Page 147 of Eleanor & Grey

“So she was just a friend?”

I brushed my hand against the back of my neck. “No. Not exactly.”

“You’re confusing me,” she said, arching her eyebrow.

“I know. It’s just hard to explain what exactly we were. She was her, I was me, and we were us. There was no label for it. We were just two people helping each other breathe.”

She nodded slowing, walking to the room. She sat in the chair across from me. “That’s what she said, too.”

“What do you mean, that’s what she said?”

“Um, I wanted you to read this.” She lay the envelope down on my desk. “It’s from Eleanor. She wrote it to me the night she left and slipped it under my door. I didn’t read it until last night, and I think you should read it, too.”

She sat back in her chair, patiently waiting as I opened the envelope. Inside was a letter and photograph that I couldn’t take my eyes away from.

It was Eleanor and me, the night of the homecoming dance. We both looked so young and completely unaware of where our lives would take us. We were so happy, so free.

“That was an ugly suit,” Karla mentioned, making me snicker.

“Yeah, well, back in my day, it was pretty dope.”

She groaned. “Dad, people don’t say dope anymore.”

“What are we saying nowadays? Fly? Hip? Happenin’? Groovy?” I mocked.

She rolled her eyes. “Just read the letter already.”

I placed the picture down and unfolded the sheet of paper. As my eyes darted across the page, I was reminded of every single thing I loved about Eleanor Gable.

Karla,

I feel like there are not enough words in the universe for me to express how sorry I am for how everything unfolded, but I am going to try my best to do exactly that. I guess the best way to approach this is to go back to the beginning.

I was in high school when I lost my mother to cancer. I was young, lost, and broken. That was exactly when your father came into my life. He showed up during my darkest days and brought me his light.

He knew of my hurting, and he called my scars beautiful.

He was my first love, but it wasn’t simply a romantic thing. He wasn’t even my boyfriend, and I could count on two fingers the number of times we kissed in our youth.

He was just him, I was me, and we were us.

Your father saved me. Without him, I’m certain I would’ve drowned.

Losing a mother is a unique kind of loss.

A mother understands your heartbeats when you cannot even interpret their sounds. They see you as magnificent even when you feel like you’re so unworthy of love. They calm the doubts that wreak havoc on your soul. They show you what unconditional love is from the day you take your first breath.

Sometimes it feels like they know you better than you’ll ever know yourself, and then, one day, they are gone.

You feel cheated. Cheated on the things that they haven’t yet taught. Cheated on the lessons you still needed to learn. Cheated out of laughter, and smiles, and comfort, and love.

But what I’ve learned with time is that my mother is still around me. I see her in everything. Whenever there is beauty, that is where my mother exists.

I know she’s never gone, no matter what reality tries to tell me, because my heart is crafted from her love, and as long as it beats, she lives on.

So, that heart of yours? The one you think is damaged and bruised and unworthy of existing? That heart is perfect, and it cannot wait to show you how much love is waiting for you in this world. And whenever you need that reminder, place your hands over your chest, and feel your mother’s love in every single beat.

You’re going to be okay, Karla.

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