Dear Sheri,

Dear Sheri,

    I’m spending the whole weekend at a friend’s house. I’ve no clue how long I will be there, nor why I want to go so badly, but I feel as if it may be the best thing for me to do. Perhaps it is so that I can escape myself and create as much distraction from my own mind as possible. It is a scary place and I would hate it if you were to be forced to enter it at any point. I know our relationship seems to be shaky these days and the time you have spent away from the house has been difficult, I believe that some time apart from each other will be the best thing. The right thing. Please do not be mad at me, because I am only trying to help. Who am I trying to help? I’m not sure. It just feels right.

    Remember last summer when we stayed on the beach? How you laughed at me every time I got sand on my hands because I could never find the right place to wipe it off? I wiped it off on you and it turned into an all-out sand war. It was magnificent. I had never seen you so happy and I know that I only want what is best for you and I. What about when we first met? How shy you were and how desperately I wanted to lift you up and break you out of your shell. I met you in class when we were assigned to be partners. That was twenty years ago and I still remember it so vividly. The way the left side of your mouth curved up every time I had an idea and even though you never said anything, I knew you enjoyed my company. I knew for a fact that you liked me and I felt the same which is why I tried so hard to become your friend and succeeded. I asked you out, and you said yes.

    That day I took you to the dance was magical. The way I had to almost shove you into the great hall filled with people because you didn’t want to be near this massive crowd. I took you out there and you glew, knowing I would be there in case you wanted to bury your face. In case you wanted to hide from the world as you often did. The great tribulation of having to be around so many people was devastating to you. Or at least it would have been, had you not met me. You looked up to me in more ways than one. Though you were almost a foot shorter than me, you were never intimidated by my height. It was one of my best features, you said. It was just one more thing you loved about me.

    When I proposed to you, the way you reacted was more beautiful than when I asked you out on our first date. We were in a restaurant, do you remember? You had just finished complaining about all of the people around and the instant I pulled out the ring and asked for your hand, you jumped from your chair and you made a scene. Suddenly, it was as if you did not care about the world. Suddenly, it was as if you would have preferred if everyone stared. You jumped up and down and nodded your head but you could not find the words. Before you could say “Yes,” I took you and we kissed. Everyone clapped. You must remember that. The people applauded and we got a free dessert from the restaurant. The nice man across the room paid for our dinner and congratulated us. You were happy and that was all I needed.

    On our wedding day, you walked down the hall. The veil covered your face but I could still see the smile gleam brightly through. The day that you had dreamed of was here and now instead of only living this life in your sleep, you could live it during every waking hour as well. We sealed the deal with a kiss. We did that often, but this one was important. We could be together forever now.

    And then when we bought a house, you worried so much about the interior. I told you that I didn’t care how the house looked as long as you were in it. You were the only decoration I needed because nothing else could grasp my heart as much as you did. I remember how tears streamed down your face when those words exited my mouth and you kissed me so passionately. I felt your tears wetten my cheeks and your lips press mine. Our life was perfect. We wouldn’t have had it any other way.

    When we would lie in bed, your body pressed up against mine. Those moments were beautiful. Even though I could only see darkness, I felt secure because I could smell your beautiful hair. I could sense that you were smiling in your sleep, dreaming of our life together and looking back at the life we had already lived.

    Two years into our marriage, you announced your pregnancy. Oh, how long we had tried and the day was finally here. I hugged you and I got on my knees to kiss you stomach. You were worried about how I would react and I saw your face. You were scared and shaking because you did not know how I would handle the news. The sense of relief in your eyes and the curve in your lips, the same one you had in school, was beautiful. I remember your hair and how soft it was back then. I remember the blonde hair that hung down to your back to the middle of your spine. It was long, and there were times where I wanted nothing else to do but brush it behind your ear and hold you when you were sad. I wanted to pet your hair and hug you throughout the night.

    In the hospital, you were so worried. I stood by you and held your hand as the doctors rushed in one-by-one. They told you to breathe and I held your hand. You pushed and pushed as tears streamed down your face. During that time, I thought about how I helped you up and down the stairs every day. I took your hand and you took mine. I balanced my meals just as you did so that I could support you through everything along the way. In the hospital, you pushed and you did so well in there.

    But I also remember when the doctors started to rush. They looked at me and told me to leave the room. I saw your face and it was red. You were trying to push, but you couldn’t. I stepped out of the room and the incessant beeping of the machines were all I could hear through the door. I remember sitting in the chair waiting for you to walk out fine with our beautiful son in your hands.

    I remember when the doctor came out with the saddest of looks. He took my hand and led me into a room where we could talk in private. Sadness welled up in me as did anger. I think the hole that I punched in the hospital’s wall is still there.

    I remember driving home, and I couldn’t see straight. The tears blocked my vision and I almost crashed. The other driver swerved but I did not try to get out of the way. I made it home in one piece. Or at least my, our, vehicle did. I sat on the chair and drank the whiskey I had promised you I would stop drinking the minute our son was born.

I guess what I really want to say is that I love you. And I want to see you just one last time. I feel as if we will meet soon enough, and I can only hope that you will be happy to see me. Not angry at what I am about to do. I would hate for you to  be distressed. I just want to know that you are safe, and I would like to hold you once more.