and what I wish I could have said
March 28, 1977
He writes almost a year after my car accident and says he wishes he could have been with me, but he couldn’t, “… however I have to live with that, nobody else.”
— Am I nobody? I had to live with it too.
He writes he received my last letter and, “… wanted to respond but was in turmoil between courts and all of those other legal hassles, etc.”
— But I wasn’t important enough for you to pick up the phone?
He writes, “You should be adjusting just fine by now and the saying goes – it gets worse before it gets better.”
— Adjusting fine? I have to wear a leg brace to middle school and use crutches to get around to seven different classes. They shaved my long hair off because of the injuries and it’s growing in like down on a chick. I am wearing braces on my crooked teeth. I’m a hot mess. If it’s going to get worse than this, I don’t want to know what’s next. Thanks for the advice.
But he sends all his love.
— Why is it not enough for me?
At first, I kept the letter as a substitute for him. I knew he had touched the paper, had put a pen in his hand, and put the words on the pages.
Now, I keep the letter because it’s a reminder we’re all human, perfectly imperfect.
Today, I know he loved me in the only way he knew how. And that IS enough.
This is the 14th story in the Objects as Waypoints Writing Project series.