Page 128 of Your Soul to Keep

She lifted the heavy mug to her lips for a sip then closed her eyes and sighed deeply before turning her formidable attention onto me.

“I’ve been watching you.” She held up her palm. “And before you say it’s none of my business, your Nan asked me to keep an eye.” She tipped her head back and considered me for a moment. “I’ve dreamt about that woman every night this week and last night was the worst. I need to say my piece before the woman shows up and scares what little life I’ve got left clear out of me.”

No one ever really leaves.

My eyes smarted with tears. I dropped my gaze to the table.

Slowly, she tugged the ribbon and untied them. Leafing through, she chose three envelopes and pushed them toward me. “These are my most treasured possession. Read.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” she snorted. “But do it anyway.”

Gingerly, I opened the first envelope and extracted an aged piece of notepaper and read a letter from a young man to the woman he loved, begging for a second chance. One line stood out more than any other.

‘I believe we could be so good together. Give us a chance.’

The next letter wished her a happy first anniversary.

‘Thank you for giving me the best year of my life.’

The third letter had worn thin, some words nearly erased in places where water stains smeared the ink.

My Dearest Muriel,

It feels impossible that I should have to say goodbye. How do you part from your soul? For that is what you are.

My heart.

My soul.

My very life.

But if I must leave you, know without a shadow of a doubt I leave you with all my love. I gave you my heart long ago. You’ve held it in your little hands for more than 6 decades. You never let it break.

Up until now, I could say the same.

My sweetheart, I would spare you this if I could.

I would take the pain though it would surely kill me. But you were always stronger than I was. And I trust you to continue taking care of our family, and my heart, until we meet again on the other side.

My heart, my soul, my love, all I’ve ever been, is and always has been, yours.

Harold.

I carefully set the worn and crumpled paper down on the table and dug the heels of my palms into my eyes. Sobs wracked my body as if her loss was my own.

She sat beside me, saying not a word.

In truth, what could possibly be said?

Finally, I drew in a shattered breath and watched as she carefully folded each missive, tucked them into their prospective envelopes, slotted them into place, and retied the ribbon with shaking hands. Opening her bag, she tucked them inside and stood.

I looked up at her, my breath catching in my throat with every inhale.

Holding that giant bag close to her chest she held my eyes. For just a moment, she dropped her mask and showed me the burden of grief she carried with her every day. Her eyes welled with tears then she lifted her chin defiantly.

“I. Regret. Nothing.”

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