I admit that I like having the company. He curls up next to me every night while I sleep, and something about his warmth and rhythmic purrs are soothing.
Buddha and I eat our tuna melts, and I take a shower. After I’ve thrown on some pajama pants, I stop to look around my bedroom. It’s been five months since Stella passed, yet if one looked at my bedroom, one would think that she was just here this morning. Her slippers still lay up against the nightstand on her side of the bed while her Kindle rests atop it, untouched. Her red sweater is draped over the chair in front of her vanity, exactly where she left it. I haven’t moved anything of hers. Part of me is scared to. I’ve left it all exactly where she last put it.
My eyes well with tears. No wonder I can’t escape her memory. How can I when I haven’t tried?
I’m going to pack up her things. It’s time. I can’t live in between anymore. I’m constantly stuck amid the past and the present, unable to let go and incapable of moving forward. It is a lonely place to be.
I go to the garage where there are still some boxes from our move. I grab them and return to my bedroom. I put the boxes back together and grab a Sharpie from my desk, so I can write what’s in each box. I’ll pass it all along to Stella’s parents along with the list that Stella wrote out, indicating where everything should go. Most things will be donated, but some of the more personal things will be given to family.
I start with her closet. I don’t bother folding anything. I just start throwing the clothes into the boxes. Her clothes fill three big boxes. Next, I put her shoes in another one.
I stand back, looking at her empty closet, and an inexplicable feeling shakes me. It is the oddest combination of near tangible sorrow and liberating joy.
I shake my head as I move toward her vanity, and I decide to clear it off next. I throw all her makeup, hair accessories, and jewelry into a box. Stacked atop her vanity is a pile of gossip magazines. I doubt her parents will want to keep outdated issues of US Weekly and People, but I start throwing them in the box anyway.
When I pick up the last magazine, I spot an envelope sitting beneath it. I start to toss it into the box, but my name grabs my attention. I draw in a breath, my hands trembling, as I hold the letter. I turn it over and see that it is sealed. I flip it back to the front and trace a finger over my name written in Stella’s loopy cursive.
I back up until I feel the bed behind my legs, and I sit, never taking my eyes off of the letter. My chests pounds, and I pull in several strengthening breaths. I slide my finger under the seal of the envelope and rip it open. I pull out the piece of paper and unfold it.
My Dearest Jax,
Well, if you are reading this letter, it means that I am gone. I pray that you are handling it well, but I fear that you are not.
My Jax…I say that word my, but you were never mine. Your heart never belonged to me. I know that. I’ve always known that.
I am not saying this out of anger. I am saying this out of love and gratitude. Thank you. I never owned your heart, but you took me anyway. You loved me. You took care of me. You gave me my dream wedding. You married me, knowing that your heart belonged to someone else. You married me, knowing that you would go through hell with and without me. But you did it anyway. You sacrificed your happiness, so I could have mine. What a gift you were to me.
I want to apologize to you. I am so sorry. I was selfish. I knew it at the time, but I didn’t care. I was dying, and I wanted you. I wanted you, knowing that you were in love with Lily. I was infuriated that this happened to me. I was angry that I wasn’t going to get my happily ever after. I was heartbroken that I would never be a mother. I was straight up livid that my life that would have surely been full of so many exciting