A Lover's Lament(33)

The soft glow of the sun peeks out over the horizon and I push Mac faster. I’ve been making this ten-minute trek to the edge of my parents’ property nearly every morning since being cleared by the doctor, because it’s the only place I seem to find solace. As a child, my dad would bring me out here to watch the sun rise, as a teenager, Devin and I claimed it as ‘our spot,’ and as an adult, I come here to drown in the memories of the two of them.

Mac slows to a trot when we hit the clearing, and I know we’ve made it in time. I tug on the reins and we come to stop at our usual spot next to an old oak tree that sits several feet from the edge of the creek. Orange and red hues kiss the earth, and it’s in this brief moment, when everything is neither dark nor light, that my anger and sadness seem to fall away. Everything around me is quiet, and I tilt my head up to the sky, close my eyes, and breathe in the crisp morning air. The fresh rays of sunlight should hold promises of a new day, but for me they’ve been a reminder of what I’ve lost—until today. Something inside of me has changed. I can’t pinpoint it exactly, but there’s a tiny sliver of hope that wasn’t there before.

My face warms as the minutes tick by, and only when I’m certain that the sun has risen do I open my eyes. Twisting, I slide off Mac, walk to the oak tree and plop down. That damn letter has been burning a hole in my bag since I ran out of the house, so I waste no time pulling it out. Unable to wait a second longer, I slide my finger under the lip of the envelope, rip it open and pull the letter out. Tiny smudges of dirt are scattered around the edges of the stark white paper, and I immediately picture Devin sitting down after a long day of work, trying to decide how to reply to his best friend-turned-lover-turned … nothing. My stomach churns at the thought of what he could have written, and for a split second I wonder if I’m better off not reading it at all.

Will his words give me peace? Did he decide to come clean about what happened, or did he simply write to finally tell me goodbye? I don’t want to care, but that last thought doesn’t sit well with me.

Screw it, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter what he wrote. His words won’t change a thing. Because when it comes right down to it, he still left, my dad is still gone and no words or misplaced apologies are going to fix either of those things. And with that last little pep talk—depressing as it may be—my trembling hands unfold the letter.



Dear Katie,

Wow, well my skin is still buzzing! When I saw your name on the envelope, I just about had a stroke. In fact, I think I reread those two words about a hundred times just to make sure it was really you. The address isn’t the same—I’ll take that as a good sign, although your old address will be etched in my memory for life.

So you found me through the pen pal program, huh? And through a therapist, no less. The world truly does work in mysterious ways. I’ve thought about you often over the years and always hoped you were doing well. And as mad as you may be at me, hearing from you is one of the best things to happen to me in a long time, which I guess is pretty stupid to say considering how things ended. But you have to believe me, Katie, I never wanted things to be that way. You know I loved you. Those moments we spent together are the best memories I have. You don’t even know how many tough times those memories have gotten me through. We were inseparable, you and I … partners in crime. I don’t want you to think I take that lightly.

I had my reasons for leaving, reasons that are probably best left unsaid. I wouldn’t expect you to even begin to understand what was running through my head at the time. You know what I was going through back then, and at the time we were just two people in two very different places. But I digress … that is not what I wanted this letter to focus on at all.

I’m so incredibly sorry to hear about your father, and I can’t imagine the pain you must be going through. I know how close you two were, and just reading your words makes me ache so much for you, Katie. I’m just so very sorry.

How is your mom handling everything? And Bailey?

You know my pops walked out on us when I was just a kid and how devastated I was when he disappeared. I’m not trying to compare my situation to yours, not by a long shot. I only mean to say that after going through what I did with all of that, struggling with it like I did but still knowing he was alive and well at least, I can’t even begin to understand how you feel right now. I want you to know that, no matter what happened in the past, I will always be here for you. If you ever need to talk, or vent, or just rip into someone, I’m here. I even have email. You could totally bitch me out on there anytime you want!

God, so the man that hit you was a soldier? I wish I could say I’m surprised, but there is an abundance of substance abuse in the military. There are a lot of people numbing themselves, and I can’t say that I blame them. When we lose people day in and day out, watch our friends die, and take lives that we don’t want to take, how else are we supposed to cope? I’ve lost so many friends over here that I’m beginning to lose count. Just three months ago, my best friend was one of them. Jax bled out in my arms. He was a polite Mormon boy from Utah without a hateful bone in his body.

So to answer your question, are we all monsters? No, we’re not. We are fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons. We are dreamers, lovers, and God-fearing men. Are some of us monsters? Yeah, we are. Some of these soldiers kill with a thirst, and others can gun a man down and not even think twice about it. Unfortunately, there are some who wear the uniform that do not live within the code of ethics our uniforms represent. But the majority of us are just like you … people dealing with something so traumatic, so heartbreaking, and so horrific that the heart never quite learns to mend. Many of us, including myself at times, have learned to patch together the broken pieces of our hearts using whatever means necessary—and yes, that sometimes results in harm inflicted upon ourselves and others.