They ask about you sometimes and look at me in a weird way as if they are asking you instead of me. They ask me if we’ve talked. They ask me if you’re coming back. That’s probably because they can still see you in my eyes. It’s probably because they can still feel you. I know I can. I know that you come and read this. I’m not sure how often. And, to be honest, I’m a little shocked.
I expected you to be gone. Like before. I expected that feeling that you were gone forever, completely out of my reach. I expected that feeling that you had somehow died. That everything between us had died.
But it doesn’t feel that way. And I can’t figure out why.
I can’t decide if my intuition is really telling me this, or if it’s just wishful thinking, but I have gotten the vibe that this has been incredibly hard on you. If that’s true, I’m sorry.
But I learned something about you. About us. About all of this. I can’t fix it. I can’t change anything. Only you can do that. Did you know that? Sometimes I have these incredibly wonderful things come to me, things that I think would change the whole world, and if you just knew them then maybe life wouldn’t attack you so fiercely. But then I remember that there is a good chance that you already know them.
I realized that if you are ever going to follow the path that our Father in Heaven truly wants for you, you’ll have to make that choice yourself. If you’re ever going to be bigger than the things that challenge you, you’re going to have to make that choice. If you’re ever going to be truly happy, you’ll need the Savior and you’ll need the strength that only He can give you. I can’t give that to you. Nobody can. It’s a choice that you have to make.
You told me once, not so very long ago, that we were what you wanted to fight for. I was eating a cornbread muffin at the time, completely delicious, and I remember that it dried up and stuck to the sides of my mouth when I heard those words. Words I’d been dreaming of hearing for a really long time. And you had that air about you, the one that you get when you’re genuine. Your eyes shine and you get excited and nervous and a little shy. And the rightness of what you’re saying, no matter what it is, glows out of you. That’s how I have always known when you were telling the truth. No matter what that truth was.
But then, a little over a month later, you decided you didn’t want to fight for it anymore. It didn’t take very long. And I knew that it wouldn’t. I knew that just as much as I knew it was right. And I tried to talk to you about it, long before it ever happened. And you either didn’t understand or didn’t want to believe it would happen again. I tried to tell you that you’d get that way. That you’d retreat behind your walls where I have no hope of reaching you. And I tried to talk about a way we could fix that when it happened again. But we didn’t talk about it. You just said a lot of words I’d heard before, and I prayed I would know what to do myself.
The truth is that I’m doing better than I ever was.
There was a certain amount of relief in realizing that I no longer had to worry about any of it anymore. Because I was tired of sitting on fences. I was tired of everything else being more important than me. I was tired of you saying you were ready to fight and then retreating at the first sign of danger. And I’m willing to believe that some of this sounds harsh and that it isn’t accurate because I don’t have all the information. I was just tired of it never being about me.
I’m sorry. This post is nothing at all like I wanted it to be. It’s nothing like I had planned. Let me start over.
They ask me about you sometimes. They ask me if we’ve talked. They ask me if you’re coming back. There is this look in their eyes when I tell them, “I don’t know.” As if they know something I don’t. When I told my dad he looked at me in a way he hasn’t looked at me in a very long time. And his eyes said something very different than his, “I’m really sorry.” Then he kept talking, and what they had to say came out, “He misses you.” I nodded. “I know.” There was more, but he didn’t say it.
I told my mom I can still feel you. Right in my heart where you have always lived. I told her I can’t figure out why you’re still here. I told her I miss you very much. She hugged me. And her eyes had a lot of things in them, too, things she didn’t say.
I do miss you. More than I even knew I would.
And yet I am doing so, so well. Really. I have so many plans for my future and they are all a little scary and exciting. I haven’t thrown anything away. I haven’t deleted anything. I cried a few times and then moved on. It’s strange because it feels like it’s been a million years and also no time at all. If you were to call me, half of me thinks I’d answer it cheerfully, ready to hear about your day as if nothing had changed.
I need you to know that my heart is just fine. In fact, it’s more than fine. It’s brand new. And I feel incredible. I feel brave. And clean. Though I’m not invincible or anything. I’m still very, very much me. Writing this post is actually kind of scary.
I don’t know how you’re doing. But I hope you’re doing well. I don’t know where your choices are leading you, but I hope it’s to the right places. You’ve got this.