I couldn’t see you, but I knew you were happy.
The first time we were in the same room I heard you before I saw you. A bubbly laugh as sweet and rich as blowing into chocolate milk. Sitting in class, my shyness kept me from turning around, yet I’ve twisted through the memory countless times.
And it’s been a long time. Over a decade now since I last saw you. Spoke to you. Heard from you. Over a decade since you packed everything and left. A decade since I watched your Nissan turn out of the parking lot and disappear into fog and memory.
Memory is all that remains with us. It’s a complicated memory. For every sunny, perfect thought, a storm cloud of sadness isn’t far off. At least for a time that proved the case. Now it’s all simply memories. A story. Our story.
When I proposed I had visions of a perfect relationship. Of making you happy. Maybe you thought the same. But I couldn’t provide what I dreamed I could. In the end, that’s okay.
Because now you’ve found someone who can. Someone who can give you those things I couldn’t. You deserve to walk down the aisle and not wonder if you’re making a mistake. To seal vows with a kiss and not feel like you’re only doing it because people are watching. I felt it at the time. I’m sure you did too.
I no longer have a single photo of the two of us. Any proof of our shared time in Easter Island or dancing in Singapore or marching out the wedding ceremony as husband and wife is now stuck to the bottom of a digital trashcan. And yet I’m sure behind the pixeled smiles there’s very real sorrow in the eyes.
There’s that saying that everything happens for a reason. I don’t know if I buy that. Sometimes I feel like it’s something people say to make others feel better. To mindlessly explain why bad turns to worse. Part of me thinks it’s all just stuff that happens. Some things work out and some things don’t.
At least that’s what I told myself when we went our separate ways. But here you are now, about to marry for real love. So maybe there is a reasoning behind all the madness.
I know you’ve held onto the last name you took up when we married. A final thread connecting the two of us. Once severed there will be nothing left but the invisible umbilical of our past.
There’s nothing I can give to you as you prepare to marry. Nothing but a wish. A wish that you’re truly happy. That you smile too much and you laugh too often. That bubbly, chocolate milk laugh. A wish that you receive everything out of the relationship that I was unable to provide. Because while there have been days long ago clouded with frustration or anger over what happened to us, I’ve always wanted for you to be happy.
And I’m glad you’ve found your happy place.
As the way your car disappeared into fog the last time I saw you, so too does the time we once shared together. And that’s exactly how it should be. Because you have a new life and a lasting love. I’m grateful for the time we did spend together, for the difficult moments in my life you stood by me. But the time has come to cut that final thread, to fly away and to be fully, completely free.
We will likely never see one another again, and that’s just fine.
Because while I can’t see you, I know you are happy.
A Letter to My Ex-Wife Before She Marries
Another great piece