Page 11 of Letters of Faith
“I’m as okay as I can be. I needed to be here today. I’m going to visit him after work.”
He nods, still studying me.
“Do you want company?”
Guilt prickles my stomach because I know he misses Nate too, but I need a minute alone with my husband.
“I kind of need to do this alone. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course, it’s okay. You don’t have to ask for my permission.”
Shrugging, I say, “I know, but I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful for everything you’ve done for me this year.”
A rumble emanates from his chest. He takes one long stride forward, and then he’s spinning my chair so I’m facing him. Kneeling in front of me, he rests his calloused hands against my legs, the heat searing through my dress pants and making it a little hard to focus.
“Georgia, never—and I do mean never—feel bad for taking the things you need, not with me.”
My eyes track his as he studies my face, waiting for what he said to sink in. There’s a thundering in my ears that I don’t understand. I wheel my chair back so I’m just out of reach, putting space between us so I can think. Lately, my emotions are a jumbled mess when I’m around Grayson. When he’s around, my heart doesn’t hurt as much, and then when he’s gone, guilt eats at the pit of my stomach because those fleeting moments when it doesn’t hurt feel like a betrayal to Nate.
“Thanks, Gray. You’re a good friend,” I say, a reminder to myself of the roles we play in each other’s lives.
The corner of his lip tips up. It’s not a smile but an acquisition—anacceptance of what I’m not sure. Then he’s standing and backing away. When he reaches his door, he pauses one last time before shaking his head and disappearing into his office.
______________________
The drive from Grayson’s office to the cemetery takes fifteen minutes, but today, it might as well take hours. I usually come out here every Saturday to refresh the flowers and sit awhile, but today hurts a little more than all the others.
Maybe it’s self-induced guilt because I haven’t stuck to the promises I made Nate—or perhaps it’s because I can’t quit picturing how Grayson looked betrayed, just for a moment, when I told him I needed to come here alone.
The panic attacks have slowed down. The doctors prescribed me medication after Nate died. Things got dark for a while, but then Grayson stepped in and made me go to the doctor. The medicine helps, but sometimes, when I’m stressed, like today, that feeling of hopelessness starts to creep in, causing anxiety to weigh on my chest. I’ve come to accept that some days will be better than others.
Pulling the keys from my ignition, I grab the flowers from my seat. Nate would think they are girly. He’d want me to bring something more manly—like rocks or sticks, but the groundskeepers would throw a fit. So—flowers it is.
Nate’s plot is halfway down a long row, and while I walk, I work on the breathing technique my therapist taught me.
One breath in—four seconds.
Hold—seven seconds.
Breathe out—eight seconds.
I repeat the process until my heart rate starts to slow, and then I’m standing in front of Nate’s grave.
Falling to my knees, I remove the flowers from last week and replace them with new ones.
“Hi, Nate. Long time no see.”
The dark humor slips out before I can stop it, and I look around to make sure no one is around. It’s how I cope, but if anyone heard it, they would think I’m more unhinged than they already do.
“Sorry, I know you’re probably rolling your eyes right now at that lame attempt at a joke. I just—I miss you, that’s all.”
The breeze blows through my hair, and I imagine that’s Nate’s way of responding to me—telling me he’s here, listening. The cold air fills my lungs, and I breathe it in, savoring the smell of the start of winter. It reminds me that I’m still alive—still here breathing, even if that’s felt impossible most days.
The first few times I came out here, I sat in silence, unsure of what I was supposed to be doing. Then, when I started to go to therapy, she suggested that I talk to Nate. I thought she was crazy at first, but strangely, it wasn’t as hard as I thought. Now I come out here and tell him about my life—the good and bad—and in a way, it’s like he still gets to be a part of it.
“I wonder if you would be disappointed in me? I haven’t lived up to my promises. I’m sorry for that. It’s harder than I thought. Don’t get me wrong—I knew I would miss you, but sometimes it’s almost debilitating.”
While the panic attacks have subsided, I don’t know how to live my life without Nate. There have been days when Grayson’s found me still in bed with the lights off at five in the afternoon and others when I forget to eat. Something needs to change—I know it needs to change, but I don’t know how to break out of this rut.
