For nearly four years a solitary letter sat sealed in wait

Tucked neatly away in a narrow wooden drawer smelling mildly of cedar

Unopened, unclaimed and undisturbed

On rare occasion it was tossed about underneath some aged greeting cards

Hidden from view, collecting dust in my bedside night stand

Like a beacon, I never forget that it was there even when I tried

It was only a letter yet I could not bring myself to throw it away

It housed my burden and a buried pain I could not face

For years I would flinch at the thought of opening it

Closing the night stand drawer quickly if I happened to catch a glimpse of it

To avoid rekindling my many tears and anguish all over again

A letter capable of disturbing emotional dust that had long since settled

Thinking of the letter made my heart race with an erratic pulse

Yet, it was only a few simple sheets of notebook paper bearing words

Just words, although words that I could never bring myself to say

I meant to give you the letter, I really did, but my heart froze in place every time I tried

I cried myself to sleep after I wrote it, completely drained and exhausted

As my words to you hollowed my body like a vacant shell

How can the mere arrangement of words become such harbingers of pain?

A simple collection of phrases that said everything I wanted to say, but couldn't

Even knowing your voice would soon be silent, but laughter would go on

You were dying, alone, as the world and everyone around you continued to live

Your body was losing the battle your will was so desperate to win

While you fought to live, I fought the idea of losing you

You were not failing me, your body was

You fought selflessly, even more for those you loved than yourself

We didn't want you to go, but there was no way you could stay

You were hoping that each breath would make us feel safe

But your body quickly became a tomb you could not escape

My letter was my eternal farewell my way of saying I would be OK

Four years later I mustered up enough strength to open the letter

After staring at it for hours, wondering if I had enough courage

I read the first sentence, crying as much as the day I wrote the last

The pain never left, it stayed locked away in the drawer with you and the letter

When I wrote those words you were still alive with me and the future unclear

My renewed remorse rubbed me raw again like sand paper

After a few short sentences, I put the unfinished letter back in the night stand drawer

Where it has quietly remained out of sight, yet never out of mind

It's been seventeen years now, gone in a flash

But, I still have yet to read the letter through

Each time I touch the envelope I shudder as if I'm being cut again

I so hope you got a chance to read my letter from heaven Mom

Since I was not nearly brave enough to give it to you when it mattered

Perhaps I'll take your letter from the drawer and bring it with me when I die

Then maybe, just maybe you and I will have a chance to read it together

Learn more about this author, Teresa Weimer.
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