The envelope arrived quietly. I wasn’t expecting it. Your handwriting stopped me cold— familiar, gentle, full of you.
You were already gone. But somehow, you had sent me one last message. I opened it slowly, as if time might rewind if I moved carefully enough.
Inside were your words. Simple. Loving. You didn’t know they’d come too late. But they didn’t feel late. They felt like you were still here, reaching across the silence to hold me one more time.
I wasn’t there when you left. And I carry that with me. My intentions were to care for you until the end. That was always in my heart.
But my heart was also with someone else— a veteran who had lost so much. I gave to him what I thought was healing, even though he had already taken so much from me.
You and I—we both endured the kind of pain that doesn’t always leave bruises, but leaves you questioning your worth. We both survived narcissistic abuse, and I saw how it wore you down, how it took pieces of you even as you kept giving love.
Life was cruel in the end. It didn’t give us the time we deserved. It didn’t let me say goodbye the way I wanted to. But even in that cruelty, you found a way to reach me.
I promise to take care of my brother. You don’t have to worry. I’ll protect him, love him, and remind him of you every chance I get.
And I hope—more than anything— that I can be more like you. Not just in the way I love, but in the way I forgive, the way I endure, and the way I give without asking for anything in return
I’ll keep your words close. I’ll carry them forward. And I’ll keep loving you in every way I know how.
© Jaime Pearson 2024. All rights reserved. Please do not copy, reproduce, or share without permission.
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