Her Last Letter

If we’re pulled apart, it’s because one of us let go. 

The will of waves reaching shoreline eclipses the cry of a seagull, and saltwater, carried by seabreeze, invites invigorating inhales. 

I breathe in. I release. I breathe in. I release. 

The whispers of passersby blend into muted murmurs and all I can hear are the crashing of waves and the crying of gulls. 

And so I breathe in. And then I release. 

I fiddle with a fistful of sand, it’s heat warming my skin, lulling me to sleep. I stretch out my legs, the tips of my toes exceeding the red striped towel I brought. I drape my arm across my eyes, enveloped in sand and sun, trying my best to connect to the coastal beauty surrounding me. 

And then those words, the same ones that have been echoing in my head since the day I first read them, come crashing back all at once, as strong as any wave: 

If we’re pulled apart, it’s because one of us let go. 

But I didn’t let go. I never let go. How could I ever let her go? 

I sit upright and try to focus my breathing again. I remember the five senses exercise my therapist recommended, and although it never helps me in the present moment, I do it anyway. 

I start with what I feel; the sun beating down on me, burning me, its heat unforgiving. Then I move on to what I can smell; the undeniable scent of saltwater, ever-soothing and strong. And, yes, the occasional hint of coffee being brewed at the corner bakery. 

But when I get to what I can see, I look down at the green envelope I’ve been clutching in my hands, its corners pinched and worn. Everything else fades away. 

I could be anywhere, even in the serenity of sun, sand, and sea, but as long as this one envelope exists, nothing else will ever matter to me. 

For maybe the hundredth time, and against my therapist's wishes, I open the envelope addressed to me and slide out the letter inside. The card has a yellow sunflower on the front and I remember thinking it was so beautiful, so delicate, the first time that I saw it. 

Now, it reminds me of funeral flowers.

I open the last letter she ever sent me: 

Dear Anna,

Two months down and a lot more to go! It’s crazy because the last couple of weeks have flown by. It has been quite the whirlwind with the adjustment, my visa stuff, and of course, work. But in a lot of ways, I have really felt like this move is going to be good for us. For me. 

I’ve been so lucky to have you as a friend. Living so close to you for all those years made it so easy. Just the option to see you was comforting. Now that I don’t have that, I’m going to have to put in the work to keep us close. 

That’s why I think I am really going to grow while I’m here. I’m going to have to put in the extra time to keep our friendship strong. It is so worth it. You’ll always be worth it. Please know that. 

I miss you everyday. 

I know you and I had just started hanging out again, like in the old days. It was so good for me to have that time with you again, even if it was just for a little while. And just because I’m thousands of miles away doesn’t mean we have to lose that. 

I think I’ve finally found myself. I’m not losing myself again. You won’t lose your best friend again. 

And if we’re pulled apart, it’s because one of us let go. 

I love you Anna, I’ll write again soon. 

— Mia

I struggle through reading the final lines, my vision blurred by a swell of tears. It is suddenly very hard to breathe, so, so very—

All at once, it’s too much. Her, the letter, those words, and I struggle to take a breath, any breath. It’s as if I’m drowning here on land, the ocean’s cry a cruel reminder that I am not. That this is all in my head. I start gasping and clutching my chest, because it’s on fire, it might actually be on fire!

The family to the left of me stops and stares, the mother asking me something. Her lips are moving but I can’t hear her. Why can’t I hear her?

But then, I find a way to nod my head. To smile. To wave her off. 

I hear the crashing of waves and the crying of gulls. 

And so I breathe in. And then I release. 

It’s not the first time this happened and it won’t be the last, because every time I read this letter, this last letter from my best friend Mia who went missing on July 21st, it’s as raw as the first time. 

I feel rage, coarse and hot, running through me, tearing through me. I am so angry at myself, at her, at him. I know what my therapist would say, focus on your breathing, find your five senses. 

You want your five senses, doc? Alright. I can feel the weight of her disappearance crushing my chest. I see her everywhere I look, and when I try to close my eyes, I see her there, too, waving goodbye and stepping on an airplane. I’ll catch her scent in the oddest of places, apples and soap, it was always apples and soap, and as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. Nothing fucking tastes good, nothing at all. I don’t want to eat because how can I eat when she’s missing? And the only thing I can hear, the only fucking thing in the whole world I can hear, is her voice whispering, if we’re pulled apart, it’s because one of us let go. 

But what no one seems to understand is that I was the one to let go, because I let her go with him. I let him, a man she married on a whim, take her away from everything she loved; her friends, her family, her career. I knew what he was from the moment I met him. 

But she was so happy, so sure that this was it, that he was it. 

I let her go. And now she’s missing. 

He reported Mia missing almost a year ago now and the police are no closer to finding her than they were at the beginning. 

The letter she sent me was dated one week before she disappeared. I think about that all the time. That on July 14th she only had one week left to live. 

No, her body hasn’t been found, so yes, she could still be alive. But I know Mia. She would never leave her family wondering like this, waiting for answers as our hearts slowly shatter. 

I swipe the back of my hand across my eyes and try to clear my head. Too many thoughts. Too many thoughts. I wait until there is only the crashing of waves and the crying of gulls. 

And then I hear it.

It’s her, unmistakable and true. It’s her voice, singing as soft as bells, gliding across the coast:

Somewhere between the shoreline 

When the ocean holds its breath 

And the ground stays steady 

That’s where I’ll find you. 

“Mia,” I whisper. “Oh, Mia. I’ll find you, I promise I will find you.” 

When I look out at the ocean’s dark waters, and see a cluster of clouds give way to rays of sunshine burning golden and bright, I feel Mia here with me. I see a sun refusing to fade, and I feel certain in my bones, I will not be the one to let go. 

I will never stop searching for Mia. 

And just as the ocean reaches for the shoreline, time and time again, so will I reach for Mia, consistent, clear, and true.