Letters

I am in the process of moving. I've been getting rid of a lot of stuff to make the move easier. I will not have a garage in my new place, so I need to make more space. I have this box. I call it the memory box. It's basically mementos, but they're of all my past relationships. Tickets for a play, little trinkets my significant other gave to me, photos, etc. It's in my garage and decided to look through it as I was tossing stuff out. 

In my box is a letter. It's probably the most important object in my memory box. My girlfriend at the time worked at a school where one of my favorite philosophers sends his daughter. Since my girlfriend worked at the front office, she would often see him. So in this letter, she writes, facetious and formally, that my favorite philosopher walked into her office and she noticed one of his hairs had fallen out, which she taped to the letter. 

It's the greatest gift I have ever received from a significant other. Not because of the hair. The hair didn't matter. What does matter is that she loved me enough to go through such efforts for minuscule things. I never asked for it. I never mentioned it. But in her day, she made several decisions. She had to choose the appropriate stationary. It has the schools heading on the paper. And the school's signet on the envelope. She chose the words, witty and humorous, with a tone of formality, to write the letter. She grabbed paper, and with a few touches of her fingers and pen on the paper, a lick of the envelope, she poured her immense love into it. From her person, her body, mind, and soul, to physically travel from Pasadena to Long Beach, it's a lost art. 

There can be no substitute. No heart emojis, no smoochie faces over texts, email, or even a phone call, can match the physical connection that a letter delivers. You can mass send a text. You cannot mass write a letter. Such love, such unmerited love. Like God's grace, I did nothing to deserve it. Like God's grace, I did nothing to work for it. Nor could I, in principle. Such loves are beautiful precisely because they reflect God's love. And what did I do to show her how much this meant to me? 

A text that read: This is cool. Thanks! 

How insufficient. How incongruent. How ungrateful and unjust I was. Do not think my heart cold and hard. I really did appreciate it. It meant everything to me. I would trade all my books for this letter. Even Feser's, just to keep the letter with his hair taped to it. But, I did not know how to express my gratitude. Expression has always been difficult for me. It's been difficult for my family in general. Life has hardened our skin, but not our hearts. 

I am sorry for my response. I can't imagine how unloved she may have felt. She is engaged now, and has been for some time, and will probably be married soon. She has found someone who will love her as I did not. I cannot undo the past. But as Our Lord has said, "unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds." Teresa's love for me has died, and a part of me has died alongside with it. But this shall not be in vain. As I run my fingers across the slightly indented paper made by her love driven pen, I plan to do to others what she did for me. I want to begin writing letters. To other people. To classmates. To friends. Maybe my siblings.

To a new year, and a new life.