dear hazel, | lewis hamilton

20

12th of February, 2023

Dear Hazel,

It has taken me an immeasurable amount of time to muster the strength to write this letter to you. Every time I tried, the words seemed to slip away, swallowed by the depths of my grief and the sorrows that your absence carved into my life. But today, I feel the faint whisper of courage a soft nudge that tells me it's time for me to share the journey of my shattered heart.

From the moment you left, my world turned upside down. The house we shared became an echoing shell, filled with the ghosts of laughter and love that once thrived within its walls. The silence was unbearable, suffocating, as if the very air refused to carry on without you.

Grief was not just an emotion, it was a relentless storm that tore through every fibre of my being.

The mornings were the hardest. I would wake up, expecting to feel the warmth of your body against mine, only to be met with the cold, empty sheets. The morning coffee, which was once our shared ritual, became a bitter reminder of your absence. I would sit at the kitchen table, staring at the steaming cup in front of me, waiting for the sound of your laughter to fill the room. Foolish of me.

Every aspect of my life was touched by the shadow of losing you. Friends and family reached out, but their words of comfort felt hollow.

The guilt and regret were overwhelming. I found myself constantly replaying our last moments together, dissecting every word, every gesture, wondering if I could've done something, anything, to change the outcome.

I was haunted by the thought that I didn't cherish our time together enough, that I took the precious moments we shared for granted.

Nostalgia became both a refuge and tormentor, as memories of your smile, your laughter and your love would flood my mind, bringing with them a bittersweet taste.

In those early days, I would find myself wandering through the rooms of our house, tracing my fingers over the familiar objects that held pieces of our history.

Your favorite book- with its dog-eared pages, still sat on the bedside table. The knitted blanket you loved to curl up in was draped over the couch, still carrying a faint smell of your perfume. Every item was a fragment of the love we shared, yet each one also served as a painful reminder of what I had lost.

In my darkest hours, I turned to alcohol, seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle. It was a helpless attempt to numb the pain, to escape the tireless waves of grief that crashed over me.

Nights blurred into days, and days into weeks, as I spiraled deeper into a void of self-destruction. The alcohol offered a brief relief, but the cost was a deeper isolation from the world and the parts of myself that remained tied to you.

The spiral was slow but continuous. I began down-performing in Formula One, often wanting to miss going because of how much I started hating it.

The world outside seemed to move on without me, while I remained trapped in the misery of my own making.

Friends who had once been a source of comfort became strangers, unable to get through the fog of my grief. Their concerned looks and hushed conversations only added to my sense of isolation. The person I saw in the mirror was a shadow of the man you had loved, a broken reflection that I could barely recognize.

It was during one of those drunken dazes that I found a letter you had written to me, tucked away in a drawer. Your words, full of love and hope, pierced through the haze of my pain. You spoke about our dreams, our plans, and the life we had envisioned together.

It was a wake-up call, a reminder that you wouldn't want me to lose myself in the darkness. You had always believed in me, even when I couldn't believe in myself.

Slowly but surely, I began to claw my way out of the darkness. It certainly wasn't an overnight transformation- it was a series of small, often painful steps. I reached out for help, joined support groups and began to face the grief head on, instead of drowning it in alcohol.

I took up the hobbies we once loved, like cooking and playing the guitar, finding comfort in the activities that once brought us joy. Each strum of the guitar, each meal cooked, was a tribute to you. A way to keep your memory alive.

Rebuilding my life without you was like learning how to walk all over again. I had to rediscover who I was in a world that no longer included you.

Therapy became a crucial part of my heeling process. Talking about my feelings, confronting the depth of my grief, and understanding it was okay to feel the way I was were vital steps in my recovery. I learned that grief isn't linear, it falls and rises, and sometimes, it crashes over you like a tidal wave.

I started to reconnect with the people around me, allowing them back into my life. I shared stories about you, about us, keeping your memory alive through retelling stories of our adventures and love.

And slowly, the laughter returned, although indefinitely at first. I began to see the beauty of the world again- a sunrise, the sound of children playing, the rustling of leaves in the wind.

I found a kind of peace in routine. I focused more on racing, pouring myself into getting the best results as a way to channel the grief into something productive. I also began volunteering at local charities, finding purpose in helping people who were struggling with their own battles. It reminded me of the compassion you never failed to give, and in those moments, I felt closest to you.

Although I'm not fully healed, I've come to understand that grief isn't something to be conquered, but something to be lived with. There are still days when the weight of your absence feels unbearable, when I long to hear your voice or feel your touch. But I'm learning to carry that weight, to live with the pain and memories, and to find moments of peace in the midst of the sadness.

I miss you more than words can describe. Your absence has left an irreparable dent in my heart, and not a day goes by that I don't think of you. The pain of your absence is a constant companion, but so was the love we shared.

I promise to live my life in a way that honors you, to find joy and purpose even when it seems impossible.

Until we meet again, my love, I will carry you in my heart, cherishing the love we shared and the lessons you taught me. Your spirit will always be part of me, guiding me through the darkness and into the light.

Love,
Lewis