Dearest Neta,
I know it’s hard to believe, but you eventually found it!
Light, that is. And not just as a faint gleam at the end of some tunnel. That wasn’t quite enough for you. Once you caught a glimpse, you hit the ground running, knowing innately and trusting blindly that there was more of where it came from.
You found it in you, somehow –– unbeknownst to me still precisely how –– to just keep going. It was as if all those days you spent struggling to leave that bed –– all the classes cut, the experiences missed –– culminated into an involuntary sleep so deep that when you finally opened your eyes, you vowed to never close them again. And I am so profoundly proud to tell you, my teenage counterpart, that you never, ever did.
Let there be no mistake; some days will still be hard. He left you. It hurt. You thought your heart would never heal. It will. You got sick at the start of college, forced to face your own mortality in a way very different –– but also vaguely similar –– to the way you’re doing now. Some days, you just barely scraped by. But even when the light felt like it dimmed to merely a flicker, you absolutely refused to let it go; not when you knew how the world looked without it. As hard as things got, as much as your heart broke, you latched onto that damn light as if your life depended on it. Because you knew, in a sense, that it did.
Some days will still be hard. But Neta, some days will also be so beautiful. You write for your college newspaper; you’re an opinion columnist. Mr. Hadley was right about you. People like your stuff, they send you messages. You write all sorts of things, pull from all kinds of lived experiences. You’ve made people laugh, you’ve even moved some to tears. You’re capable of feeling again. Not only that, you can make other people feel something, too.
You’ve learned how to be sad. You’ve learned how to hold sadness, let her be the necessary visitor that she will always be –– and then let her go. And I’m not so sure you’ll believe this one, my friend, but you’re learning how to be happy. You’ve found joy in beautiful trees and friendly cashiers, in maximalist walls and farmer's markets. In waking up in the morning and feeling hope. It’s worth it. I promise.
You’re 20 now. You did it! I did it. I owe you a beautiful life. You see, every step I take now is for you. Every seed of friendship planted, every poem written, every joyous moment experienced. You braved that unrelenting darkness with remorseless determination, at the time not even knowing for what. It was for everything, Neta; for laughter, for growth, for clarity, for kindness. For light. For a girl who would never have to close her eyes again. Thank you. I won’t let you down.
