Worth It

Two days.

It has been two days. Not nearly enough time to process, not nearly enough time to accept.

It has been two days and I promised myself I’d be strong. For you.

But it has only been two days and this letter, these sad, depthless words, are all the strength I can offer you.

Three weeks.

It has been three weeks.

No time, and yet, an eternity has passed. I’ve stopped crying, my well had gone dry days ago. Now all I do is reminisce.

Or at least I try.

Sometimes it hurts far too much to think, yet I still try. I try so the memories may never fade, so you will never fade. But each time I try, my mind wanders to one memory, perhaps my least favorite, perhaps my favorite.

It was that day on the mountain. You had insisted we climb to the very top to watch the sunrise, claiming that you had heard it was the best view in the entire world. I remember scoffing, the way I always did when you embellished as you were known to do.

You had woken me in the early hours of the morning, the birds chirping and the hoot of the barn owl in the distance were the only sounds. The early morning chill sliced through me to my core, eliciting a scowl and tightly crossed arms over my chest that remained there for the majority of our trek. Without the light of day, all we had was a measly lamp to see by. I tripped and fumbled my entire way up the mountain, cursing and growling at you but you did not say a word. At times, the lamp would illuminate your face at just the right angle allowing me to catch a glimpse of you, hoping you were as miserable as I was.

But you were laughing, smiling. You were always smiling, even when you fell over that boulder you didn’t see, even when I called you foul names for waking me so early, even when the wind would lash across our faces. You never grew angry at my complaints or held it against me. To you, this was an adventure, a worthwhile endeavor even if you hadn’t known what would be awaiting us at the end.

To me, it was a risk. I tend not to make journeys to any place I do not know, always weighing the risk to the reward. And if I do not know what the reward will be, well, I will not take the risk.

It was two hours of rough terrain and very little light to see by, but we had finally made it to the top just as the sun was beginning to crest over the horizon. I thought I would collapse as I panted with my hands braced on my knees, but not you. The moment that light hit your face, you took off running to the edge of the peak. I followed you, slowly, and as I emerged from the brush, the scene before me stole what little breath I had left. I could see the entire village, the sunrise illuminating what seemed like the entire world in brilliant hues of amber. I had never thought that village to be much of anything until I stood above it, watching the rays bounce off the roof of each home, filling the once dark alleys with golden light. The sun backlit the rolling hills in the distance, displaying them in perfect silhouettes.

It was magnificent.

As I approached you, I took in your smiling face again, the light shimmering in your eyes. Without turning from the view before us you brushed your hand against mine before intertwining our fingers and said, “It might have been difficult, but oh, wasn’t it worth it?”

Six months.

It has been six months.

With each passing day I grow bitter and angry. Loneliness has crept into every pore and I have found I am now made of it. I remain in this tiny village because it is all I can do. I work, I eat, and I wander through the streets as if nothing truly matters.

I am angry that you left me, angry that I have nothing and no one anymore, angry that this life is cruel and unfair. The women at the garment shop have begun to ignore my existence, speaking together in hushed tones as I complete my work in the far corner of the shop, isolated. The man who runs the bakery, Mr. McCann, barely asks me more than what kind of bread I want. The same man who you used to hold up the line speaking to, unable to quit your chatter. Mrs. Henries at the bookshop has stopped recommending me her favorite reads of the month.

But I cannot blame any of them. I do not wish to converse, do not wish to laugh or hear about anyone’s day. I do not care to make friends or to be pleasant.

Because all of that takes energy. Energy I no longer possess. Energy that left me when you did.

In truth, I do not believe I ever had the energy to begin with. Perhaps it was you who lent me some of yours. It was you who would strike up conversations with our neighbors, you who would encourage me to go to the tavern with the ladies at the garment shop after hours, and it was you who would make me laugh, no one else.

I promised you I would be strong, but I do not think I have it within me. I am not sure how much longer I can hold on to the memory of you. Your voice has begun to fade in my mind and I feel as though every detail of you is escaping from my grasp like a balloon in the wind.

I do not want to remember that time on the mountain any longer. It has lost its meaning. Without you there are no more sunrises, no more adventures, no more light.

Ten months.

It has been ten months.

I awoke from a dream of you. You stood at the edge of the lake, staring back at me. You beckoned for me to join you, to dive into the crisp waters. When I shook my head you frowned, shoulders slumping for just a moment before recovering. When your infectious grin returned you simply said, “You have tomorrow.”

Without waiting for my reply, you dove into the water, head first. I ran to the edge, waiting for you to emerge, but you never did.

One year.

It has been one year.

I wake up easier these days. The pain has not receded an inch, but I walk the road to the garment shop a bit more purposefully.

I have not returned to the tavern with the ladies yet, but I have moved my work station near theirs. They still talk amongst themselves, but sometimes they turn to me for my opinion on the color of a button or the length of a hem.

I spend all of my days off at Mrs. Henries’ bookshop like I once did. She makes me tea sometimes and we discuss the simple things, like what book we are reading that week, or the weather. It is easier there. That was always my spot since you never cared much for books. But you would always fetch me on your way home from work, looping your arm through mine, listening intently to the stories I loved so dearly.

Mr. McCann smiles at me now and I grin back. It is all I can muster, all I thought I could do until one morning. After exchanging tentative grins, I turned to leave the bakery with two loaves cradled in my arms. Mr. McCann ran after me, calling my name.

“He loved you so much, you know?” It was the first time anyone had dared to speak about you to me. I only nodded, intent on returning home until he spoke up again.

“He loved you so much that it would kill him all over again to see you letting your life pass you by.”

His words were a dagger to the chest. I wanted to scoff, to be insulted that he would say something so bold to me, but only tears pricked the back of my eyes. He doesn’t know me, no one here truly knows me besides you.

“He saw you. He saw you so clearly that anyone who knew him saw you reflected in his eyes. I couldn’t help but see the same beauty that he saw in you. And just because he isn’t here anymore does not mean you have nothing. You have a life to live, a purpose, and you have love. Do not squander the love you have, because that never leaves you.”

With that damning speech, Mr. McCann returned to his bakery, leaving me gawking at him in the road.

I’ve never missed you more than in that moment.

One year and one month.

It has been one year and one month.

I have not forgotten Mr. McCann’s words, I have not forgotten you. Yet, it still took me an entire month to work up the courage (and the strength I had promised you).

I woke before dawn, which proved to be much more difficult without you shaking me awake. I donned my boots and wool coat, grabbed that same lantern from my bedside table, and set out for the mountain. It was a much colder day than when you had dragged me up that path, but the chill helped to focus me.

It was another day, I told myself. It was tomorrow and it was all that I had.

I tripped and stumbled just as much as I had the first time, but I made sure to avoid that boulder. A tear slid down my cheek, unbidden, as I looked down at it. But still, I continued on. I cursed and I swore, but you weren’t there to laugh, you weren’t there for me to call you any heinous names. About half way I almost turned back. I was even more out of shape, panting and wheezing from the rocky terrain.

Suddenly I recognized the brush that sat atop the peak. It beckoned me onward like a lighthouse in the distance. I knew I was almost there, that I couldn’t give up yet. It was a race between myself and the sun, a race I refused to lose. If I had missed it…

I breached the last of the trees just as the sun was peaking over the horizon. It was just as I remembered. The sunlight was just as brilliant, turning the dull world I knew into vibrant artwork with every brush of its rays.

I thought that without you, the view would be lacking, the sunrise dimmer somehow. But I was sorely mistaken. I felt you there beside me, felt your hand in mine, saw your vibrant smile as the sun rose higher in the sky. It was like a moment, frozen in time in that very spot. A moment that could never leave that peak, never leave my mind, and never leave this earth. It was everlasting for something so ephemeral.

And suddenly I was smiling, the way you did that day. My breathing had finally settled and the sun was bringing warmth back into my face. It was difficult, even more so without you, but, oh, it was worth it.

Every single moment before and after will be worth it.