Say Goodbye

You left too early

 ›Vampire? No, too obvious. Mummified? Nope, I'd covered that one last year. Think my boy, think‹, I told myself as I stared into those vacuous, eerie eyes in the mirror. For a moment, and I know it sounds crazy, it seemed like they were trying to tell me a secret. A secret that no words dare to bear and can only be exchanged in the darkness by its mere existence. But if you really think about it, what in my life doesn't seem crazy? 

I mean, here I was literally trying to get ready for someone who might not be showing up tonight. Someone who hasn't shown up for three years in a row. And every year I had to go through all the messy rituals and sacrifices to even get a chance to see her. But tonight I'll do it myself.

›Max‹, I whispered, feeling instantly enchanted. That name should be as familiar to me as day and night, and yet it felt terribly wrong. Even the mere thought of her felt like an eternity ago. And yet she died only four years ago.

Yes, Max is dead. Did you notice? Since you are reading my suicide note, it's safe to assume that we have no secrets between us.

And yes, I will die at the very end of this small but heartfelt letter. However, please do not mourn or judge me, my friend. Dying is part of this journey we call life. My mother used to say: »Heaven is like eating cake for the first time. Every bite has meaning and every bite awakens your senses.«

Oh, I've longed for this bite for a long time. Without Max, the whole world turned tasteless, colorless, just dark and dull.

She was without any doubt or hesitation the best person I've ever met. Maybe even the only good one in my entire life. And life was so merciful to grant me the honor of being her husband for twenty-six glorious years.

I can't tell you what she saw in me, but I know that the first time I gazed into those perfect blue eyes, my heart finally left its shell.

Max had what people call joie de vivre, and it was contagious. There was nothing too stressful, painful, or bad that could dull her joyful nature.

She remained happy as the doctor spoke his terrible words.

She remained happy as her hair began to fall out and her bones to turn into magma.

She remained happy as her body became a prison and her good health extinct.

She remained happy even when our lips met for the last time and her blue eyes finally paled.

We buried her on her birthday in October on a chilly morning.

The thirty-first, to be quite precise, if you don't mind me.

It was a peaceful, pleasant spot under our old oak where we met for the first time. She wore a gorgeous green dress with white flowers scattered all over it. She looked like an angel, borrowed just for me. I suppose it's just fair that I had to return her one day.

As you read these words, I am dressed as a wizard and have made my way to the very oak. She adored this outfit.

It's hard to remember how long I just sat there watching the wind brush through the grass and touch my skin.

I heard the wind blowing the leaves, birds chirping, and from afar the bell ringing, all sounds that caressed my soul and heart as life was leaving my body.

The hospital should have noticed by now that I had unplugged myself from the machines and left.

Time slowed with every breath, and it was just like Mom said: the grass felt softer, the wind warmer, and the colors brighter. My senses were enhanced and I laughed for the first time after my diagnosis. I laughed until my lungs burned and my jaw hurt, and laughed some more.

Happy birthday, darling. Your husband is coming home to you.

Sincerely yours,

George