful blue eyes, your childlike innocence, your enormous heart, your smile, the hundreds of things that made you radiate, that made you turn heads when you walked into a room, that made you my sword–all of these qualities about you made me proud to be your shield. And I told you that often.

So what would I have said to you that morning that I hadn’t already said to you thousands of times before? I wouldn’t have said much, if anything at all. I would have sat next to you in our chair, held your hand, and hoped you would lean your head on my shoulder like you would almost every time we sat in that chair together. That chair was our tent fort, but it’s hard to stand toe to toe with the harsh realities of life and make the one you love with all your being, who suffers through enormous pain every day, believe that the tent fort was really there. Because it wasn’t. Nothing I could ever say or do, no matter how whimsical our imaginations, would heal that very real pain burning inside you.

I would hope in those last moments spent with you on this imaginary, mundane Tuesday morning sitting in our chair together that you would have sighed playfully, smiled and took a nap on my shoulder. Even if my arm fell asleep, or I had to go the bathroom, or was thirsty, I would not move an inch because I know you only found true relief from your pain in your dreams.

Goodnight My Love.

Me, age 38