by Tessa Lynne
Have you been close tonight? Earlier today, I felt you near and then, abruptly, you were gone. I reached out to find you—into a black void. Where are you? Is something wrong? I have no way of knowing. I hate this.
My God, what have I done? Please forgive me. I was going to tear up my letter, but it was gone when I woke up. I am so sorry. I had not intended for you to bear the brunt of my unwarranted outburst. I have read your letter again and can see now that I jumped to the wrong conclusion. When you wrote that someone else was with you, a red warning light flashed on—it was all I could see. If it is times and details you want, I will supply them. I will never be jealous again or take an accusing tone with you. I won’t say we will never fight because I hope we do, if only so we can relish making up. I will understand if you are upset. I love you so much.
Michael, I would rather fight with you than make love to any other man. Does that reassure you? Just these few words during a short break after seeing four clients, then back to see three more this afternoon. I will write more tonight.
To feel you close again completes me. I had already read your fervent letter last night; it did not prevent my reaching out to you. In fact, I welcome seeing another side of you. Could we have sustained that initial intensity for months? Our awe and rapt acceptance have given way to questioning as our minds struggle to integrate the new with the old and achieve a state of equilibrium.
My love, it is when you have been so very real to me that I am most susceptible to the slightest indication that I could be wrong. Could I have given myself, body and soul, to a phantom lover? An out-of-sync contact puts my rational mind on high alert. If my letters were to appear from nowhere, or if Amelia spoke to me through someone I had known in a different context, it would be easier. I envy you, that you have had that validation.
About our experience—this entire situation calls for a suspension of disbelief. We have had to accept much that does not fit reality as we understood it. My acceptance, like yours, is none too constant. I turned up my furnace today and watched the indicator as it vibrated back and forth across hardly any distance. When my belief wavers, it is to that same degree. It is not a swing to disbelief, just a brief shuddering off of center—enough to believe I am feeling the first faint tremors of a major earthquake.
It is how your letters are delivered to me—I see each one with-drawn from the depths of Sally’s capacious bag—and how Zachary and Amelia appear to me through her, that raises questions. Disturbing images pop up in my head of Sally writing the letters; they cannot be erased.
In addition to her alter personalities, several fantasy characters developed when Sally was a young teen, when she would so thoroughly escape into books that a part of her would take on a character from a story. Two of them came forward to speak to me about three years ago and have since faded into oblivion. They were not subversive or manipulative characters, quite the contrary, but their very existence leads me to consider whether a hidden part of her might have masterminded a complex plot. That is not a logical conclusion, for Sally has steadily moved toward integration. For a part of her to now act out would be incongruent with that trajectory and inconsistent with the nature of any of the personalities. They each have, in addition to distinctive personal traits, unique talents or skills that they are eager to contribute to Sally’s daily life.
Ethan was taken to the hospital sometime in the night. I know he won’t be coming back, and it weighs heavy on my mind. Darling, I wish I could be bright and cheerful all of the time, be witty and charming so you do not lose interest. I will change the subject.
I have meant to tell you more about my marriage. I was in L. A., fresh out of the army, young and dumb, had a pocket full of money and the world by the tail. Two months after we met, she said she was pregnant. I did what I thought was right and married her, and then four days after that she claimed she had miscarried. Later, she resented having to care of Vince. I stayed in the marriage for his sake, certain there would be an ugly custody battle I might not win, and I would not be there to protect him. This may sound terribly noble, but I had a few affairs (not something I am proud of).
Sweetness, you are so very close this morning. I have tried to get word of Ethan, but no one knows anything—Vince is here.
My sweet love, Amelia has told me of Ethan’s death, and my heart goes out to you in your grief. I know that he had become dear to you and that you have been a comfort to him. I asked Amelia if Ethan’s spirit was meant to return at this time. “Yes, he was. The lessons he had chosen for this lifetime were to be accomplished in his brief sojourn here, including his illness. His spirit knew this, and his parents’ spirits were aware that a lesson of this nature would be present in their lifetimes.”
Michael, I know these words will do little to ease your sorrow. I want to be there with you, where I belong. Come to me, when you are able, and I will hold you close.
My darling, I felt your comforting arms throughout the night. Ethan’s death hit me hard—they called Vince to be here when they told me. I knew the minute he walked in. Your kind words, and what Amelia told me about Ethan’s spirit, have helped me to a greater acceptance of his death. I love you, ma Cherie. Come to me, that I may be replenished.
Amelia will have brought you my letter and her own words of explanation and comfort. Writing is my way to be there at your side. I want to share some memories of my father’s death. I always felt close to him—no heart-to-heart talks or obvious shows of affection, but smiles, kind words and caring looks, a helping hand. We were seldom alone together, but when he drove me to dental appointments, two hours away, I was often aware of a palpable energy between us. At age five, sitting with him in church, my mother at home with two little ones, my older brothers sitting with friends, that same energy was there. It is my earliest memory of spiritual awareness.
He had a history of heart disease, but it was unexpected when he died of a final heart attack after spending a full day on horseback. I was out of town at a conference and learned on a pay phone, my keening scream heard by everyone there. I felt the loss of more than a parent, cried all that night. Expecting a return of full grief at his funeral, I was surprised at how peaceful I felt. It was a perfect day in late May—the sun shining, birds singing, lilac blossoms scenting the air at the old country church. I was surrounded by the energies that have recently become more familiar. Though I keenly felt his loss, when aligned with those energies I understood much of what has recently been made known to me.
Kenna and Callie were five then. A few months later, they came running to tell me there was a man in a yellow raincoat standing outside. I immediately went to check but saw no one there. This was repeated several times in the next year or so. Last night, when I asked them about it, their memories matched—they saw a vaguely human form that appeared yellow to them. A raincoat was the closest image they had to describe it. My father’s spirit has confirmed to Amelia that he had been watching over us.
I want to keep writing, to draw you near. The girls were very close, often holding hands. It was hard for them to see themselves as separate. I think they had just turned four when I asked them how many would be at a birthday party. One of them counted on her fingers, “Abby, Molly, Jessica, and us. Four!” Her sister arrived at the same result, both of them beaming with pride at their counting skills.
My love, someday I will show you the parks where we played, the sandy beaches; the tall slide we would pile fall leaves under and they would slide onto them again and again; the back roads we took on late summer nights when the moon would follow us home; and where we would walk in the fog along the river and they would run just far enough ahead to feel lost, then come running back to me, scared but thrilled. I picture us all sitting down together as we tell you our stories, making you a part of them. You will tell us stories of Vince and his dad—somewhere a soul will watch and know that he was right to wait.
15. What Have I Done?
11/12 – 11/14
You will not believe w
ho was just here. I thought it was Ethan’s mother until she said, “Hello Michael, I am Amelia. Please save your questions for another time. I wish to speak to you about Ethan. He, too, has a soul mate and they are now reunited.”
As she was leaving, I asked if I could have just one question. I asked if you were real. “Teresa is a lovely young woman who is as much flesh and blood as you are.” God, I am so happy, so blissfully happy. I must get this to you as soon as possible. I will love you to-night as I have never loved you.
Ma Cherie, I know we have not known each other for long, and the intensity of this relationship defies human understanding, but I can hold back no longer. If I can achieve remission—and the powers that be grant our wish to be together—will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I hope I am not being premature. Please don’t tell me “no” right away. I will give you all the time you need. I would much rather do this in person—properly, romantically, with all of the hearts and flowers you deserve. For all eternity, Michael
Les matins avec vous, c’est magnifique. I do love the mornings with you, Michael. We must have left some smoldering embers last night, needing only our first breath of the morning to rekindle the flames. I long for the day we can linger in each other’s arms, skin against skin, until we have fully absorbed the physical essence that is now so real to us yet so tantalizingly incomplete, just beyond our grasp.
I had a glimpse in a dream of a younger you, from the time we were in college and you were tending bar at the Blue Goose. I was there about twice a month for a year or two. Can you believe our destiny depended on me going up to get my own drinks? We must have been there at the same time more than once, but I never sat at the bar. If only I had listened then, to my heart, and remained unattached long enough for our paths to cross.
The younger you in my dream had long hair, so I couldn’t make out your features, but I noticed some pictures in a catalog that fit my vague memory of you. Amelia identified one as being most similar, the one I had picked myself. She said a young, handsome guy could be Vince.
My proposal is on its way to you. I will write of other things. Vince was the cutest little guy, but we had to dress him in macho boy clothes or everyone thought he was a girl. There was a park nearby where we would go to “fing.” He was the apple of my mother’s eye and her only grandchild. He excelled in school, and he played football and basketball well enough to make his old man proud.
I have tried to write, but for the first time I struggle with the words. I feel scared and sick at heart. I shouldn’t have asked you. I had no right. Tears cloud my eyes to the point I can’t see. I so anxiously await your answer that it has driven me a little crazy. I wish Amelia would come again. I am starting to look at everyone who enters my room in a most peculiar way, hoping it is her. Vince is starting to suspect something is going on. I want him to know you, but I worry that he won’t believe me and will think I need a psych referral.
Dear heart, beloved of my soul. Did you open the small card first? One word was all I needed to answer you. I did not need to wait. I did not need to think about it. We have yet to make endless discoveries of each other, but what we know now is enough. I am not one who depends on hearts and flowers. What you have written from your heart means more to me than all the flowers you could buy—but you could pick for me a wild rose. Michael, I am yours.
My love, do you sense my joy? You have made me the happiest man alive, so ecstatically alive. I want you now! You have given my heart wings, with which I will fly to your waiting arms.
Darling, when we meet I will propose properly. You may not need hearts and flowers, but you will indulge me. We will write our own vows, say what is in our hearts in a small, intimate ceremony, with our children, families, and close friends in attendance.
I have just spent the most peaceful, contented time with you, sealing our betrothal. Our hearts, our souls, our minds were in perfect uni-son as you wrapped me in your arms in a mutual sharing of all that we have to offer each other. I will indulge you, Michael? Yes, I will.
You wrote that we will write our own vows, but I don’t think we will need any words. We will simply look into each other’s eyes and silently express all that passes between us now. The intensity and depth of our love will radiate out to include all who are gathered there with us.
Dear heart, I too want to shout it to the world. Vince will be the first to know when the time is right. I want to be free of the pain medication and some other drugs first and out of the hospice so I will sound more credible. They are here to start a new needle.
The scent you notice must be my aftershave. I often write soon after using it. I can’t stop writing to you. I feel you so near that I am sure you must know what is in my heart before I put my pen to paper. Come to me—we will love as if tomorrow will never come.
I have arranged the last garden flowers of the season, baby white mums tinged with deep purple. I have lit some vanilla and spice candles and have poured myself a glass of a velvety red wine. The glow of the candlelight brings out the richness of my old oak table and the hardwood floors, a reflection of how your presence will enhance and enrich every moment of my life.
I have had a busy two days, no time to write of what I put myself through yesterday. I did resolve it, later in the day, so have debated whether to tell you, but it was so distressing that I don’t want to keep it from you. I will tell you in the morning.
Michael, this past hour spent in your arms has brought back the awe and wonder of our first weeks together, your presence so strong I could close my eyes and believe you were here with me. Instead, I will take you back to my torment of two days ago: I walk with you on the island, suffused with joy, secure in our reality and in the promise of our future. I arrive home to find an alumni booklet in the mail. I notice it lists all graduates by decade and I tear it open, ripping the thin paper. I have to search for the name of my beloved in print, to see it and know that he is mine. Only one decade makes sense. I scan every year, go back to check each one again, name by name—yours is not among them. As I expand my search, I feel increasingly sick. The impact of seeing in black and white, or rather, of not seeing it, leaves me reeling.
Unable to think, to process the absence of your name, what it could mean, I sit unmoving, frozen. Fear sets in as my mind conjures a storm of dark possibilities. Could it be that there has never been a man named Michael? The implications are staggering. I am filled with dread, a leaden force that holds me in my chair. My heart is heavy, leaving my mind free to run rampant and weave its web of fear and deceit. It is an hour or two before I can weigh my fears against what I know to be true and realize there could be a logical explanation.
I do not seek connection with my spirit to confirm the truth I have known. I want to consult an outside source—the most powerful one of my experience. I feel some qualms, think it sheer audacity to try, but I reach out to Eli in the same way that I reach out to you. Is it even possible? You are here in the physical realm; he is not. I draw from the depths of my being and soften my heart until my mind is clear and can join in the effort. It takes longer, but I trust in the power that Eli himself proclaimed to us. After a time, I have a strong affirming sense of the presence we felt the night he visited us. I reach out to you and feel your love surround me.
As I write to you now, it is with that direct link that defies all doubt, but I cannot stay. I need to leave for the office, an early appointment with Sally, maybe a letter from you.
Michael—what have I done? Our letters will stop as of today. Did my brief doubts cause this? It is Zachary who told me, and he said Amelia was telling you at the same time. When I returned home, we cried in each other’s arms, clung to each other, and then communicated our determination to fight.
Hope and heartbreak exist equally within me. I am going to take a short walk, an act of faith that we will someday walk those paths together. Then I will need to focus on clients again for a few hours, create some semblance of normalcy, even while I am crying inside. Amelia
said she will return briefly at the end of my work day.
Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well? I feel you still. Yes, you are difficult to awaken. I still think you were faking it. Amelia is here.
I can’t believe they are doing this to us. I thought they were here to help us. This is supposed to be some sort of a test, but I don’t understand it. Why do they bring us together only to tear us apart? Amelia is waiting for me to write this note, but she doesn’t even know if it can be delivered.
How do I say goodbye? I can’t. I won’t. Have faith, my love. I will write every day as though there were no separation. I love you. No matter what happens, I will be with you, forever and always.
Michael, can you forgive my doubts? Amelia put them in perspective for me. “You were successful in your effort to reach out to Eli. He knows of your search for the truth and that you held on to your belief in Michael and to the reality of your experience with us. Other factors had much more to do with the decision of the Council. A review was inevitable considering the course of events since they first granted permission for you and Michael to correspond.”
My love, as remission becomes a possibility for you, the Council realizes that, if we were to meet, it would touch many lives. We have thrown a stone into the pond of life—the ripples will be far reaching. They will determine if it is in our best interests, and in the best interests of others, for our contact to continue. They will even research the effects on several generations to come. Yes, this separation will serve as a test for us, but that is not its primary purpose.
Do you wonder how I could have said I would marry you and then doubt your very existence two days later? I was absolutely certain as I walked with you the other day, happy and secure in our love. It is not the first time I have been most vulnerable after I have given my entire life to you. Our experience has been so far outside of the norm that the solid black and white reality of a printed booklet left me catapulting between two poles—the magnetic force field was shifting and I was along for the ride.
