Missed Opportunities, Missed chances

I composed this as a text to someone I used to know who meant a lot to

me, though she didn’t know it. I haven’t spoken to her in a years,

so I wasn’t sure the phone number is still hers. I’ve omitted her name

for the purposes of this post, but I (unfortunately) can never change

the impact she had on me, or how I will always feel about her. I share

this because it turned out too long for a text, because I’m still a

coward, and (most importantly) because you may be her to someone else,

and you deserve to know.

 

“Hi, ____. There’s something I want to tell you. I’ve been carrying it

with me for a long time.

You were an incredible woman, and someone I can respect until the end.

I didn’t know you half as well or even half as long as I would have chosen

to. But the times I spent with you have haunted me for what I could

have said… what I refrained from saying. And now it’s been years, and

you’re probably happy with what you have… but I don’t think I can

ever forget you. How you excited me in conversation when everything,

everyone, else was blank and uninteresting. How you rejected

evaluations of your beauty because you knew they spoke of your physical

form while you didn’t know that your heart, your kindness, was the

beauty that made me care for you so much. You never knew how deeply you

touched my heart when all of the people who “loved” me drove me out,

and you were there at the pub to sincerely ask me to stay a moment

longer. I’ll never forget you, and I’ll probably always regret being

the coward I was when you knew me, because I never said this to you in

person.

If this is no longer ____, remember always that sometimes people don’t

tell you how much you mean to them until it’s way past too late. Since

she was more than special to me, I’m certain you are more than special

to someone else. Even if they haven’t the courage to tell you, as I

didn’t have the courage to tell her. Be well, be safe, be at peace.

Someone loves you, and hasn’t the courage to say it.”

 

And if, by some strange stroke of luck, she’s the one reading this:

Thank you for making me feel appreciated when no one else did… and

I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you that night. It seemed a dishonorable

act while I was still officially seeing her, even though it was over.

It helped me be able to look at myself in a mirror, but it’s always

difficult to look at a picture of you and know the cost of personal

honor. I suppose honor and honesty require certain sacrifices, but I

wish we could have had a chance.

Missing you every day for eight years now,
Your Friend,
Ed

Don’t Wait

When I was a child (four, I think) I had a very bad day at school. My father came in when I was crying and asked me what was wrong. I told him, in my emotional state, to go away. He did. He walked away hurting because all he wanted to do was comfort me, and I rejected that love. I saw that pain he carried away with him and ran after him, realizing that my hurt didn’t justify hurting him. I didn’t want him to go away. I just said that because I was in pain, and I reacted. Walking away was the best thing he could have done for me. It showed me that my words have consequences. That what I say, even if it is said in the confusion of pain, has an effect on other people. It doesn’t matter how hurt we are or how much pain we are enduring, it doesn’t pardon us from our responsibility to others, especially those we love. When I last talked to my father, I didn’t remember that lesson… We argued. I asked him to walk away again, and he did. Now he’s gone beyond all recall. I’ll never forget that lesson again. I’ll never say something that I can’t take back no matter how much I’m hurting, because saying something cruel or hurtful to others will inevitably hurt me. Thank you, Dad. That lesson has served me well, and made me a better person. I only wish it had sunk in soon enough for me to say goodbye… the way I wanted to. I’m sorry I was petty. And angry. And stupid. And the reason I am sharing this with you right now is so that anyone reading can learn from my mistake… that even if you’re angry, or hurt, or filled with righteous indignation, you shouldn’t wait too long to forgive. I missed my last chance. Please. Don’t miss yours.

Your friend,

Ed