Love Letters to Anne

Darkness sought to have me, The Void licking her lips,

But I only went for a little while because the light wouldn’t let go of me…

Like a spider I was tethered.

I know the emptiness you feel, the longing to be whole,

I know the bitterness you taste in everything.

Let us lay our burdens down, and walk together hand in hand, healed, whole.

How could I not have sought you? How could I not have found my way home?

I’ve been wondering my whole life if it’s only you who could love me…

Are we not connected by the terrible Emptiness?

Will we always be slaves to some unknown chaos?

This is what I was writing that night. The long, terrible night of uncertainty. I began writing to her, and started a blog to contain all my thoughts on this situation. I didn’t know where it would lead me, I didn’t know where it would lead us. But I began to pour out my hidden emotions from my secret place.

I was 50 years old. And I had finally found her. 50 years of joy and heartbreaks, 50 years of terrible, wonderful things. All without the guidance you need. I had made it up as I went. And for all the restarts, and failures, I had found her.

My mind was racing. I have lived a full life. Was the life I lived good enough? What would she think of me? What would she think of the outrageous and incredible life I have lived? At my core, beneath the anxiety, I searched myself and found I was grateful. Grateful for the life given to me. I had to tell her this. If nothing else, this would be said.

I had so many questions. I had so much to tell her. Whatever came next, if the same Fate that had fulfilled my Destiny was any indication, whatever came next would be exciting or terrifying. But ultimately, I’m an optimist, so I just chose to believe in all that could go right. But first, I had to make it through the night.

It would turn out to be exciting. But I will tell of that later.

I reasoned with myself, surely she felt what I felt, yes? That emptiness and the pain it causes. That same longing to find completeness in the thing we were denied...but what if she didn't? I fought to control myself and the emotions that churned within me. I just didn't know, and it really was a 50/50 chance either way.

I had traveled far, and had many adventures, and misadventures for that matter, searched everywhere I had been and found nothing, no trace, and finally when I found her, she was back in the city of my birth. That’s about all I knew.

After going through the databases and archives, ultimately, it was my blood that led me to her. The answer was in you all along, child. Everything I have been, good or bad, was from this one event, the one scar, the one wound that made all the others, all the damage I felt and all the damage I had caused in my journey, now potentially could be healed. I wanted it so badly. I was desperate and terrified. But this was my mission and it was going to be completed. Everything I had done, led me here to this moment. I paused and exhaled.

What if she needed me? What if she missed me like I had missed her? What if circumstances beyond our control tore us apart and now the universe was bringing us back together? What if she bore the matching scars I wore? What if we could heal each other?

What if she really loved me all along?

This is why I jumped. This is why I went forward. If she didn’t feel the same, well, I guess I could accept that, but it would remain to be seen. There was a chance, and I have been successful in other situations in my life where there was just a chance. Sometimes winning on just an impossibly slim chance. Sometimes the universe, or God, or whatever you believe in or call it, even if that’s nothing, and it all comes down to luck, sometimes, even the losers get lucky.

Well, I have heard that it’s better to be lucky than good, and I have been both lucky and good. And even though I don’t have letters or degrees behind my name, no real titles or position, I survived, and that was enough. It was enough that I found her, because this was my mission. This was my quest. And it was coming to its conclusion.

I was to be either a hero or a villain, I tried to be a hero, lived my life by my own codes, having morals and rules, I fought injustice when I saw it and most of the time resisted evil, and this was my story. Now to be our story. But everything hinged on her reaction to that text.

What would she be like? Is she mean like my step-mother was? Is she loving? Is she destitute? Is she a drug addict? Is she an alcoholic? Has she had other kids since me and I’m somebody’s brother?

So many questions, so, so many questions.