For Sunshine

His handwriting trembled across the page, and the tears about to fall from her eyes only made the words harder to read. The package had come in the mail, wrapped in brown paper. It contained a simple black moleskine notebook, and when she opened it, she immediately recognized the handwriting. It had arrived about a week after...

“Hello, Sunshine,”

It read, the familiar blocky handwriting was achingly familiar, despite the shakiness. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay. I know, at least a little, how hard it must be. Remember (so many years ago) when you were in the accident? The doctors told me to prepare myself for the worst.

"I swear, my heart stopped beating for the longest moment of my life. Then the numbness came. I felt it crawl down my body, from the tip of my head to the soles of my feet. I imagine that’s how ghosts feel. That emptiness. That feeling of no longer being connected to the vital, flesh and blood, of myself. Waiting, but unable to reach the world, my world, you. I lived in that numbness for days (that felt like years).

"But you have always been stronger than people think, Sunshine, and when I felt your hand tighten around mine, I let out a whoop so loud, the patient you shared a room with nearly jumped out of her skin. She swore at me with some of the most creative curses I heard all my life, and all the nurses came running. And you were back!

"After that, I worried more. If you ran late, if the weather was bad. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, of feeling that nothingness that was also a burning pain. And then I started thinking about what would happen if I died first. The pain you would feel. That’s when I started my project. It started with saving my change, then I began to put in 50 or 60 bucks at a time. I started a new account at the bank. I’d save part of a bonus, or buy a cheaper version of something for myself, and put the difference in the account. Our will administrator has the account information.

"You see, I wanted to make something for you, in case I went first. Something that when you get past the first tidal wave of grief will be there for you. Something to help you find a way to the next part of your life, and something that I can do for you, even though I am gone. There is $20,000 in that account now. You don’t have to use it right away, and when you do, I hope you are a little selfish and do something for yourself. Something amazing.

"We had so many good years. I hope you have many more. And please know that (wherever I am) I am still loving you.

-H”

The tears had begun to fall long before she finished reading. She curled up on the sofa sobbing, looking almost as small as she felt. She cried till she was too tired to cry anymore. Then, she walked over to her desk, and grabbed a pen. Turning to the next page, she wrote:

“I miss You so much, I think I’m a ghost too.”

She fell asleep that night still holding the small black book.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about phantom limbs. How when a limb is lost, you still feel it sometimes. You try to pick up your cup of tea with a hand that isn’t there. You feel an itch on a leg that has been lost. That’s how it feels. In bed, I roll over, to curl into your body, but it isn’t there. I keep expecting to feel your hand on my hair, stroking it to comfort me, but it isn’t there. I keep expecting you to walk into the room with some new fact you’d read about jellyfish, or to pull me outside to see planets aligning in the sky, or to tell me a joke an old colleague had emailed you. I see you everywhere. The silver of your hair, the bend of your head, the shuffle of your feet. I hear you when a stranger walks by whistling “Dock of the Bay.” I walk through the house and I catch a waft of your cologne. It’s like my brain refuses to believe you are gone. It looks for you in every crowd and around every corner. Every time I catch a hint of you, my heart feels like heaven, before I remember, and am wrenched back down to this hell.

"It’s been a month. I know you would want me to smile, to begin to plan, but I can’t yet. I know you’d understand that too.”

The book was tucked in her purse, and came everywhere with her.

She read and reread his final words to her at least two hundred times. Every day she read it, every night. She’d be out of the house, running errands, meeting friends, sitting in the park, and her hand would dip into the purse, just to feel the smooth, soft cover beneath her hand. For a moment she would pretend it was his hand she held.

“I heard a bird sing today. Not that they haven’t been chirping their hearts out the last few months, but I stopped hearing them. I didn’t realize it until I heard the song today. Some days are bearable. Somedays I am lost. Some days I survive. Today, I smiled when I heard the bird sing. I smiled without even thinking about it, and it didn’t feel like my face would crack from the effort. I’ve begun to think of the money. Of course you left me one more surprise. If you were here, you’d have a brilliant plan. You’d know exactly what to do with it. I’m not sure that I do.

"I try to think of what you might have suggested. There’s travel. I could go somewhere sunny, full of laughing, dancing people. I think it would make me feel lonelier though. I could go somewhere cold and dark, watch the northern lights quietly sipping hot cocoa. I think I would feel lonelier there too.”

The pages were a little dog eared, and a lot tear stained. There were photos stuck between pages. Photos of them together. Photos of him, smiling straight to the camera. Recently, she had added photos of herself. A picture on the beach. In a small café in midtown. Sitting in the middle of the garden they planted together.

“I miss you. Now I miss you like the moon misses the sun, in shades and phases. But even during a new moon, the sun is still shining on it. It is only shining on the back bit of the moon, where no one can see it. But you are still here. It aches, but you are still here. You called me sunshine, did you know you were mine, Sunshine?

"I’ve been thinking about the money again. I could use it to take classes. Learning something new always makes me feel like the world is expanding. Knowing how things work, or that they even exist makes them feel more real. And without you, the world feels smaller than it used to. Or I could donate it. It could help so many people. You said to be selfish, but it would feel good to give in your name, or ours. Maybe I’ll donate it.

"I love you, so very much.”

It looked “well loved” now. Not pristine and new, but full of life. The photos, the pages of handwritten notes, it held multitudes: sorrow that could barely be contained in the letters, the dull plodding's of life, small sparks of happiness, and moments of contentment. Then empty pages were now dwindling. Yet on this page, instead of pressing together to conserve space, the letters grew.

“The money, I have an idea. It’s going to be AMAZING!”

-Sunshine"