Historically, I’ve never been much of a letter writer. When I was a girl I suppose I wrote a few as it was the main way to communicate with anyone not local. My mother, of course, wrote letters all the time. Being from a large family scattered all over the states, it was her way of keeping in touch. Over the past couple of years I’ve been terrible, not even getting cards out for the holidays. I feel badly as there are relatives out there that are not getting any younger, and I have not kept in touch. I’m hoping to change that this year. There are too many to write individual notes, so I’m faced with composing the dreaded “form letter.” Still I need to make the effort and they will appreciate the update I’m sure.
The last letters I wrote were put away for later. I had an episode in June, still unexplained, where I truly thought I wasn’t going to live to see another day. It came one evening before I was to leave for work and before it was over I found myself on the living room floor sweating, lightheaded and filled that sense of “impending doom” they always talk about. As I lay there I thought of things, pulling deep within, away from the room and people around me. It’s amazing what you think about at a time like that. I didn’t find myself calling everyone close around me and whispering one last loving thing. No, I found myself moving into my own space, much like when I was in labor. It became totally about me and what I needed at that moment.
After I was feeling better I thought about what had gone through my mind during those minutes. There were those things I needed to say, not only to my immediate family, but to someone who might not understand. So I proceeded to carefully craft a letter, one that sits safely hidden away, trying to explain something that is almost unexplainable. I wanted him to know what it is I know, what it is I’ve found. This person, unknowing I suspect, has become a part of me in a way I still don’t understand. I have a bond with him that defies explanation. I wanted him to know this, but then I thought, perhaps it’s not his time to know. Perhaps it’s just one of those things, where I found someone that has been there before, but he has not seen it. It happens sometimes when time does not line things up the way we would have it. This all sounds a bit crazy I’m sure. Had I not experienced these things it would have sound crazy to me.
So now I sit, trying to compose a letter, a bit more generic in nature. It’s an effort, trying to get the words right, words that will speak quietly but echo the unspoken things that lie deep within my heart and soul. I struggle with those words along with the voice in my head that tries to decide whether to write it at all. It’s been months since I’ve sent a letter. Perhaps today I’ll work on breaking the silence.