Early in the morning Alan reread the letter by candlelight before sending it off into the empty space that once fulfilled his very being. John would be up soon and this was a matter he would rather not hear contestation about. With a vacant gaze he scoured the page:
I’m writing this to you knowing full well that there is a strong possibility that you will not read it. I’ve tapered its delivery so that maybe my death would allow some degree of sympathetic curiosity to change your mind before you throw this away. It has been almost a year now and I just wanted to say a few things to you now that I’m gone. My suicide was not any of your doing, however much your actions had influenced my depression. And even after all that you put me through—the way you made me believe I was such an awful person in order to make an excuse for yourself–All because you didn’t want to put forth the effort anymore. When I needed you most—with my failing work, the accident, and the distance between us, you left. And even after all the lies and all the apathy, I still love you. I never stopped. Because I reached that elusive point where I had finally conquered my fear of commitment and legitimately wanted to spend my life with you. I wanted children with you. But unfortunately that is not a switch that can be turned off once it is turned on. When you left, I was a new person without a means to fulfill what I believed was my purpose. A key without a door.
I had to become someone else after I had figured out what to do with the person I had become, but that wasn’t enough. I even tried to cheapen my feelings for you by ignoring it completely. I brushed it off and made up the idea that I had only gone to you in the first place to avoid a commitment with Megan. But I was wrong, and I couldn’t even keep that charade up long enough to repair myself. It only brought it closer to my mind that I will never have anything as good as I had with you.
Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, I can only hope that your life is enriched in some way by the fond memories we shared. No one is perfect and we all make mistakes, but I like to believe that in many ways we had become a sort of perfection. And that is what I will always hold onto.
As he finished, Alan took a deep breath and folded the letter into an envelope. Under his umbrella he firmly stepped his way across the wet stone path from his front door and to the mailbox. He placed it inside and turned without a second glance. It was done. Like Jesus on the cross, he had suffered the pressure of sins past and present until he could take no more. It was finished. Despite the surrounding wind and turmoil, he felt all that lay before him was a new dawn. A fire ignited like a burst of beaming sunlight and there within the billions of falling droplets he walked his way back to his estate with a strong smile on his face.
A resurrection had begun.