My Dearest Kerry,
One year. One year since that momentous dinner. One year since we were begun, no matter how haltingly.
I expected so much from you. How could I expect you to go, at the wave of a hand, from a reserved, private, alone woman to an out, public Lesbian? How could I, as a friend, a lover, and a psychiatrist, expect you to immediately conform to my image of the woman you should be?
I reflect now on everything that happened and believe that if I had been more patient, the whole Shannon Wallace mess might not have happened. If I hadn't pushed you maybe you wouldn't have felt cornered that day. Maybe you could have seen that is was about Shannon, and you, and me, and us. All at the same time. If I hadn't mixed the personal with the professional, you would have come to my defense as you had so many other colleagues in the past.
So often I have wanted to call, just to hear your voice. To know that you are okay. But I don't have that right: to intrude back into your life. So I will not mail this letter.
Oh, Kerry Mine. Have you met someone? I hope so. Someone who will be more patient with what you need to do and how you need to live your life. I hope so, my love, because you deserve to be loved and need to love someone. I hope you have found someone who can give you what I could not.
There is no one in my life. I don't think there will be for some time. Not because you hurt me so much, though it took me months to heal from how we parted. No, it is because of the good things we had between us. Even with the disagreements, the separations, the pain, what I remember most is the love. Waking up next to you. Laughing together. Sharing our pasts and our daily lives. There was so much good mixed in with the heartache. That's the memory that keeps me from moving on.
What would happen if we were to meet now? If we ran into each other by accident? Or if one of us were to take the leap of faith and jump on a plane? Or pick up the phone? Or simply mail this letter? Just walk to the mailbox and...