Always

                                                                                               March 13, 2007

I feel like my body isn’t right for some reason. I feel as though there’s something inside of me that’s off or not supposed to be there. It hurts, but in the best way. How does she make me feel this way when she’s not even here? My wife, my love, my everything. She’s not here anymore. I can’t sleep beside her and watch her breathe or taste the lipstick on her lips when we kiss. I hate this. Why did this have to happen to me?

         The rain won’t go away. I need it to go away. It’s been raining since she left. It used to be a sign of our love. We used to sit on our porch together and watch it fall, listen to it hit the roof and smell it for hours. Now it’s just painful to know that it’s there and we can’t do those things together anymore. I can’t bear it sit there without her and watch it.

         What I would do to kiss her lips again and look into her eyes. I need those lips. I need those eyes. I need them to be with me now, to help me through this. They’re not here and it’s slowly killing me the more I realize it. Baby, please come back. Why did you have to leave? Why? I can’t sit here anymore. I have to do something. I have to leave this room. This room we shared for fifteen years. The room with all our most precious memories. Do you remember those memories? I remember every single one. Please answer me somehow. I need to know you’re still here listening to me. I need to know you’re still with me, here, in our special room. I need to know you won’t ever leave my side. You may be gone, but you can’t leave. I need you near me to guide me and lead me in the right direction.



A car crash. That’s how it happened. A car crash. Why did it have to be that way? Why couldn’t it have been a better way? Why couldn’t she have died in her sleep or while she was doing something she loved? Please God why did it have to be a  car crash?

         I miss her. My beautiful Brenda. Hair the color of straw and the touch of silk down to her shoulders. Eyes like blue crystal and the softest skin you’ve ever felt. That was her naturally. Now imagine her with a small amount of make-up and you have one exquisite woman. I never took her out. She always wanted to go out. I should’ve taken her out more. God, why didn’t I take her out more? I was told once that you had all the answers. So please God, answer me. Why did she have to go? And please don’t say because it was her time because that’s not true.

                                                                                         March 14, 2007

Her wake is today. It’s been three days and I still cannot picture the rest of my life without her. She looked so peaceful in her casket. It was shiny brown with pink silk lining. She didn’t look like herself, though. She looked fake and made up. I sat on the chair in front of her the entire wake. People became a blur throughout the night. I saw people who I hadn’t seen since our wedding. I knew everyone there. I would have gone up to them and talked, but I couldn’t move. My mind would draw a blank when someone came up to me and when I didn’t respond, they would smile understandingly and walk away. I couldn’t think of what to say.

         Finally, I had to leave the room and get some fresh air. I went to the front steps of the place and took in a large breath. I looked to my left after taking in that polluted Chicago air and saw a man about my age standing there, staring at me. He had a cigarette hanging out of one hand and his other hand in his pants pocket. I could tell he was nervous to say something because he was practically shaking and had that deer-in-headlights look. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place the face to a name. I knew everyone there, but for him I was drawing a blank. He saw me looking at him and quickly turned away. He seemed suspicious, but I couldn’t focus on him right now. I had to focus on my dead wife. She was the most important part of this evening. She needed my attention and I wasn’t going to let some creepy guy take it away from her. I went back inside and saw that some people were leaving. I ignored them and sat back in my seat.



The ride home was quiet and unpleasant. I couldn’t get that guy out of my head. Why did he look so familiar? So suspicious? Was it him or was it just me? Why was he at my wife’s wake? None of these questions could be answered by anyone but him. I figured I would figure it out later.

         Tonight is the first night I’m sleeping in the bed without her. I’ve been sleeping on the couch the last few nights because I couldn’t bear the thought of not feeling her beside me. It won’t be easy, I know that. I’ll have no person to hold onto and no breathing to hear besides my own. Man, that’s depressing. It wasn’t until three this morning when I really discovered no one was sleeping beside me. He worked with her at the school. He was a fellow teacher of an upper grade. They never got along, she always said. This was almost ten years ago. I wonder what he was doing there, at my wife’s wake. Was he being respectful or did he actually have a purpose?

                                                                                         March 15, 2007

         The next night was Brenda’s second wake. We laid her out for two nights and then set up for the funeral.

         “Hi, can I help you?” I asked with a minor attitude.

         “Yeah, you’re Kevin, right?” he asked. He looked very nervous.

         “Who’s asking?”

         “I’m Andrew Jacobson.”

         “And?”

         “Look. I- I-”

         “Just let it out already.” He was starting to annoy me. What’s wrong with him? What is he hiding?

         Finally, he took a breath and blurt out, “I was having an affair with your wife.”

My throat was choked and my stomach dropped like a watermelon off a cliff.

         “Excuse me?” I could barely get the words out. They didn’t seem real.

         “It’s true. I’ve been seeing her for the past year.” All my rage and emotion that I’ve been holding back for the past week all came out against his face. I fell to my knees and dropped my head to my hands. It took a lot to catch a single breath. My hands were in pain from holding my fists so tight. When I opened my eyes, I saw people running from all directions and Andrew knocked to the ground. He was grabbing his face, a face in pain. “I deserved that,” he said through his hand.

         “You’re damn right you did.”

         “I’m sorry.”

         “Yeah, well, you should be. Not only do I have to suffer the rest of my life without my wife, I also have to realize that I didn’t make her happy.” I suddenly realized what I had just screamed at him. “I didn’t make her happy,” I repeated. “I didn’t make her happy.” Each time I said it, my voice got lower and lower. This last time, barely I could hear me. “I didn’t make her happy.” I snapped out of it quickly noticing I was still in the position to sock him once more. “You have no idea what you just did to me and at my wife’s wake nonetheless.” Some of my family members had came out to see what the commotion was. I looked at them and shouted, “What the hell are you looking at?” I stood up and pushed through the crowd to the now empty room surrounding my Brenda. I went over to her and held her cold, stiff hand, the one wearing our wedding ring. She always refused to take it off. I can remember the day of our wedding like it was yesterday and how happy and beautiful she seemed. I began to cry at the memory and at the news I had just received. “What didn’t I do? Why couldn’t I make you happy?” I said through my tears in almost a whisper. I thought I was alone until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I knew exactly who it was.

         “You did nothing wrong.”

         “How would you know, Dad? You weren’t there.”

         “It doesn’t matter now. You can’t change the past.” My tears fell harder now and I couldn’t hold them back any longer. “Kevin-” My dad pulled me up by my arm and wrapped me in a strong, protective hug. I remember these hugs. I missed them. The hug not only helped me let everything out, but so did the sniffles in my ear and the tears on my shoulder. I felt a special bond with my dad right then that I haven’t felt since childhood. “Don’t worry about the past, son,” he whispered in my ear. “Just worry about the future now.”

                                                                                         March 16, 2007

The next day, after I had calmed myself down, I awoke to find myself on the couch and my dad in the armchair next to me. I was in a less depressed mood. I actually felt somewhat happy. My wife’s death had brought my dad and I closer, which she had been wishing for years. I guess just punching someone in the face real hard melted away my pain like butter. By the time I was done showering and eating, my dad had awoken and left for work. I liked the feeling of knowing he was next to me the whole night. When I walked him out, it felt good to say, “I love you, dad,” and the look on his face made me know he felt it, too. Now I was alone. I couldn’t just stay in the house anymore so I got my work clothes on and drove the 20 minutes to my job. I owned a photography business downtown and I’ve gotten extremely behind. My workers could handle it, though. They’ve done it before when Brenda and I went on vacation once, what’s going to stop them now? When I got there, they seemed to have everything under control, which made me feel a whole lot better. Other than a few minor questions they could have answered on their own, I pretty much wasn’t needed. I was thankful for the try, though. I went into my office and did a whole bunch of paperwork. Before I knew it, it was lunchtime.

         I couldn’t handle it anymore. I had to find out what this Andrew character was all about. He called and left his number. He’s got guts, I’ll give him that. When the phone began to ring, I got a churning feeling in my stomach. I hung up immediately not knowing if I really wanted to know the truth. I took a breath and dialed again. After every ring, I would repeat my dad’s words in my head. Ring. You can’t change the past. Ring. You can’t change the past. Ring. You can’t change the past. Ring. You can’t change the -.

         “Hi,” I said, caught of guard. I asked him to meet me for coffee and he agreed.



I saw him attempt to walk in three times before succeeding. I watched with humor at his nervousness. I just wanted to talk. He finally overcame the fear and found my table, hand ready for a shake.

         “Andrew,” I said sternly.

         “Kevin,” he said with an attempt at the same voice. It didn’t work.

         “How’s your face?” I asked with a smirk.

         He held his hand to his left eye and said, “Oh, it’ll be fine, I guess.”

         “I need to talk to you,” I said bluntly. I just needed to get around small talk and start with the purpose of meeting him, Brenda. He sat down and I drank my coffee silently while he explained the entire situation.

         “We had bumped into each other in a supermarket a while back and swapped numbers. She was looking to change jobs at the time and I just happened to know someone so I told her to call me. When she got the job, we saw each other almost every day. I’m the science teacher there. I knew she was married, but you have to understand. I’d been in love with her since the last time we worked together. I just couldn’t help it.  So we would have lunch together almost everyday. I took the only chance I could get. At the time, I didn’t care whether she was married or not. I just wanted her, you know? Well, of course you know. Look who you are.”

         After a moment‘s silence I told him to continue.

         “So at lunch we would talk about everything, everything. She told me all about you and her life and it just kind of happened. I can‘t explain it.”

         He saw the anger building in my eyes. “I should’ve stopped it, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to.”

         My decent mood was immediately dropped off the face of the earth and I was left angered and unusually lighter. I felt a weight was taken off my shoulders now that I knew about my wife’s secret life. You would think by now I’d know everything about her, huh? Just hearing these words killed me, but that is why I needed to hear them; to be reassured and filled in; to know everything there is to know about the woman I once adored with all my heart, and still do. This is, surprisingly, exactly what I needed to hear. He paused seeing the look on my face and, confused, he continued.

         “Uh, well, I…She said she wasn’t happy.” He was almost afraid to say it. He just spit it out. I don’t know if it was due to fear or if he just wanted to get the conversation over with like I did. With that statement, I just wanted to punch him in the face again.

         “She said she had to tell you something and that she could only meet me for a second that day, the day she died. She was on her way to meet me. You have no idea how horrible I felt when I found out she died. I thought she stood me up. We had a fight the night before and I thought she hated me. Turned out, I guess she didn’t,” he said slowly.

         This statement forced me to jump out of my seat and punch him square in the face again, and boy did it feel good.

         Everyone in the coffee shop was now staring at us, I realized, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to get out of there and be somewhere else. I needed to go somewhere, do something. I just couldn’t decide what. I knew I was too angry to drive, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of there and get some fresh air before I actually did kill him. Believe me, I was on the verge of doing so. I left the coffee shop in a huff, barely hearing the commotion behind me making sure poor little Andrew was okay.

         I couldn’t decide what to do so I drove to Andrew’s and saw he wasn’t home. I left a note in his mailbox and left just as he was about to pull into his driveway. I saw Andrew look at me and realize who it was. I pulled over around the block where I could still see him. He cautiously looked into his mailbox and pulled out the note in the same fashion. He closed the mailbox with bewilderment on his face and I saw his mouth motion the words, “Thank you?” I smiled to myself knowing it was the right thing to do.

         

On the car ride home, all I did was think about Brenda’s lies. She always said she was at her mother’s and instead she was seeing him. My anger began to resurface and I could not stop it. I had to control it so I did the only thing I could think to do. I went to my dad’s house. He always tells it to me straight out and I thought that was exactly what I needed. I had the feeling of anger and guilt jumbled into one big ball. I couldn’t figure out why she would lie to me to be with him. It wasn’t fair. It couldn’t be true. I began to cry as I pulled up to my dad’s house and I couldn’t stop. I had to, though. I could just hear my dad’s voice now.

         “Come on. Stop crying like a girl. It’s just a moment in time. Now get out of the truck and come inside.” Wait. That voice seemed too real. I looked out my window and there he was. He was really talking to me. The tears mechanically stopped and I gained control of myself. I wouldn’t look away from him as I turned off the truck, got out of the car and walked into the house.

         The house, I realized, I hadn’t changed since I was a kid. It had the same darkness and hominess. The couch in the living room was the same floral décor that my mother had. As I sat down on it, I noticed that it still sunk in the same spot, the middle cushion, and the rip was still not sewn from when I threw my brother into it during a wrestling match when we were little. I also noticed that there were barely any pictures. There was one of me and each of my brothers and then there was one of me and Brenda and each of his other daughter-in-law’s. There were none of my mother.

         He saw that I was a little uncomfortable and chuckled under his breath. “Talk to me,” was all he had to say. I told him everything.



         “There’s nothing about the situation that’s your fault. Trust me when I tell you this, okay, son? Stop blaming yourself,” he said in the tone I expected. My face was drawn in sadness and I couldn’t move. I understood what he was saying, but I couldn’t help but to blame myself. I’m the reason she was seeing him. She wasn’t happy. I knew that. He saw my face and continued, “She has some type of hold on you, doesn’t she? I’ve never seen you like this before.”

         “She was my wife, Dad,” I said in a tone to match my face. “I loved her. You didn’t feel helpless when Mom died?” I knew this one hit hard. My dad absolutely loved my mom. She was all he would talk about when I was younger. I immediately regretted it until he started speaking.

         “Of course I did.” I watched as his smile turned upside down and his body straighten up. “But I found things to keep me busy,” he said quickly. “I had my job and I had you kids to take care of. You weren’t so grown up yet, you know.”

         I nodded my head and let it go. I chuckled under my breath and let a half smile grow on my face. Seeing me half smile, he copied. The conversation was over. I couldn’t let the feeling of guilt leave my body. There was nothing he could say that would have changed me. At least I don’t think there was. Then again, with my dad you never know. I killed my wife replayed in my head as we sat there in silence. I looked around the room and noticed the lamp flicker then die. “These damn lights,” my dad said trying to break the silence. He got up and went inside for a new light bulb as I sat there, depressed and tired. That’s all I’ve been lately, depressed and tired. I decided to sleep in my old room because I couldn’t go home with this guilt hanging around me.



         My room was the same. Exactly the same. It was scary how the entire house was pretty much exactly the same. The curtains hadn’t been changed, the kitchenware, my entire room, my brother’s rooms, even his room. Nothing had been changed. it was almost eerie. I wasn’t against it. It felt good to be in familiar surroundings. These surroundings brought good memories. Memories of my brothers and I wrestling in the living room, in my room, in their rooms, even in the bathroom. I remember making out with my first girlfriend in my closet, hiding her so my dad wouldn’t know she was in there. He found out anyway. He’s good like that. I remember him knocking on my door saying, “Son, I’m home so I suggest you sneak Kimmy out better than how you snuck her in.” Good times. I wonder what happened to her. Huh, oh well.

         I laid on my bed that I was now too big for, bringing me the comfort I so desperately desired. I looked up to see the poster of Farrah Fewcett looking back down at me. A smiled crawled along my face and I put my right arm behind my head and the other across my chest. I used to do this when I was a kid, especially when I first hung it up. I wanted it on the wall, but I got a kink in my neck from turning my head so I just put it on the ceiling. What an adventure that was. Let’s just say it involved a ladder and an almost hospital trip. What men will do for women, huh? I laid there for almost two hours before falling asleep.

                                                                                         March 17, 2007

When my dad came in at seven the next morning, I was so knocked out I didn’t hear him. He sat next to me on the bed and put his hand on my back and shook me ever so lightly, just like when I was a kid. I woke up thinking, this is exactly what I needed. I turned my head to see a smiling man in his seventies looking back at me. “Breakfast is downstairs, son.”

         “Thanks dad,” I said. I laid my head back on the pillow and conked out for another ten minutes. I arrived downstairs to the smell of eggs and bacon. It smelled so good. Everything was laid out in front of me on a plate, along with a cup of coffee. Why is he going through all this trouble?

         “Dad, you didn’t have to do all this, honestly.”

         “Nonsense. Sit and eat before I have to heat it up. I know you hate that.” I laughed happily knowing he remembered. I dug into my eggs like an animal. They were so good. I missed them. My dad makes the best eggs. He uses just the right cheese to egg ratio.          

         My dad watched me eat with a tense look to him. “Something wrong, dad? You seem weird,” I said continuing with my food.

         He took a deep breath and said, “I have to tell you something, son.” There was a long pause. I was about to say “go ahead” when he opened his mouth. “I know more about your situation than you think I do.”

         “Meaning..”

         “When your mother died, I was in the exact same position you are. Do you get what I’m saying?”

         “I’m assuming you mean something other than we both lost our wives, but that’s all I got.” I took a sip of my coffee without taking my eyes off him. I watched his every move. For some reason, he couldn’t get the words out.

         “Your mother was cheating on me, just as Brenda was you.” My eyes opened wide and my back straighten.

         “Why?”

         “I don’t know. The same exact thing happened to me. At her funeral, the man came to me and told me. I thought I was going to kill him. Your Uncle Chuck held me back. You and your brothers were inside. I sent your grandmother inside to make sure you guys didn’t come out. I didn’t want you to see that.” I shot up rapidly remembering her running in to make sure we were okay. She was out of breath and I thought I heard yelling in the background. She closed the door to the room and wouldn’t let us leave. She told us it was rude to leave the room unless you were leaving for the night. I always found that confusing since everyone else was leaving the room and coming back. I just always thought they were such rude people. I mean, come on, I was only eight. I didn’t know any better.

         My dad shook his head and continued, “His name was Anthony. We talked over coffee and I flipped out. I actually punched him in the face at the diner and walked right out.” I went to say I did the same thing, but he said, “You did the same thing, right?” I nodded my head slowly not knowing what else to do. “I wrote him a note saying that I was sorry and that I was only taking my anger out on him and that I wasn’t really angry with him. I also believe I thanked him for letting me in on my wife’s secrets.”

         “Dad, this is too weird.” All my dad could do was smile.

         “Why are you smiling?”

         “Why aren’t you? It’s normal.”

         I knew I was just in the beginning of what people called the mourning process,  but I didn’t want to be. I just wanted it over with. I didn’t want to miss her anymore. I just wanted her next to me. I wanted to smell her freshly showered body and feel her newly combed hair. I want to put my arms around her again and feel her body against mine. I want to hear her voice whisper “I love you” in my ear again. At this point, I was so miserable that I dropped my fork loudly against the plate, had trouble swallowing my last bite of bacon and solemnly walked upstairs to my old room.



My mother was exactly the same. Happy on the outside, sad on the inside. I couldn’t believe it. Why did it take him this long to tell me? Why couldn’t I have known so maybe I could find signs of her acts and talk to her about it? I would have done anything to keep her with me.

         My father left for the store and told me that if I was not there when he came back that he would call me later. About a half a second after he left the driveway, I grabbed my keys and sped home. I ransacked our entire house. I destroyed it. Every picture was out of the holder. Every piece of clothing from the laundry was looked through and every piece of furniture was turned over. I needed evidence. I needed to find something that she had hid from me about Andrew. There had to be letters, notes, pictures, reminders, something. Something had to be in this house that can lead me to why she cheated on me. The last room was our bedroom. I did not even want to go in there, let alone touch her precious things. This was the hardest thing I have ever done.

         I walked in slowly, feeling the rug push down beneath my shoe. The doorknob was cold and I could not let go. I could still smell her perfume. It lingered in the air. The bed was still unmade and the closet door was still open. We had left in a rush that day and I promised I would help her fix everything later. Now it feels like I broke her promise. Nothing was fixed. Not the bed, not our marriage, nothing. Even the bathroom light was still on off the side of our room. I leaned against the door frame and slid down, barely feeling the floor against my backside. My eyes did not move off of our bed. I envisioned her sleeping there, just waking up. I imagined her stretching and followed my eyes to whatever she would do next. Whether she would walk to the bathroom or walk to her dresser, my eyes darted there. I finally got the courage, and the strength, to pull myself up and make our bed, after checking under the mattress for evidence of course. Then I moved onto her dresser, the bathroom we shared, and then her closet. This was the hardest area to look through because it not only held the clothes she wore, but I knew it would hold the evidence I was looking for. I started slow at first to examine every detail of her property, not only to not miss a pocket, but to take in her aroma and feel her against me again. I held each item for a few moments to remember a time when I last saw her with it. Whether it be the dress she wore to my cousins wedding or the shoes she kept tripping in when we went to dinner on our fourth anniversary. Each item had a memory and I wanted so badly not to forget them all because they were just that precious to me.

         I finally got through each item of clothing, so it was onto the next obstacle, and my biggest fear, her hat boxes. Of course they did not contain hats, instead they held every item she felt was worth saving.

         “I’m sorry Brenda, but you know I have to, right?” I said looking up to the ceiling.

         I took each box down one at a time and piled them around me. When I got them all down, I sat with them circling me and began the hardest thing I knew I would ever have to do. I opened the first box and look through every single article. By the third one, I was misty-eyed. This box contained pictures of her childhood. Some were of her with her mother, some with her father, some with her siblings, other family members, friends and finally her old dog, Precious. I remember her going through this box with me. She was so happy and she remembered taking each and every picture. She described each person in it, what they were like, and whatever memory surrounded that picture. There was always a story with her and I listened to them all.

         The next box contained reports she wrote that she thought were amazing. They went back all the way to junior high school. She would take this out every now and again and edit them, or write them over and make them better. She would do this most when she was upset or if she wanted to prove something. She was always typing away on her computer and I asked her once what she was writing. She said it was a paper for college. I just nodded and waked away knowing she was crazy. I asked her if I could read it afterwards and she said absolutely not. I finally got to read them Brenda, and they’re absolutely amazing.

         The third box is where I completely lost it. There were almost one hundred pictures of the two of us. No one else, just us. They trailed back to our first anniversary when I took her to recreate our first date and afterwards I took her to take pictures at one of the pictures booths. For our first date, I told her I was dying to see a movie that was playing and she asked her friend to come along, saying she had already promised she would go with her to see it. After the friend left, we went out to eat and I took her for ice cream. I parked the car so we could eat it and we talked for a good hour before I had to take her home. It was a perfect first date, although I was completely nervous and did not think it went that good to be honest.

         The fourth, and final, box held to things. One was a yellowing piece of looseleaf paper and the other was a fairly new, unsealed envelope made out to a Mr. Andrew Jacobson. I almost didn’t open the envelope for obvious reasons. I took the folded paper out of its envelope and opened it. I read “Dear Andrew” at the top and I put it down, making it fold up again.

         “Brenda, what are you doing to me?” I said looking at the ceiling again. I knew she was watching what I was doing and keeping track of me. I could feel her with me.

         I opened the paper and began to read it. This is it. I read it aloud to myself.

         “Dear Andrew,                                                            

         “I am sorry to give you this letter, but I need you to know something. This is hard for me to say and I knew that if I saw you, I would not be able to form these words. Writing to you seemed easier at first thought, but now I am lucky to even pick up my pen.

         “I love my husband. I cannot give him any more heartache than he already has. He is not aware of our meetings and I want it to stay that way. I feel awful every time I leave you and I cannot bear it any longer.

         “I need you to know that I care for you very much. My heart skips a beat every time I see you. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it is just pure infatuation and respect. I do not know. I do know that I cannot come home to find my husband asleep on the couch in front of the television because he was waiting up for me, though I precisely told him not to. That is one of the wonderful things about Kevin. He always knows how to annoy me in the most precious ways. He knows how to care for me.

         “I am truly sorry to do this to you, but I cannot go on any more knowing that I have a loving husband waiting for me when I get home late at night. I want to end this as soon as humanly possible and if that means never seeing or speaking to you again then it has to be done.

         “I have already given in my resignation to the principal of our school and have begun looking for another job. I cannot handle going into work everyday knowing that you are there. It is a temptation I do not want or need.

         “Thank you for everything you have done for me. You have broadened my self-esteem and you have cared for me like no other man has. I thank you for getting me my present job and I thank you for telling a soul about our affair.

         “I have to apologize for treating you this way. You do not deserve it, however, it must be done. I have to end this and have tried in the past several times. Then I see your smile and my thoughts of negativity vanish into thin air.

         “Good luck in everything you do and I hope I have upset you too much. It was inevitable and I cannot express how sorry I am to do this to you, but please understand that it had to be done. Kevin does not deserve this and neither do you.

                                                                     Sincerely, Brenda

                                                                     March 12, 2007”

         “Oh my God,” I said to myself. She wrote this the day before she died. She must have decided not to mail it just yet. But why? The only thing he could assume, was that she was not sure it was a good enough letter to send and was going to send it later on. At least, that is what I am going to think from now on, of course.

         I looked down and saw that there was another letter, the yellowing piece of looseleaf. I picked it up and was semi-thankful that t said my name at the top. I was not sure whether it was a good or bad letter, but it was a letter to me and that was all I cared about at the moment. I read this one aloud as well.

         “To my beloved Kevin,

         “Today is our wedding day, but you already knew that.

         “I cannot wait to begin our new adventure called marriage. I cannot believe I have found someone who has made me feel so wonderful about myself. It is incredible to me that someone has found me to be attractive and interesting. It is incredible to me that I have found someone that has made me laugh as much as you have and who has taught me how to love someone as much as I do you.

         “I remember the first time I started to like you. We were at Christopher’s house after the sleepover and we were playing cards. Do you remember that, sweetheart? I laid my hand on top of yours and made Crystal be the judge of who won. I did thank you very much, whether you believe it or not. Once our hands touched, I practically saw the sparks fly. One touch and I was hooked. You brought out an emotion from me that I never knew existed. I have never had that initial feeling before and I want to thank you for being the one to give it to me.

         “I remember the first time I met your dad and stepmom. It was the same day you asked me out. I remember that moment so vividly and I still get the chills whenever I thin about it. I have goosebumps writing this to you now, if only you could see them. In between kisses, our first real kiss, you asked me to be your girlfriend and I felt my face blush. It was so sweet and so eighth grade and so incredibly adorable.  I remember walking out of your room so you could take me home and your dad walked out of the bathroom and made a comment about the dark. He is one funny man. I wish you stay as close with him as you are now. I recall walking down the stairs to see Monica downstairs reading the newspaper. She seemed so intimidating. I laugh now that I know her better. She is not intimidating at all.

         “I remember the first time we saw a movie together, just the two of us. Our hands were sweaty and we saw my mother driving next to us and you got nervous. To this day I am not sure if you were faking, but it was still cute.

         “I still remember our first date. I hope you do, too. When I asked Nikki to come along with us. I hope you know I only asked her to come because I did not know you well and my parents would not have understood if I was going alone to the movies with a boy I barely knew. I understood, they would not have. I can still remember sitting in between you and Nikki, trying to sneak looks towards you without making it obvious, which failed miserably.

         “I love the way you hold me and the way you kiss me so gently and sweetly. Every time you kiss me I feel as though it is the first time. I wish these feelings will last for our entire life together. You are so lively and confident. I remember you not being so confident when I first met you, but you’ve grown. I can tell. You love to make the best out of life and you love to see the happier side of things. Please keep these qualities. They are so important for you to be happy, for us to be happy.

         “I love you and I cannot wait to begin our life together.

                                                                     “Love always, Brenda

                                                                     June 27, 1996

“P.S. I am writing this now and I plan on giving this to you on our 50th anniversary.”

         I was gone. My eyes could not hold back any tears. I had no idea I had so many tears in my system. As I was reading, I was vividly remembering every single memory and each specific detail. It was killing me that she was not here to share them with me. Then all of a sudden, I realized she was. Between her letter, her lingering scent, and her memory, she was sitting right beside me crying along with me. She has been with me this whole time. I realize now that she will always be there with me to guide me and to lead me in that right direction.

         I stood up and walked into the den. I grabbed paper and a pen and ran back in my comfortable spot where I felt Brenda’s presence waiting for my next move. I leaned the paper against the nearest box and I wrote.

         Dear Brenda,

         It’s been four days since your accident and I could not miss you more than I do right now. I love you so much. Every time I think of you now, it will be happy memories and wonderful memories that will stay with me forever.

         I have just read your letter. I will cherish it forever. I promise you that. I remember every single detail of those memories. Don’t you worry.

         I promise you that I will always be here if you need to talk. I know you will be there for me if I need you. Please take good care of yourself wherever you are. I forgive you for everything you have done. I know I have not really been here for you this past year and I am so sorry for that. I apologize to no end. I need you to know that I love you so much. I have an undying love for you that will never, ever fade.

         You are my entire life and I never pictured my life without you. I still can’t. I promise you I will make the most of my life and I will not sit and pine over a lost love. I know you would get angry at me for doing that too long and don’t deny it. I know you too well. You are my teenage sweetheart and my only true love. I will never meet anyone else like you. I will never forget you. When I die, you will be the only thing on my mind.

                                                                     Love you forever, Kevin

                                                                     March 17, 2007

P.S. I’ll love you - Always.