Dear Teddy

 For the past fifty-nine years Beatrice and I have been blessed with love. She has been the very soul of my life since nineteen fifty-nine. As the decades have passed, not only has she been an integral part of my life, she has become a part of me.

For as long as I can remember, I would wake everyday to a brand new hand-picked bouquet on table where we would sit routinely. I remember looking across into her somnolent, green eyes, that looked like frayed emeralds. Her white hair would always sit flawlessly upon her shoulders. Beatrice consistently wore a smile. We sat with this unwieldy amount of roses and tulips, and whatever else my love could find from the garden, right in front of us. The fresh scent of the flowers flooded through our little kitchen as the dawn sunrise radiated through our single-paned, almost yellow windows, I remember the joy of waking every morning, absent of any care or worry. I woke to full and complete happiness. I woke, to flowers.

As the years went by, the flowers grew weaker, as my Beatrice became fragile and frail. Despite how hard I tried to tend to the flowers, giving them health and water, they continued to diminish. I had never seen my dear look so drained. The bags under her light eyes were as heavy as rocks, and her pale skin had lost its roseate colours. I was already grieving for her, months before she had to go. Ultimately, the flowers exhausted to the point that their petals all fell to the ground. My beautiful Beatrice lost her strength day by day, until she ran out of it altogether. I like to remind myself she passed peacefully, in her sleep. The heartbreaking truth, is that although she died with no pain, I felt more than I had ever felt before.

My mornings were no longer joyful, and it became more and more of a struggle to open my eyes everyday. The sweet smell of roses had perished out of the air. All of the birds fell quiet, although I felt as if the silence was deafening. She was gone. Never to return. The years we had together seemed to drift away like a fallen leaf in the wind. Would I ever find them again?

I started to worry. I didn't want to forget what she looked like. At eighty-four, my memory was not clear as day. As beautiful as my wife was, she never liked to have her photo taken. She would always make sure she was behind the camera, never in front. Despite this, every Christmas she would allow me to take a photo of her with our tree, sat perfectly in our living room, as she was always proud of the decorations. I remember placing the pictures in a box, but the box's whereabouts had escaped me in my age.

I was searching around my room, when I saw a glimpse of a bright red shoe box that looked half-opened. I had thought that no one had touched the box since the last Christmas, and it was only Autumn at the time. I went to lift it gingerly, and it fell apart as a snowball does. It crumbled. It felt like fire ashes falling onto my aged skin, in very small pieces. The stack of printed photos fell gently to the ground, surrounding the ruins of the paper box. My knees felt weak as i bent down to gather them all and I spotted an unfamiliar light blue envelope, that looked very new. I broke through the fold slowly, listening to the rip of the paper, as a letter fell into my hands. It was from her. The love of my life. I wondered what feelings she needed to put into words. I read the first two words.

'Dear Teddy'

Tears began to fall down my cheeks like raindrops, on a glow that wouldn't stop as I kept reading.

'Dear Teddy, If you have opened this letter, you are aware that I am now gone. I knew I was dying for months, but the only thing I didn't know, was if I would be able to say a real goodbye. So I thought it would be a good idea, to write you one. Remember my love, I will not be gone forever. You will see me again, when you join me here. You are living. You should live knowing your life, was my life's best part. In our fifty-nine years, there was not a single moment that I tired of you. You were the sun in the morning and the moon at night. I don't ever want you to hurt. At some point, everything needs to be let go of. Even your past, even your pain. In my vows, I told you I would love you until the day I die. Yet, that's untrue. I will love you until the sun doesn't rise, and the birds don't fly. I will love you until every heart has been broken, and every word has been said. I will love you, until the end. I am still alive for you, dear. I promise, I will always bring you flowers. Love, Beatrice.'

It has been a year since I found that letter. Our final goodbye. I miss her terribly everyday, but in our lives, I regret nothing. For the simple reason, that between our hello, and our goodbye, there was so much love. I now only have one thing left to do in my life.

Plant more flowers.