"The Art Of Letting Go (Summer of 1923)" by Lydia N

     This morning I find it extremely difficult to get out of bed. Pain is wrapped around my
body like a thick blanket. My chest feels like it was hit with a ton of bricks and my stomach feels
like someone squeezed the life out of it. I cry from the pain but each breath gets shorter than the
last. However, this isn’t the first time this episode has occurred. For some peculiar reason, every
July 15th for the past thirteen years, I’ve been experiencing the same level of pain I’m currently
facing.
     For the next, what feels like an hour, I suffer in silence until I hear my door creak open.
My housekeeper/caregiver, Carol, pokes her head in my room and greets me, then she asks if
there’s any work she needs to do. I mumble an inaudible,“No,” and she starts to realize the state
I'm in. “Miss are you alright?,” she asks. Tears start to burst from my eyes and all I can say is,
“Jeremy.” “Jeremy, who is Jeremy?,”asks Carol. “My-my husband, he still hasn’t come back. He
promised, he promised!,”I cry out. “Oh that’s right,”Carol begins to remember who he is. “Miss,
remember you told me that your husband passed away many years ago in an automobile
accident? Do you remember what day he passed away?,”she asks.“I know it was some time
during the summer. We were on a road trip and we lost track of the date,”I say. Then I start to
piece everything together. “Oh my goodness, I-I think it's today. Maybe-maybe,” I can’t seem to
finish my sentence. “That’s why you're in pain? You’re still heartbroken from his passing.
Forgive me, but I think it’s time to let him go,”she says. That last comment sets me off, “HOW
IN THE WORLD, DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO THAT! You don’t know how beautiful of a
person he was”, I cry out. Just the thought of letting him go wounds me. “I’m so sorry Miss, I
didn’t mean to say that. I kno-”, I didn’t let her finish. “Just leave. Now!,” I shout.
     For the next few minutes Carol’s suggestion keeps running through my mind nonstop.
How could I let go of the man who was my first love, who was willing to risk his reputation to
love someone like me? Now that the pain is starting to ease off, I slowly roll off the bed and
search for a pen and paper. I enjoy writing poems and songs because it helps calm me down
especially during moments like now. As soon as I find them in the drawer, I climb to my bed and
begin to reminisce about the time I met Jeremy. The paper with the help of my pen starts to
capture the ups and downs of our marvelous relationship. However, instead of recapping our
relationship through a poem or a song, I wrote it as a monologue:
     Summer of 1923 was the time we first laid eyes on each other. I was serenading the audience
with jazz in front of a group of people with judgemental looks on their face because obviously, I
was different. The more I sang the more I felt uncomfortable until I saw your reassuring brown
eyes, I felt equal. That day I realized that we felt the same way about each other but we lived in a
world that was black and white and the rules of society made it impossible for the colors to
intermingle. We didn’t care, no, it was going to be us against the world! Yeah, we faced
discrimination among others including our own families, but as long as we had each other we
didn't need anyone else. But in the end, the world won and you were the casualty. In my eyes
you are not a casualty. You are still the same man I laid eyes on twenty years ago and I hope that
one day people can learn from our story. Love is more powerful than all the evils of this world.
Just like that I begin to realize that even though it’s tough, I have to let him go. I can’t
continue to let this tragedy consume my well being. I know he not only would’ve wanted what’s
best for my health but also he would’ve wanted me to share the love we had for each other with
others someday. Eventhough he’s gone, I will always have this monologue to remember him. I
have to admit that it's going to take some time, but in the end everything will be okay.