Love, Char

“Dear Hazel,

I am so sorry you are reading this letter. I have stayed for much longer than I had ever intended. This is all because of you. You filled my life with more joy than I could…” That's all I could read before the tears staining my cheeks took over and blinded me with grief. I scream with the agonizing pain coursing through my heart, being pumped into my bloodstream.

I always thought Charlotte was different. I thought she would call. When I first met her, I felt a string tying us together; it was unlike any other connection I had felt. I knew that this girl was sent for me to protect.

I had worked at Santon Psychiatric Center for about three years when I met Charlotte. I work in the girls' intensive watch unit. Girls are always coming in and out, usually only staying for a week or so. Charlotte, though, she stayed for much longer than intended.

She had been assessed for a two-week stay; instead, she stayed here for over four months. The first month was rough. I never thought she would open up. She would pace around, only saying a few words. Never to me, though. The interactions we had were limited in communication.

As the floor manager, I would run group and room checks. She seemed to get scared when I would get too close, whether to change her bandages or to help brush her hair. Even still, I would talk. Without any answers, I would tell her about myself.

One day, halfway through the second month of her stay, I heard a loud noise. Startled, I ran to see what the commotion was. As I turned the corner, all I could see was the blood connecting Charlotte to the wall. Her face was covered in the ruby red color signifying life. She fell to her knees with a letter in her hands.

All I could see through her grip on the paper was the last line scribbled in the blue ink, “I'm so sorry. Goodbye Charlotte. Sincerely, Mother.” I ran to the side of Charlotte, wrapping her in a hold to keep her from the wall. I am quick to realize she is in no condition to even lift herself off the ground, nonetheless, continue the horrid actions of before. So slowly but surely, I release my grip.

As I started to pull away, she latched onto me with heaving sobs. At that moment, I couldn't care less about the blood and tears soaking through my shirt. I wrapped myself around her again, repeating the phrase “it will be okay.”

This time, instead of the tight hold of fear, I'm filled with the deep pain of understanding.

I would visit her every day while she sat in the hospital waiting for her head to heal. Once she got released back into my care, she finally started to talk.

With only a few words at a time, she would tell me little details about herself. Such as her favorite color or what foods she liked. With all this in mind, we started to make her days more attuned to her. With all this comfort, she would start to tell me the roots of why she is here.

She would tell me about the men who would come through her life, seeming to only stay but a few weeks. Even still, leaving more damage to her than before. She spoke of her mother dragging her from apartment to apartment, Sanson being the first place she had stayed for over a month.

As Charlotte progressed through her story, I would hear a familiar ting in her sentences. A feeling that wasn't new to me started coursing through my veins. I have lived the stories coming from her mouth as if she were reading the story of my life.

A few weeks into these past experiences, she would show me the letter from her mother. I read the words written on the page in past tenses, causing my eyes to sting. I know that before I finished reading, this is the last of her mother that Charlotte has.

As time continues to crawl ahead, the day comes for Charlotte to be taken out of the care provided at Sanson. Before she is discharged, I give her a note with all of my contact information on it. I tell her to call me, even if she just wants to go to lunch. I make it clear that I will always be here for her. I watch as she is driven away to the girls' center, she was placed until she is able to afford an apartment.

My mind starts to wander to questions that nobody seemed to think of prior. How will she find a job? Without a job, how will she find a place to live? These questions kept me up the whole night in a cloud of worry.

Before any girl leaves, I ask who their support system is. While most girls will say their mom or their friends, Charlotte didn't have anybody. She was sent into the world alone with nobody to guide her. The next day, I went to message her, and before I could hit send, a bubble of text popped up on my screen. It was Charlotte.

“Hazel, how do I do this? Please, I need help.” Without missing a beat, I invited her to lunch. I assumed she hadn't eaten since she was released. She agreed, so that afternoon I met her at a cafe in the middle of town. We talked for hours about how she was doing in the group home. Then we discussed how she can get a job.

After that day, we made a commitment to have lunch once a week. This tradition became a way for me to know Charlotte was okay. A few months into these coffee dates, she announced to me that she had signed a lease on an apartment.

She asked me to help her learn how to pay her bills and what to sign. I became a co-signer in her apartment. We made a deal that I have to get a spare key in case anything was to happen.

For the next year, I watched as she would pick her life up and work towards her goals. I would sit in on all of her big moments. When she got accepted into college, I sat with her and cried so hard we laughed. I was so happy to watch this young girl, who couldn't talk when I met her, go and achieve her goals.

This was until a few years into this story. We had one final coffee date planned before she went back to school. I showed up at our regular place, waiting for her. I sat for three hours. I called her over and over with no answer.

“She hasn't missed a coffee date in months.” I thought to myself with fear taking over my brain. With shaking hands, I paid the bill and ran to my car. I sped through the town, ignoring all traffic lights. As soon as I got there, I burst through her door. I see her still in bed with tears streaming down her face. She looks as though she hadn't gotten out of bed in weeks.

She looks at me with the sad face I hadn't seen in so many years. I knew right then she needed help. I wrapped her in my arms, the arms that are so filled with worry and understanding. She melted into me as her sobs became louder and more pronounced.

She tried to return the grasp, but her arms were so weak and covered in newly opened valleys with bright red rivers flowing through. She had fought so hard not to get back here. I took her to the hospital, leading to a new stay at Sanson.

Once released, she lived with me. I knew she would be safe. And she was for many more years. Of course, she had her ups and downs, but nothing would hurt her again. Until now.

The past few weeks, I noticed she was overjoyed. She was happier than usual. She was also giving her things away. Looking back, these are telltale signs someone is planning. I should have known, but I was just so glad she was doing well.

At 12:01 AM, I knocked on the door, but there was no response. Just silence.

“...than I could ever imagine. I will forever love you. You were the mother I never had, and I thank you for that. I am sorry for this. Please don't come into my room. Goodbye, Hazel, I love you.

Love,

Char”

This is the last I will ever have of her. The thought of being a minute too late.