Big News

The small white envelope she found in her mailbox was fortunately conspicuous enough to not be thrown out with the rest of the junk mail. Diane was curious and a bit puzzled when she only saw her name on the front of it, no address, no stamp nor postage markings. And it was only her first name written in scrawled script that somehow looked familiar. Her hands were shaking when she carefully opened the envelope, afraid yet excited about what was tucked inside. She pulled the folded paper out slowly, unfolded it and began to read.

“Honey,

I have big news! I’m coming back! My time here has run out and I’ve been assigned a new position. It’ll be small at first but I understand it will gradually rise to a higher level. I can’t wait to see you again! I should arrive tomorrow evening.

Love you so much, Peter”

Diane dropped the letter as if it was burning hot, then just as quickly scooped it up, held it to her bosom and closed her eyes. This couldn’t be real. She must be dreaming or hallucinating. It was his writing, though, as usual, nearly illegible. But when did he write this? He’d been gone for over six months. Had it been mistakenly taken by the mailman long before and only now returned? The possibility was absurd that it could have recently been written and sat there under a pile of mail, unnoticed. Unfeasible!

Diane felt just as crazy as the letter, and rushed into the house. She sat down at the kitchen table, put her head in her hands and wept. Losing her husband was devastating. He’d died from a heart attack without warning.

Always the stoic one, Diane had planned his funeral, embraced and comforted her two sons and did her best to keep herself together. After her boys left she was alone with sleepless nights and quietly mourned. She felt hollow inside, tried her best to rebound and continue living though often she wished she could die, join the love of her life in some nebulous afterlife.

Diane returned to work a few weeks later hoping it would be a distraction from the pain she constantly felt. Co-workers were sympathetic at first but as the weeks passed they acted as if nothing had happened. She tried not to scream when people said how good she looked or how well she was doing. The insensitive but well-meant comments of “things happen for a reason,” or “at least he didn’t suffer,” made her clench her jaw and hold her hands together to keep her from throttling those who didn’t understand the horror of losing one’s life partner.

Diane dried her eyes with a tissue from her pants’ pocket. She always had them available never knowing when she’d be triggered by grief’s stark reality. She wondered if this time she had gone over the edge, slipped seamlessly into insanity. Maybe she hadn’t gone to the mailbox, and there was no letter, she was imagining it all. But then she felt the paper still in her hand, slightly crumpled and damp from her tears. She re-read it and this time she wasn’t frightened nor doubting its validity. Some of her friends told her stories of signs people encountered after the death of a loved one; a cardinal outside their window, a feather in their path, pennies or dimes appearing in the hallway. Why couldn’t this letter actually be a sign from him?

Maybe she was crazy but this felt better than suffering. Diane grabbed pen and paper from the nearby shelf, straightened herself in the chair and began to write a brief reply.

My Dearest Peter,

All this time I have sorely grieved for you and now this, just unbelievable! I know none of this is true just some cruel prank, but I’ll be waiting for you, nonetheless.

Lovingly Yours, Diane

Diane stuck her note in an envelope with only the name Peter on it and rushed to the mailbox, hurriedly placed it inside and put up the red flag. Slowly, she walked back into the house, suddenly feeling exhausted. She would nap which also would make the time go by quicker; a day and a half wait would be unbearable.

In the morning, Diane looked out the front window and saw that the red flag was down. Assuming the mailman had delivered the mail she walked to the mailbox and opened it only to see nothing inside. Today’s mail had not arrived but her note was no longer there. “Stop torturing me!” she said loudly, glad to see no one was around to hear her. But were they watching her from somewhere, laughing at her gullibility? She felt chilled and walked back up her driveway, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling foolish but also afraid.

Evening finally arrived and Diane paced restlessly in the kitchen her tiny heels clacking on the linoleum floor. Nervously waiting for darkness to arrive she stopped and looked out the bay window, disappointed that outside was still light. As she began to pace again, she heard a rustling noise by the stove. Peering in the corner, she spied a small, grey shape and squealed, “EEK! No you don’t little mouse!” She raised her foot from the floor beside the creature and stared at him. He looked at her with a penetrating gaze, didn’t move. Diane slowly lowered her foot to the floor, careful to avoid him. She then found herself on her knees in front of the mouse who cautiously crept closer to her. The words, “small at first” written in the letter came back to her and she found she couldn’t breathe.

“Peter?” she whispered.

The small creature seemed to close one eye as if winking. Incredulously, she put out her hand watching as the mouse gingerly hopped onto it. Ignoring her usual fear of mice, she gently clutched this one to her chest just as she had the letter, rocking from side to side on her knees. Her tears flowed copiously, yet she was smiling peacefully. “He always had a wicked sense of humor,” she thought.