After she breathed out, she stared at the box. She took off the lid to see an envelope. Then proceeded to pick it up and find that, under it, there was a camera and Polaroids in the bottom of the box. Her heart froze at the sight of them. Some looked years old while some appeared to be fairly recent. Placing the box in her lap, she looked at the envelope.
Her name was written in black ink, the same way he’d tattooed it on his wrist. Her heart jerked at seeing his handwriting, missing him even more so. For the second time today, she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
With a shaky hand, Peyton ripped the back of the envelope and pulled out several pieces of folded paper. Then she gave herself a second to prepare her heart before she read his final words to her.
Dear Peyton,
I’m not sure what I can say to make this easier for you and for me. But I am sorry. I never wanted this. I guess I didn’t get the chance to tell you. Maybe I avoided telling you because I was scared to watch you die in front of my eyes. It was selfish of me, I know. So give me a second. Right now, you’re asleep next to me. And I’m sure this is the last time I’ll hold you. As I write this, I’m saying these three words out loud to you:
Peyton, I’m dying.
I think I only have days left in me.
I’m hoping I still have days left.
Today, you smiled and I almost told you right there. I almost ripped your heart out with two words:
I’m dying.
You laughed today and I almost said: I’m dying.
You cried today and I almost said: I’m dying.
You held me today and I almost said: I’m dying.
You kissed me today and I almost said: I’m dying.
You made love to me today and I almost said: I’m dying.
You told me you loved me today and I said: I love you, too.
You slept today and I almost said: I’m dying.
You told me you loved me again today and I almost said: I’m dying.
You rested your head in my lap under the cherry blossoms today and I said: I love you forever, Peyton.
We sat in our spot today and I almost said: I’m dying.
I almost said goodbye today, but you said: I’ll love you more than each breath I take and each moment I live after you. I love you like the waves hug the shores, only apart for so long, always together by nature. I’ll love you even after every star burns out in our galaxy. I’ll love you even after the last breaths of forever are made.
You broke my heart today and I said: You’ll live a happy life.
You let me hold your hand today and I thought: You are my forever, Peyton. Never just my sometimes.
You woke up in my arms today and I almost said: I’m dying, Peyton. Please forgive me today.
I’ve mentally thought of the words I’d say to you. But how do you tell the love of your life that you’re dying? How do you willingly kill yourself before the tumour does? How do you watch the hope and love die in her eyes? How do you keep from telling her that you’ll never see her again, hear her heartbeat, hear her breathe, and hear her tell you she loves you? How?
The answer is: I don’t know how to and I didn’t want to.
There was never a good time to tell you. My plan was never to walk back into Daylesford with you telling me that you loved me back. I never planned to finally tell you that I loved you. I never planned on kissing you, holding you, making love to you, or seeing you smile at me. I never planned, but I hoped—no, I dreamed—for all of those. You, Peyton Olivia, are my biggest dream. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to witness all of life’s firsts you have yet to discover. You will make a beautiful fiancée, a beautiful wife, a beautiful soul mate, a beautiful mother, and a beautiful lover.
I want you to be all those for me. I’ve begged and tried to negotiate with the world. I never wanted a future more than after the tumour came back. If I could marry you right now, I’d do it. I’d kill for it. I’d give up an extra day of my life for you to be Peyton Reid, my wife, my soul mate, the mother of my child, and my ever-so-beautiful lover. If God gave me more time, I would make it all happen. But God gave me limited time and I wasted four years of it away from you. I didn’t want you to see me go through chemo. I didn’t want you to see me want to give up on life. I didn’t want you to think of me dying. I wanted you to live. I wanted you to find happiness and be free from me. I wanted you to be saved from me.
Weeks before I saw you again, the doctor told me that, this time, chemo didn’t work. My first thought was of you, not of my life. I needed to come back for you. This time, I had to make it past the sign. I had to be in breathing distance of you. I needed to feel your pain. I needed to know that being away was the best for you. I needed to remember why I left the first time. I love you, I have loved you, and I will always love you.