ENTRY 11
TO MY BELOVED
'My beloved is mine and I am his…'
The familiar bold script blurs. I sit in my tidy home, an untidy lump on the white sofa we fought over fifteen years ago. He was for; I was against. 'It will stain.'
He won, but I was right. A red sherpa throw covers a pizza stain after an arduous watching of the Super Bowl one year. No amount of stain removal helped.
'It's just a couch', he said. 'It's not important.'
Sitting here all these years later, I realize he was right about that and so many other things. A rustic wooden box lays opened in front of me, its contents spilled over the glass coffee table. Cards and letters from our relationship starting from the first date to just this past Christmas. I saved them all. At first it was to commemorate our courtship but then it became about reminding us both that we loved each other when times were good. Through marriage, children and grandchildren. And when times were hard. Through job transfers, unemployment and the loss of our son Jacob.
I rescue an errant card from the ring of condensation leaking from the bottom of my glass. More blurring and my rubbing it to help isn't helping so I stop and toss it in the box.
This isn't doing me any good. I need to get up and do something. Shower definitely. My hygiene has slipped over the last couple of months even though Rose or Alice take shifts in coming over and making sure I eat and dress. I oblige for I don't want them to worry about me. They have their own lives and the trials and tribulations that come with it. Marriages, mortgages and my many grandchildren. Seven to be exact. They come on the weekends and I thrive under their attention, their hugs and laughter giving me a surge of energy. Then Sunday night comes and I'm alone once again.
I slowly begin to pack away the box until the time when I get it out again. Could be tomorrow, next week or next month. They say grief comes in waves but not for me. I'm drowning in it.
I'm almost done when the doorbell rings. A look at the grandfather clock tells me it's too early to be one of the girls. I make my way slowly to my front door. I'm confused when I open it for I didn't expect the flower delivery boy. In his hands is a huge vase of flowers, almost ostentatious in its appearance. When I don't move to take them, he stutters out 'Mrs. Bella Cullen?'
I shake myself out of my stupor. 'Yes.' I awkwardly take his offering and then he's gone. I look at the flowers then around my home. I decide to put them on the coffee table and I sit, just looking at them.
I realize they must be from the girls and their families for that seems like something they would do on this first Valentine's Day without Edward. I smile fondly and reach for the card.
But it's not Alice's loopy signature nor Rose's tiny scrawl. It's not even the generic handwriting of the staff but rather Edward's familiar bold script.
'My Dearest Bella,
I know how hard these last few weeks must have been for you but know it was harder for me to leave you. How I wanted to stay and revel in your scent, your smile and your unwavering love but it was my time. It's okay to be sad but promise me you won't be sad for long. You have to live for both of us now. Know I'll always love you and I'll check in from time to time.
Look after my heart for I've left it with you.
Until we meet again, you remain,
My beloved.
Edward'
I gasp out a sob. 'I miss you so much.'
A warmth runs through me and I still, reveling in it. I can almost smell his cologne.
I look again at the card and smile.
'I'll live for both of us, I promise.'
Then I put the card in our box, breathe in the air once more and get up.
Then I go take a shower.
You can find the image that goes with this entry in our FB group "A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words" and on our Insta page "Instagram dot com slash twilightimagecontest"
Please leave the creator some love.
