Love letters...

…I still drink soy caramel lattes. I have the shirt you wore on the day we met. I still hear your voice in my mind and still remember your birthday. You were the love of my twenty six year old’s life. You showed me what it was to be loved for exactly who I was. You cracked open my hardened shell and gently pulled me out of myself. By loving every ounce of me you taught me how to give that love back as well as receive all the sweetness you had to offer. You taught me how to be a better person. You showed me that it was ok to be my authentic self. Granted I feel I have a long way to go but you placed me on a path I have never been able to walk down before.
For you my dear I am forever grateful. I love you.

Love
your ladybug

It’s been three years since I met Rob. I decided I would write him a letter and send it out anonymously to the Starbucks we met at. I got the idea from a book that sits behind a bench at the Unicorn Café in Evanston. It’s for love letters. Every now and then I like to sit next to it, peek into it and read about love in all it’s many forms. It’s a book where people can write (anonymously should they choose.) whatever they feel from crushes, to rants about exes, to expressing deep love towards a partner, or…expressing their deep love for the Unicorn. For me, there is something delicious, freeing, and very personal about letter writing. It takes on a form of honesty that I don’t otherwise articulate. Rob loved getting my letters whether I handed them to him or mailed them. I thought it would be appropriate to send something out into the world, hoping that it lands in hands of someone who might be in need of some kind of love or brightening of their day.
Getting started with this project was met with much procrastination until one day I just sat down and did it. Not gonna lie, it felt really crazy to be writing a dead person but once I got about a paragraph in, I was into it and happily relayed all the details of that early Sunday morning, sometimes giggling, sometimes feeling my eyes fill up with tears, but feeling mostly content. Three pages later I closed with the above paragraph and found the address to send it to.
This didn’t feel particularly hard, or easy. I felt really good that I took the time to at least try it. As I was writing it, the usual question of “why did this happen to us?” popped up. I try not to ask it very often but it finds it’s way into my mind. After three years, and getting a little bit further away from the grieving part to being able to see a bigger picture, I’ve noticed that without Rob I wouldn’t be able to love Jeff like I do. I wouldn’t love anyone like I do if it weren’t for him and the experience.


I thought I was passed the usual anger and crying spells that happen the first week of February and the second week in April (he died on the 20th) but nope. It all came to visit yesterday while I was spending the day with Jeff. I’ve noticed my schedule is way more packed than usual aside from needing to start packing and figuring out actually moving. I feel I’m running pretty hard from something but I’m not sure what that is. After brunch and walking around in well below freezing temperatures Jeff and I were back on the train to Lincoln Park to get sunglasses for him at REI. I closed my eyes for a little bit and the tears came. I wasn’t thinking about anything, they just showed up. To avoid this because it literally feels like it’s going to swallow me whole and I’m not going down without a fight, I get extra special hard on myself. I will push, shove and guilt myself into or out of anything to keep the focus off any kind of hurt that might be under the surface of all that crazy. This makes everything worse but none of it hurts worse than what’s already there. If I could just stop a moment and acknowledge it…
Once outside under the sunshine with frozen feet and a red face I walked alongside Jeff, feeling my gloved hand in his. He asked how I was. I didn’t know how to answer. I just said that I hurt. I’ve never admitted that before. I pulled him into me and cried.
I got to work today after a soy latte and breakfast at the Unicorn. I noticed a new client on my books today named Tracy. She was getting color with Stevie first. A few minutes after she arrived Stevie came to get me asking me if I wanted to talk to her.
“Yup.” I nodded, standing to walk out to the color area. I feel like I’ve been beaten. My face is puffy and hasn’t seen an ounce of make-up this morning. I see the back of Tracy’s head and remind myself that I am working and I owe it to my clients to be there for them.
“Hey you!” Tracy turned to face me and I instantly recognized her. She owns the Unicorn. I gave her my card a couple of weeks ago.
“Hi!” I squeal, ecstatic to see her. She is someone I aspire to be like. I love her bubbly genuine sweetness, the way she interacts with people, the way people love her back. Her face brightens my day instantly every time I walk into the café and see her.
“I finally decided to do something for myself and gave you guys a call!” she exclaims. I laugh as I can identify with putting off self-care stuff. We talk about the plan with her hair and Stevie gets to work on her highlights. A little while later Tracy is in my chair and I’m combing her out. We talk about her day and her work and how she’ll open tomorrow and I’ll also be there fairly early.
“Tell me about you.” she says. “How are you?”
I turn her to face me so I can start her layers. Something tells me it’s ok to be honest with her.
“Ok. I’ll be honest. I’m having a hard day. I’m good, I’m happy to see everyone, I’m just a lil emotional.”
“Oh I’m so sorry! I know how that is though and thank you for being honest.”
Talk of Valentine’s Day comes up and she tells me about the love letters she has hanging in the café. I’ve noticed them and I’ve read a few of them but couldn’t exactly figure out if they were an art project or what.
“You know that book we have by the bench? Those letters are from that book. I copied them and put them up.”
“I so love that!” I beam. Something is chattering at me to tell her about Rob and my letter. I ignore it and keep cutting.
“I so love Valentine’s Day. I think it’s great there is a day out there made just for love.” she smiles.
The chattering is so loud that I feel I’ll regret not telling Tracy that she was the one who inspired me to write the letter to Rob.
“I have to tell you that the love letter book you have totally inspired me to write…um…ok so I lost my boyfriend in a car accident almost three years ago. We met today three years ago so that’s why I feel a little nuts.”
“I’m so sorry! Oh my gosh, that’s some really heavy stuff you walk around with.”
“Thanks, and yes, and I’ve been fine but yesterday it hit pretty hard. I decided to write him a letter and send it to the Starbucks we met at in hopes that whoever reads it will get something that maybe they’ll need or want.”
“Oh my gosh! That’s great! They totally will. Oh, I’m so glad you did that!”
I laugh. “Me too.” I tell her about meeting him, about how when I interviewed here I felt he was going to leave and here we are.
“He called it with your job here and you knew that something was up. What a connection. Wow.” she shook her head.
I spin her back around and work on her layers before trimming her length. “I know. I don’t know what it was, but something told me it wouldn’t last, I just couldn’t see why.”
Talking with Tracy had sparks going off in my head. I felt so much better having let some of my crazy out.
I enjoyed my work day despite my crying in between clients and giving myself a hard time in general for feeling the way I do. I wouldn’t judge anyone else for feeling this way but I berate myself constantly when out of no where these intense emotions arise and knock me back a bit. I turn to hurting myself when I’m already hurting to avoid the original pain. Stopping to look at what hurts is like anticipating some blow to the head that you think will knock you senseless but you don’t know for sure so you brace for it, expecting it to take your life but it doesn’t. It doesn’t and you’ve gone through all this trouble to fight it or brace against it. I see all of this and still, after three years, I can’t quite be still long enough, get curious enough to be where I am and experience whatever it is. I can now see that it is an option though whereas before it seemed there were no options, just anger and crying. I see that no matter what storm is going on in my head, I am capable of remaining calm, of functioning, and enjoying my life. I’m excruciatingly slowly moving in that direction but the lunacy that succumb to is still very much present. I’m happy that for today I can see that I have an option should I choose to take it.
Being still through the good stuff, the bad stuff, the sparkly stuff, the angry, scary, hurt, broke-down-palace stuff is most certainly a lifelong learning experience I feel I’ve been slowly embarking upon these past three years. To see that feelings come and go, to know that I can’t attach to them as much as I’d like (or even do) to is something I so desperately want to master. Until then, I’m back on my rollercoaster, trying to figure it out one day at a time.