Letter Too Late

Fellow Janes,

Do you ever feel like there are a million things you would love to say to someone you’re in relationship with but never do? Then by the time the love is over you’re so disgusted (or still in love!) or have moved on, and those things never get said? A really funny and wise and woman approached me about a letter that she had written to her ex of 12 years.

Linda is cynical, funny and pretty heartbreaking in this letter and I enjoyed reading it so much!

She says:

“Eric and I were high school sweethearts. Our breakup was a defining moment in my life and I was left with a lot of baggage to carry around. All those little (and big) things I never said felt like a weight chained around my neck. So I wrote a letter. Just in case you’re wondering . . . Yes, I sent it to him.

I sent the letter in its entirety and Mellissa has edited it to filter out some really personal parts that I am unwilling to share and made a few changes to the text with my consent. I hope you enjoy it and find in it the courage to do what I never did. To speak your mind.”

Dear Eric,

Remember the time we went to the Jane’s Addiction concert and, against my wishes, you snuck in that ridiculous hip flask you loved to drag around filled with cheap whiskey? Remember when you got so sick from drinking it combined with the heat all those bodies and the humidity and the burning Texas sun that you ended up throwing up all over the lawn in front of you? I told you it was okay, that I wasn’t embarrassed and that I was totally okay with leaving the show early so you could go home and lay down.

I lied.

Eric, sometimes when you did something to piss me off, like got drunk with your buddies, passed out at their place and missed work because of a hangover, I would do things to get back at you in my own way, like giving you food on dirty dishes or scrubbing the house down with bleach before you came home, hung over, because I knew it gave you a headache.

When you got in that fight with that little person at our favorite bar back in ‘99 and got your ass beat and I told you it didn’t make you a pussy.

I lied.

Once when your parents came over to have dinner to have dinner at our first apartment, I excused myself to get a drink from the kitchen. Well, your father came in behind me and made a pass at me. So remember when I said how great your Dad was?

I lied.

Eric, I know you kissed the neighbor by the Dumpsters all those years ago. I know our cat, Bunsen, died when you told me he ran away (he had Feline Leukemia, I just didn’t think you could handle the truth), I know you watched “Life Goes On” marathons when I was at work and cried like a baby because the character Jessie, who had AIDS, reminded you of your brother. I know you peed on the toilet seat to spite me. I know you told my friends I wasn’t home so you could keep me all to yourself. I that know you stared at me while I slept.

Eric, remember when I told you I was better off without you and all those years we spent together were a waste?

I maybe. . . Just might have, lied.