Always, in December by Emily Stone
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Josie stared at her name on the envelope. Her heart was thumping a steady rhythm of not real, not real, not real. Helen was still the other side of the room, getting her water. Around her, there was the humming of various noises, all blended in together – the whirring of a machine, the sound of footsteps, the murmur of conversation.
Not real, not real, not real.
She lifted the letter, the paper feeling soft and fragile in her fingers.
Not real, not real, not real.
With aching slowness, she opened the envelope, her body moving as if without her mind’s instruction. Then, unable to put it off any longer, she read.
Josie,
I hope I get the chance to tell you all this in person, but we both know first-hand that life doesn’t always play out the way we want it to. I don’t want to ruin your Christmas by telling you this now, but I want to make sure I don’t leave you without an explanation. So this is for after Christmas, just in case.
When I first met you last December, I’d just found out that I had terminal cancer. An inoperable brain tumour. They couldn’t give me an exact date of when my time would be up, just that it would be, at some point, possibly in as little as six months. I was on my way to New York to see my parents, yes, but also because, being the optimistic doctors that they are, they wanted me to go into a clinical trial there, which was supposed to increase both my quality and length of life. I didn’t mean to get close to you. I certainly didn’t mean to fall in love with you – knowing that there could never be any future between us. And as I got to know you, I hated the idea of you suffering too – I didn’t, and don’t, want to give you another person to grieve.
That’s why I left you that way last year – I let myself have those few days with you, but I thought it would be better for both of us to cut ties. I never thought I’d see you again, but I’m so happy that our paths were destined to intertwine. I’ve been selfish, allowing myself to see you, coming to the wedding just to be near you, because having you in my life, even just as a small part of it, has made this last year more bearable and has given me reason to hope, when I thought that was lost. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to tell you this all year.
The treatments haven’t worked and I’ve come to accept that there is no way out of this for me – I’m nearing the end. But you’ve given me moments of joy in this last year, where otherwise I would have had only darkness, and I want you to know how much that means to me, how grateful I am to you. I nearly gave up twice in the last year – once last December and once this September, and both times you gave me a spark of something back.
The doctors have told me that things will get worse from here. There might be some personality changes, I’m going to get more noticeably ill, and soon I won’t be able to hide it from anyone. I don’t want you to see that. I want you to remember me as you’ve known me, rather than as someone ill, confused and dying. It’s selfish, and it’s another reason I’ve put off this moment – hoping that I would go quickly and quietly, without you having to be a part of it. If that happens, then know that that’s the way I would have wanted it.
I’m so sorry, Josie. I’m sorry that I put you through this, I’m sorry that I couldn’t stay away from you.
But I’m not sorry for loving you. I could never be sorry for that, and I hope you’re not sorry for it either.
We might not have had for ever together, but I meant what I said last year – I will be forever glad I met you. I love you, Josie, and I hope your life is full of amazing, unexpected, brilliant things that shine just as brightly as you do. Know that if I had the chance, I’d choose to spend my life with you.
Forever yours,
Max.
Helen was there when Josie put the letter down in her lap and looked up. The hot tears that were running down her cheeks were silent. ‘He didn’t say goodbye,’ she said numbly.
‘Oh, darling. I think he’s been trying to say goodbye to you since he met you.’
With that, Josie curled into a ball on the chair, and, finally, she wept.