Private Letters
Like most people, I am the product of my experiences. I am connected to people, places, and things through these experiences as well as through the glorious accident of birth.
Life travels at a constant pace. It doesn’t seem like it at the time, however. There are all sorts of adages about time. Time flies when you’re having fun. Time crawls when you’re young. Times goes faster the less you have. Only time will tell. Time heals all wounds. Waste anything but time, it is our most precious resource. Yes, I’m a George Pal fan. Sue me.
We always think there is more time. When we are in the midst of our lives, we let things slide. We will come back to it. We will catch up.
Yeah, right.
One of those experiences that I mentioned gave me a wonderful husband. More than one, in fact. I have been doubly blessed in life (and once cursed, but I shall eventually address him elsewhere, no doubt) with two amazing men. Unfortunately, the first of the two is no longer with us, having died on a date that seems to move faster and faster into the past, part of that odd time phenomena of those adages.
His sudden and unexpected death, understandably, has been the single greatest impact on my life and how I think. It has shown me the impermanence of life and everything in it – people, events, relationships, even promises.
His daughter said something that has stuck with me. It was a comment about hoping that I might find a letter within his belongings. Some sort of information, explanation, solace, whatever, for one of his children in particular.
I wonder, oh how I wonder, how many others have hoped for the same thing. How many have thought about leaving something for those we can not otherwise reach in this life? How many have actually done it?
So began my journey into my own thoughts, through my own broken, overgrown, or destroyed paths forever lost.
Whether or not a letter is ever sent, ever read, ever known, it makes no difference. The important thing is to write it. Nothing else ever becomes of it unless it is first written.
So I have written a few letters. Some have been sent, some have been read, some shall be sent someday. Some never shall. But they have been written. After that, I can do no more.
Go to Private Letters
Originally published October 10, 2013 as the section cover page for “I See Indigo” blog.