Letter from a Funeral
Dear sim_james,
It's taken me until today to process that you're really gone, and even now it still seems distant, unreal.
We haven't been close in a long time, and I'd pushed a lot of my memories of you aside. They belonged to my past, a place I edit quite heavily, taking only what I think is useful, or would make for a good story. At first this distance made me feel like I didn't have the right to mourn you - there are others who I know feel your loss much more keenly, in a much more visceral way. People who saw you the day before, earlier that day. People who were still in your life, who had kept you close and treasured your love like the gift it was. But as you tried to teach me years ago, the heart will out.
I read what you wrote about all loving moments being worth treasuring, whether they last a moment or a lifetime, and when it was read out today at the funeral, I think it finally clicked that the worst thing I could do is forget you, erase what happened between us. And you know, I couldn't, even though I tried. I've talked about you for years like it was no big deal, nothing serious, but when I heard the news I cried, and have cried so much since. It was a long time ago, and it wasn't for long, but you touched my soul in a way I've always been afraid to talk about with anyone. It was too strange, too confusing, and so I tried to forget.
You asked to be remembered, but there was really no need. How could we forget? You were strange, and I sometimes found that strangeness hurtful or frightening, so I ran away and tried to cover my tracks with nonchelance. But you were also so, so beautiful. So kind, and beyond patient - you were the most loving person I think I have ever met, be it for your friends, your family, or your godawful collection of music. You loved with an intensity I've never seen before or since, and I am only just now realising how beautiful a thing that is. Us as a couple was never going to last, and I didn't understand why that didn't matter to you. But I think I get it now James, at least a little bit.
You said you wanted to make people's lives better, and you absolutely did that for me, for a time. Your room was somewhere I felt I could hide from everything, where I was safe, and could sleep soundly. Your arms were warm, and your eyes so expressive and gentle. It breaks my heart all over again to remember the way you cupped my face, and would look at me like I was as beautiful as the Mona Lisa, echoing her enigmatic half smile yourself.
If I never got to tell you anything else, I wish so much it hurts that I could have gotten past my own fear and self conciousness and pride to just tell you that much - you made my life better, and I am glad that I met you, and that we shared what we shared.
When we broke up, you wrote this to me.
"If things continue like this then we won't be friends. And eventually you'll regret that. But regret usually comes when it is too late."
I thought you were an arrogant, self important git for telling me this. But you were right. And you know what kills me? I knew you were right a long time ago. I just never told you. And that is what I regret the most - letting our friendship go was a petulant, stupid thing. But not telling you that what we had meant so much to me, that it meant ANYTHING to me, is the thing that has kept me awake nights. Other people might not have cared to hear what a past relationship meant to someone - a lot of people find it awkward or painful or unpleasant. But I know you would have appreciated it. It's all you ever wanted from me, to know that you had helped. And I couldn't even give you that. And now I'll never be able to.
When I put that flower on your coffin, all I could think was, "I'm sorry."
"I remember vividly, right now, the feel of your head under my chin
and your hair against my neck, and the small trembling of your body.
Things like these I never forget and never regret, no matter what else
happens.
james"
It's taken me until today to process that you're really gone, and even now it still seems distant, unreal.
We haven't been close in a long time, and I'd pushed a lot of my memories of you aside. They belonged to my past, a place I edit quite heavily, taking only what I think is useful, or would make for a good story. At first this distance made me feel like I didn't have the right to mourn you - there are others who I know feel your loss much more keenly, in a much more visceral way. People who saw you the day before, earlier that day. People who were still in your life, who had kept you close and treasured your love like the gift it was. But as you tried to teach me years ago, the heart will out.
I read what you wrote about all loving moments being worth treasuring, whether they last a moment or a lifetime, and when it was read out today at the funeral, I think it finally clicked that the worst thing I could do is forget you, erase what happened between us. And you know, I couldn't, even though I tried. I've talked about you for years like it was no big deal, nothing serious, but when I heard the news I cried, and have cried so much since. It was a long time ago, and it wasn't for long, but you touched my soul in a way I've always been afraid to talk about with anyone. It was too strange, too confusing, and so I tried to forget.
You asked to be remembered, but there was really no need. How could we forget? You were strange, and I sometimes found that strangeness hurtful or frightening, so I ran away and tried to cover my tracks with nonchelance. But you were also so, so beautiful. So kind, and beyond patient - you were the most loving person I think I have ever met, be it for your friends, your family, or your godawful collection of music. You loved with an intensity I've never seen before or since, and I am only just now realising how beautiful a thing that is. Us as a couple was never going to last, and I didn't understand why that didn't matter to you. But I think I get it now James, at least a little bit.
You said you wanted to make people's lives better, and you absolutely did that for me, for a time. Your room was somewhere I felt I could hide from everything, where I was safe, and could sleep soundly. Your arms were warm, and your eyes so expressive and gentle. It breaks my heart all over again to remember the way you cupped my face, and would look at me like I was as beautiful as the Mona Lisa, echoing her enigmatic half smile yourself.
If I never got to tell you anything else, I wish so much it hurts that I could have gotten past my own fear and self conciousness and pride to just tell you that much - you made my life better, and I am glad that I met you, and that we shared what we shared.
When we broke up, you wrote this to me.
"If things continue like this then we won't be friends. And eventually you'll regret that. But regret usually comes when it is too late."
I thought you were an arrogant, self important git for telling me this. But you were right. And you know what kills me? I knew you were right a long time ago. I just never told you. And that is what I regret the most - letting our friendship go was a petulant, stupid thing. But not telling you that what we had meant so much to me, that it meant ANYTHING to me, is the thing that has kept me awake nights. Other people might not have cared to hear what a past relationship meant to someone - a lot of people find it awkward or painful or unpleasant. But I know you would have appreciated it. It's all you ever wanted from me, to know that you had helped. And I couldn't even give you that. And now I'll never be able to.
When I put that flower on your coffin, all I could think was, "I'm sorry."
"I remember vividly, right now, the feel of your head under my chin
and your hair against my neck, and the small trembling of your body.
Things like these I never forget and never regret, no matter what else
happens.
james"