and for me. He put his hand upon my shoulder and reminded
me that He never left. In my anger, sorrow, and pain, He
met me where I was and loved me still. And somehow, as I
wept with God, I grew closer to Him and to you. I knew love
because He loved us.
I reevaluated how I’m supposed to live with all these broken
moments. I missed you, and at times, it felt unbearable. But
I am guided no longer by fear or by pain; love moves me to
heal, to learn, and to write.
That is why I am writing. When I am able to write the words,
when I can express how it feels, when I can finally talk and say
what I want to, I’ll no longer be so helpless. I know the truth
about love now. Perfect love should drive out fear, not invite it.
And so I desperately need to talk to you about all of this, or
even about none of this, or just about anything.
It feels like there’s only one place and time for me to do that.
It’s the same one that comes to mind.
It is always this moment.
But it has always been the same one that reminds me of love.
Lizzie, I’ve been meaning to share this with you for a long
time. I know you’d want to know how much I’ve grown. I
know you’d want me to leave this letter with you, on the dust
and earth, right by your tombstone. I know you’d want to read
it.
And not a day goes by when I wish you could.
The spring air fills my lungs as I hear the rhythm of the
morning begin. The ambient noise is comforting as I walk
past the gates. I step through the grass, and then I stop. I
set down a flower, letting it rest upon the earth. I sit, and I
pray. I remember all that we shared and all that we could
not. I smile. My eyes begin to swell.
“Hey, Lizzie,” I whisper. “There’s a lot I’ve been meaning
to tell you.” My words come out in stuttered bursts. My
hands start to shake. My chest feels heavy.
“It’s been really hard. I miss our talks. You know, I even
miss all the unsolicited advice.” The tears fall between my
smile, my words, and my memories. They sting.
“I miss your laughter.” I feel my heart shattering, again.
The sobbing hurts my chest. “I just miss you.” I pull my
hand to my face and try to wipe the tears away. The noise
around me quiets until the only noticeable sound is a
muffled cry.
I pause and take a deep breath. I try to clear my face, and
then I reach into the pocket of my raincoat. I take out the
letter. To My Best Friend, it reads on the envelope.
“I made this for you. I know you must be surprised,” I
joke, “Considering you were better at writing than I ever
was.” I laugh alone. Another deep breath. I lean forward,
and I place the letter next to the flower.
“I miss you, Lizzie.” The sun begins to rise, and I feel its
warmth. The light reaches where I stand.
After you left, I wrote you a letter. A long, drawn-out letter to
remind us why we became friends in the first place—
Sincerely,
We Loved.
**** “And I love you so much.”
This moment is familiar, but different. Joseph Delamerced is a freshman intending to concentrate in Classics
and Education Studies
28 Fall 2019
We love because he first loved us.
1 John 4:19