Dearest Theo,

Dearest Theo,

You told me it was unsinkable. That all your dreams would flourish there. That you’d only be gone twenty-two days. That you’d come back to me with your arms wide open, stories falling from your journal and flowing from your lips.

You said you would come back to me.

Now I dream of icebergs and sinking ships and drowning. Now I wake up sobbing.

I still remember the gleam in your eyes as you talked of the luxury you’d see. I still remember how your voice sounded when you told me you’d be a part of history… oh the irony.

That postcard from Queenstown is worn, tearstained… and to think of how I smiled when I first received it, having no idea it would be your last. To think of how I first stared at the ship on the front in awe, having no idea it would end up the stuff of nightmares. Looking forward to seeing New York next, the words read. Now it sickens me to think about. I have so many stories to tell you. Where are they now? Waterlogged and abandoned on the seabed. See you soon. That’s the line that really makes my chest crack open. See you soon. I have lost track of time rereading those words so often that I have memorised the gentle slope of your handwriting, even as the smooth lines of your face slowly fade from my memory.

Yesterday, a student asked me why there weren’t more lifeboats onboard that cursed ship. I wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something.

To think that if only there were more lifeboats you might still be alive is unbearably maddening. To think that if I’d only begged you to stay, maybe you’d still be here. But what is the point in thinking that?

I can still see you blowing kisses to me as you walked towards what you thought were your dreams. Sometimes I think I am trapped in an endless loop of hearing the news and falling to the floor shaking.

Sometimes the only way to survive is picturing you coming home. I imagine you at the door, smiling and saying you washed up on a foreign shore and had to travel back. Other times I hear you explaining that there was a mix up in the list of survivors and you were on one of those boats after all. Always you hold me and kiss me and never leave me again.

And then each time reality comes crashing down on my shoulders, splitting me open, coaxing gut-wrenching sobs from my body. Because deep down I know, you are gone. Deep down I know you would never have even considered getting on a lifeboat when there were so many others who needed them. Deep down I know, our time together has been stolen, cut short.

They say you are more likely to have frozen than drowned and all I can think is how you always hated the cold. How you’d always grab a jacket and wrap a scarf around your neck at the first sign of a chill in the air. How we’d huddle by the fire, your gloved hand in my hair, a soft smile on your lips.

I lie awake thinking of a half-filled lifeboat leaving without you. Of the violins still playing. Of you, listening to your death song.

See you soon. We had a forever planned, didn’t we? Your hand on my belly and a list of names on the kitchen bench, thinking of colours for the bedroom wall.

Her name is Alice and you will never get to meet her. Never get to hold her tiny hand or see her eyes light up. She will grow up hating ships and water and the cold. She will grow up missing a father she never knew. A forever for three, diminished to two.

One day she will ask about the unsinkable ship and the ice and you, my darling Theo. And maybe by then I will be able to hear your name without falling apart. Maybe by then it will not take me back to the moment I knew I’d lost you, my heart shattering in time to thousands of others. Maybe then I will be able to show her the postcard without shaking hands.

Queenstown Ireland, 3:15pm April 11

Looking forward to seeing New York next.

I have so many stories to tell you.

See you soon.

All my love,

Theo

Maybe by then those words won’t be haunting me, replying in my mind over and over, drowning out everything else. And what will I tell her? Your father had dreams Alice, and he died for them. Your father hated the cold and it was the last thing he knew.

Oh Theo, I have sent a million letters to the sea, but none seem to make their way to you. My greatest enemy is a defeated ship whose name I cannot bring myself to say. My greatest fear is forgetting the kind tone of your voice. I could have sworn your hair was more brown than blond, but your sister insists on the opposite. I lose you more and more each day, only able to find you in the smile of our daughter.

The ocean stole Mrs Bagshaw’s son and Helen’s brother, and I can’t even look them in the eyes, because all I can think about is the absence of you.

I hope the sea carries this letter to you. I hope you had the time of your life, those few days before the end. I hope all your dreams came true. I hope you are warm now, soaring far above the waves.

I will sit with Alice before the fireplace, blanket draped over our shoulders, and I will tell her about you. About your kindness and light and the way you would hold me. And I will try my best to imagine you smiling, blowing kisses to me as you chased your dreams. I will try my best to dispel the nightmares of water and ice and endings.

I will love you forever, with warmth and dreams.

My dearest Theo, I have so many stories to tell you.

From,

The one left behind.