The Email

The anniversary passed with nothing more than an epic fight to sear the occasion into my memory. The completely practical and necessary item he bought weeks ago was my "gift" and this year I didn't even get a card. I didn't have time to mope about it because this time his mood stayed pretty foul for three days and the steady stream of abusive text messages wore me down. My head throbbed, my eyes blurred with tears and I dragged the kids through the grocery store. I paused in front of the breakfast cereals and heard my cell phone email alert.

I pull out my phone and open the email. The sender's name jumps off the screen and wrenches my eyes wide open. I blink several times and try to close my mouth. It's him. The one whose name I type into Facebook and Google every six months or so, just out of sheer curiosity. The easy smile and kind eyes I picture some nights when I play my alternate existence in my head, that evil little "what if?" game I use to torture myself after midnight. The one I haven't talked to in twelve years.

I become acutely aware of fire in my cheeks and jack hammering in my chest. I stuff the phone back into my skirt pocket and flash a quick smile at the kids as I plot the quickest way to finish the shopping. The phone burns against my thigh as I drive home, put away groceries, fix a snack for the little ones and run upstairs, where I open the laptop. My fingers shake as I sign in to my email account and open the message with a strange mixture of excitement, dread, satisfaction and nausea. It takes me three full passes to absorb the words.

Don't know if you remember... Never forgot you... Only the very best memories... God this is pathetic, I think.  I'm not sure if I'm referring to the email itself or my giddy reaction to receiving it. It ends, I hope that wherever you are, someone is making you feel special.  I hope that someone is telling you every single day how amazing you are.


I catch my breath.  The tears spill before I realize they've collected.  The full impact of the words forces me back into my chair. Panic threatens to take over.  Too many memories, too many thoughts, too many things to do before my husband comes home.

I inhale deeply, resolve not to cry again today.  I walk downstairs to start dinner.