Dear Julia,
You don't know me. Or maybe you do, I'm not entirely sure how this "other side" stuff works, or if it even exists, but I believe that it does, so I'll believe that you can read this. We visited you today. I almost forgot what today was, but of course Eli wouldn't. He never will. When he asked me to come with him to the cemetery, I was skeptical, but I couldn't let him relive this day alone. It was… long. That's the only way I can put it. It was silent and nostalgic, even if I never personally knew you, and there was a lot of crying on his part before he announced that he was ready to leave.
I finally got him to sleep. Truth be told, I didn't do much, though; he swears up and down that my presence was enough, but he had to cry himself out in order for sleep to come. I won't argue that he's hurting more; I know that with everything in me as much as I wish things were different. I can't fathom what he's feeling today, and while I consider myself blessed that I've never known that exact pain, I have no idea what to do or say that could lessen that burden in even the most miniscule of ways.
I find myself wondering sometimes, guiltily so, if it'll ever be okay for him. Of course I know that he deserves to be happier… happy at all, but he's been through Hell and back, gotten the t-shirt and his past is still sending postcards, and eventually enough has got to be enough. Perhaps I'm biased for wanting good things for the person I fell in love with, but even in the roughest turbulence, he's far too kind a soul to be saddled with such turmoil. I'm sure you agree.
A year ago, he was a troubled boy, dealing with his issues by begetting vengeance and schemes, never worried about the inevitable consequences until they backfired in his face and left scabs. Did he do that when he was with you, too? It was never just himself that he hurt; he'd taken down a number of people in his climb to whatever top he thought he was aiming for, I being one of the most commonly strung along whether he saw it or not. Now, mere months later, he's shown who he always had the potential to be beneath the dense layers of disaster and walls, the man that perhaps he never even knew was growing up so beautifully. Maybe he surprised himself, too.
Maybe it was good for him to suffer. That sounds so strange out loud, but isn't it true that damaged people are dangerous because they know they can survive? That there are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth? Of course he isn't a danger, I have the utmost faith in him, and complete certainty that he would never lay a hand on me in that way, and that the risk he placed upon himself that night was a desperate and one time measure that I'll never let him need to make again as long as I live. But the heartache and destruction and hopelessness has surely molded him into the man he is today, and though the journey was laced with indescribable pain, I have no choice but to be grateful for it, for him for being so healthy now.
Regardless of his recovery, it was horrifying to see him like this. The episode was not the first I'd seen from him, and despite the faith that I love that he has in himself, I'm sure it won't be the last. I'll learn to handle them with time. Even if I had a choice not to, I would choose that knowledge. He's been and continues to be my rock, and I want to be able to return that blessing when I can.
But no matter what, I'm blessed to have him at all. Lucky, honored, whatever adjectives you could conjure, I'm just that. Sometimes it's scary how much I love that boy, and it's scarier knowing how little he loves himself sometimes. But I have forever and always to change that, and I have no intention to rest until I have.
For someone with so much pain, he's the most peaceful sleeper I've ever seen.
I hope you're happy wherever you are, whatever you're doing. He misses you a lot, you know. Thanks for making him happy.
Clare.