Letter 80

Dear you,

This weekend we danced like we used to. felt like it was just you and I. We had fun. We drank too much. You even touched me on the butt and it mirrored what we used to be, if only for a short time.

Then, the rage came. Neither one of us are sure what triggered you, but that is beside the point. You were triggered. And in these situations it is best to go into flight instead of fight. I tried to corral you out of there like a sweet but stubborn horse. God damn it you are wild in your ways sometimes. The things you said were ugly, but I knew you didn’t mean them. I knew come morning you’d be sorry. You yelled the whole way home, things I try to forget, but the thing that I remember most, is you feeling like your kids and everyone would be better off without you. That is just not true.

When we arrived through the rain, I made you listen to me read the first 43 of these letters aloud to you as you nestled into the couch you used to sleep so soundly on. We both wept. And there on that big brown thing that has held our children’s bodies so many times, you slept.

Easter morning I made us breakfast. From the couch you watched me cook. You came to me, held me, and you cried, we both did. You said sorry like you have not said sorry in a really long time time. And I, I forgave you unlike I had forgiven you in a really long time.

The love I have for you, it only has one option, to show you grace. I will honor not only your triumphs, but I will honor your faults and your growth and your late-night-I-drank-too-much-and-was-a-complete-asshole moments. As long as you show me love, honor that, and we are good.

Love, Me

P.S. I’ll talk about the bike crash in the next letter.