A Letter, for You.

Lisa,



It feels great to sit down and write you a letter. I apologize for not writing you sooner. Sadly, we realize how precious time is to us when it is often too late. I wish I could tell you I’ve been too busy to write. Truthfully, I haven’t. I’ve been avoiding writing you. I got your letter about five weeks ago. It was simple and homemade, as always. I smiled when I read it. There were leaves on the card and the words “Happy Fall” were delicately placed around the front. In your fine meticulous handwriting you wrote me the lyrics to our favorite song:  Gypsy by Fleetwood Mac. I didn’t think much of the card. It was a polite gesture, something to bring a smile to my face. I would do the same for you any day. Your card sits on my computer desk. I hold on to your card now, it is practically priceless.



It snowed for the first time today. I was working early, it’s Black Friday. The shoppers filed around me and the snow fell so gently. It was a contrast to the determined defensive shoppers that wanted nothing more than to return to their own families. Of course, you were on my mind. I thought about your own family you need to return to.



I’m still seeing my doctor I told you about in July. We’ve worked on a lot of things. I’m at peace with a lot of things now. I’ve hit the lowest of lows, and I’m coming back. It will always be an arduous climb back to where I was. You saw me at my worst, I pray you have yet to see me at my best. When I’m sad I think of you, Lisa. We’ve both struggled. The everyday tasks I do are plagued with thoughts of you.



When I sleep, I wake up sad because lost in my dreams, my mind reminds me with its echo: Lisa’s gone, Lisa’s gone.



Yes, you’re gone Lisa. You won’t be pulling into your driveway ever again. I won’t see you walking your dog, Peanut. Which by the way, I hear he’s heartbroken without his mom. I left the house one morning for work, and your lights weren’t on. I found it peculiar. You were always up early for work. I came home and the police were there. I asked what happened. They shook their heads so robotically; ready to give me bad news. “I’m so sorry,” they said. That was all I needed to hear. I stood there and screamed, “What?!” My body went numb. I don’t remember much after that. The tears came so easily. The confusion was unbearable. You see, Lisa, you weren’t seventy years old. You lived for thirty one years, almost thirty two in two weeks.



I don’t understand why you left me so soon. At the funeral service, your cause of death became obvious: you had taken your own life. Your parents could not speak, their grief was too unbearable. A woman read a letter they wrote to you, a letter with a message that could not be sent in the mail. They asked you why, they wondered if they could have stopped you. Parents don’t anticipate such hurt associated with their child. I imagine their Thanksgiving table, with one less this year.



Suicide, Lisa. Why? The look of that word on this white page is menacing. It cuts through everything we know. I knew humanity; I knew love. I knew people who trusted in people. You knew none of that considering you took your own life. Struggling with depression my whole life, I know I’ve been close to ending it. The pain is paralyzing. In my darkest moments, the thought of the sun coming up and tomorrow beginning is too much to take on. I get chills thinking that maybe, just maybe, you were thinking the same things that night.



When you smiled at me this summer, I always knew there was sadness behind your eyes. I think on an unspoken level, that was what linked us together. I understood that sadness. We never talked about that. Maybe if we would have talked about that piece of our lives, I wouldn’t be writing you today. Maybe we would be crying together in your kitchen. I don’t picture perfection for either of us if you were here. I do picture two lives coping with what God has given us. We could lean on each other for support. Now Lisa, it’s too late.



You’ve taught me one thing, Lisa. I know now the love never stops. It certainly does change. I never envisioned the day where I wouldn’t be able to hug you. Your love rings through the leaves in the wind. I see it in the first snowfall. I can breathe it in on a crisp cool day. The stars in the sky connect us together. It’s a bond stronger than this life could ever give us. Just maybe, this letter I write to you is a thank you. A thank you for teaching the hardest lesson in life: to love enough to let go. I wish you knew that dark night, how beautiful you were.



Love,



Sara