My Dearest, Time To Let You Know How I’m Doing

My dearest Robin,

I’ve decided to drop you a line or two because; well just because I thought it was time to let you know how I’m doing. I also want to let you know what’s new in my world since you left. These reasons and the creation of this letter might seem silly to many, but I can only say to those folks that, as I write these words, I don’t feel even the slightest twinge of foolishness.

Yet another winter has come and gone, and those cold dark and dreary days are just a few more bad memories I’ll try to let slip away. Neither of us much cared for those days when the dark of night seemed to come far too soon each day. I guess it is with the hint of optimism that the lure of summer brings that I write this letter; this correspondence that I trust will bring to you the state of my life and the world around me.

The town itself? Well, it hasn’t changed much. There are a couple of new stores and a few of the old ones have closed. I guess that’s the way it is everywhere. Some things seem to stay the same while others fade away, making room for new ones. As you might recall, I never cared for that process very much. You often reminded me that I wasn’t one who liked change.

I got some new shutters for the house’s three southern-facing windows. I wasn’t sure what color to get — you know you were always the one with the better sense of color, but the new ones are brown. I’m sure you would consider that color choice to be very ordinary but, then, I’m very ordinary.

The peach tree you planted some sixteen years ago is doing alright. When the first hint of spring is in the air, and just as you always reminded me to do, I trim back the branches. It seems as though there has been a late frost the last several years and the peaches have suffered the wrath of the cold nights. I remember how happy you were as you sampled the first fruit from the tree. Maybe this year your tree will have better luck.

I have an early spring routine that I need to tell you about. Well, it seems more like a confession. You remember that patch of ground you cleared near the road, the one you so carefully pulled the weeds from throughout the summer so those beautiful and treasured flowers might blossom.

Now here is the confession. I bought some faux flowers and each spring I place them on that patch of earth. Oh, I still manage to keep the weeds away from those artificial imposters, but they will never be the living things of beauty you loved so much. But I suppose you already knew about my secret garden.

Do you recall the lamp table? You know, the one you placed by the living room window. Well, I never liked the style or proportions of that piece of furniture, so I did something about it.

I found a table that seemed to better fit the space. The new and somewhat ornate metal table seems to, at least in my opinion, greatly enhance the symmetry of the room. I know, our tastes in furnishings often differed but I think even you might like the new table that rests by the window better than the old one. By the way, I gave the old table away.

Since I’m talking about getting rid of things, I do have one more item to bring to your attention. Do you remember that old and frayed quilt you never liked? I suppose, and if I was to be completely honest, I only laid under it to annoy you. However, I did finally discard the old thing. I now must admit that you were right; it was something that needed to be permanently retired.

I would like to tell you that your old friends are happy and doing well but, to be quite honest, I haven’t seen much of your old buddies. The world has gone through an unwelcoming transformation over the past several years and I haven’t, for one reason or another, frequented the places the two of us used to go to. I am sad to say that a few of your friends, Larry, Pat and Gary, just to name a few, have passed on.

As for me, well there’s very little doubt that I’ve changed since the last time you saw me. The many years that have passed have allowed the wrinkles to find a home on my face, and the grey in my hair has become more prominent.

There are those strange noises, groans I guess you would call them, that come from who knows where when I raise myself up or lower my now elderly body down. I have become oh so regretfully forgettable that I have taken to writing myself notes — sometimes just to remind me to read another note I’ve left somewhere in the house.

There have been moments when I’ve contemplated thoughts of paying you an in-person visit but then, and as you recall was always the case, one thing or another came up and I never quite got around to it. I’m sure I’ll get around to taking that trip someday. I don’t suppose there’s a chance you could come here for a visit.

There is one more thing to report. I hate to talk about it, but Scratchy Cat passed away. By now you probably know about her sad demise. After all, she must surely be with you.

There is one thing that hasn’t changed over the years. I think of you each morning as the new day’s sun coming through the window chases the darkness from the bedroom. Each night I see your face as the dark blanket of the night falls over me.

It is my most sincere wish that this letter finds you well and in the fondest of company. May God bless you; but then I guess that’s a given now, isn’t it.

I know you will never read this letter. The piece of paper the words are written on will never find its way into an envelope. So why then, some may ask, did I write this piece of correspondence to you? I felt as though I needed to and it’s hard to explain, but writing the words made me feel good.

With love, and forever unconditionally yours, your loving husband.

— Stan Fine is a retired police officer and Verizon Security Department investigator who, after retiring in 2006, moved from Tampa, Fla., to Noel. Stan’s connection to Noel can be traced back to his grandparents who lived most of their lives there. Stan began writing after the passing of his wife Robin in 2013. Opinions expressed are those of the author.