I have a bit of a love affair with lists and letters.
Lists are the reminders of all the ambitions, all of the bricks that we hope to build our foundation upon every single day. And if I don’t write it down, unfortunately it is just not going to happen. And the letters are the aerial view of what we have stacked and torn down and believe we can repair in this life. The release of the words of love or faith or forgiveness. Words that should have been said out loud but either you couldn’t bring them to surface or you wanted them to linger longer then a passing moment.
I’ve started letters that were left unfinished, some that have only lived to become ash, and some are tucked in envelopes at the bottom of my purse waiting for the right time to emerge that I know will never come. In the age of texts and tweets and hitting send before thinking, there is something to be said for putting a pen to paper, using your language directed with intention at one particular person. A person who has held, for better or worse, real estate in your mind.
This was a letter I did send. A letter written to my husband when he moved out. A letter that I hope conveys that through this curvy, shadowed journey, I long to still see the light.
We can navigate the curves of this life, this challenging life, together and apart.
We can navigate with grace.
This one is for Stephen.
To the One I Have to Let Go…
Hello handsome. I have to thank you. Thank you for seeing me, all of me. It was a real, raw, beautiful, rugged love. It wasn’t based on romance but instead built on the people, the places, the wine, the babies, the stories that connected us. We came home to one another almost every day since we were 20 years old. It was a whole love. You were it for me. You were my one. Not everyone gets a love story like that.
I’m not going to get into the reasons why here, we already know all of them and they are all still too open and vulnerable and painful right now.
But I will tell you this…
we were together for 16 years, almost half of our entire lives. This decision is the most painful of all of them. But also one of the healthiest and hopeful at the same time.
You are neither the villain nor the hero of our love story, and I am neither the victim nor the heroine. We danced on the line between.
We challenged each others spaces until too many cracks that were beyond repair broke us open. It is not with anger that we have chosen to divide. It is with grace, compassion and courage to watch the other one soar.
We get this one life. That is it. We will love and parent our children with all that we have. We will put their souls first. Now. Always.
I thought the hardest part would be to watch you leave. It wasn’t. The hardest part was staying when we both knew that we were no longer each other’s home.
I am the dreamer. You are the anchor. We are better people for having met one another, and we are better people for setting each other free.
Every piece of me wants you to be happy.
Thank you for holding, for letting go, for listening and for being.
Here’s to the next chapter…
Here’s to us…
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Katie Yackley Moore is a freelance writer, yoga instructor and a single momma of four. She adores coffee shops, laughing until it hurts and impromptu dance parties. Her work has appeared on Scary Mommy, Mamalode and HuffPost Parents. She has published a journal entitled “Dream a Bigger Dream” and the children’s books “You Are a Warrior” and “We are Family” and just finished her first novel. Catch up with her between tea breaks at The Naked Momma and on Facebook.