Life of Rachel

I’m reading the epilogue today of the book we never got to finish reading together.

The ending is entitled, “A Quiet Life”

Echoing silence devoid of laughter and miscommunication and arguments and connection in my empty room seems to mock that.

I’m sifting through your letters and packing away your things. I want to throw them away because they hurt so much to look at but I cannot do it. Simply because you asked me not to.

I should be angrier. That’s what they all say. I should want revenge and your name should be like a curse when it touches my lips.

But I cannot hate you.

I cannot seem to muster up the strength to resent and wish the worst for you. I can only love you. I told you I would love you for a long time. I can only be ashamed of myself for choosing someone incapable of a wholehearted love.

Your grandmother said I was love starved, you said I was love anorexic, I said I was Demi-sexual. I had the most difficult time being tenderly cared for and I somehow let your alluring words break through my defenses.

Oh, how you said everything I wanted to hear! The softness of your speech cut straight to my heart; those intimate conversation stretching for hours and hours.

I look at myself in the mirror now and say the words to my reflection the way you used to say them to me.

Did you know that before you said I was beautiful, I always thought I was ugly? I didn’t know another truth. Before you fell for me, I believed that maybe I was inherently unlovable. There was shame in my need to be adored.

You taught me to revel in your lavish descriptions of the woman you saw before you. I learned to crave a love I told myself I could not have: tenderness, affection, kindness, compassion…even pity.

Your presence filled a void I did not know was present. I don’t know if you were loving or opportunistic or maybe a little bit of both. Regardless of what I saw (my friends called you, “red flag guy”), I chose not to believe it because it felt so good to finally be loved and seen and chosen. How I felt with you was how I wished I had felt with everyone before.

In cleaning out the last of your belongings, I have to convince myself over and over that this is the best thing.

Remember how I told you that I loved you so much that I wanted the best for you even if it wasn’t me? Now, I know I love you in letting you go. In surrendering you to God, the higher power, who could save you when I could not.