Dear Ex

I want you to know I don’t hate you.  I’m not angry, or sad, or even disappointed anymore.  I understand your choices, and I appreciate that you made them when you did- because I was too in love to see the truth of the situation.

We would have never been happier than those months before.  There was no more up.  You wanted to be young, free, play the games you hadn’t yet- and I already had.  You will forever want to be an explorer- a reverse Columbus, adventuring East.  But I’ve seen the world, and while it’s fun to travel and trek, the place I truely want to be is home.  I can build a home anywhere- you taught me that- as long as the person next to me wants to be there too.

I owe you thanks for that, and so many other things.  Thanks for four years of a well spent youth.  Happiness, adventures, life lessons, friends.  An unabashedly enthusiastic family, a place to fly my geek flag, the chance to fail.  Thank you for the stories, and the love and the opportunity to learn just what I needed for me.

I’m sorry that we haven’t been better friends the last few years- but I’m glad I still get to call you a friend.  Call next time you’re in town.  We’ll shoot the breeze.

And maybe some tequila.

XOXO Sarah Mae


I’ve committed to writing 30 letters in 30 days, according to the 30 Day Letter Challenge.  To learn more about my project, check out my introduction.

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Dear Arizona Mom

Arizona Mom, Bethany Grace, Fairy God Mother, c.2008, Las Vegas

There’s a million things you’ve missed already.  A million and one.  And when I think about it, it makes me want to cry, and it makes my heart break, and it makes me smile, because you got to be there for two million and two things.

When friends lose someone, I try to be patient, because I remember.  I remember drinking the God-awful sicky sweet alcohol out of a plastic pineapple in the airport bar in O’ahu as my plane was delayed and delayed and delayed again.  I didn’t know what else to do, and you were the only one I could think of to call.  That was four years ago.  And sometimes you’re still the only one I can think to call.  And you number is still in my phone- though I’m sure someone else uses it now.

If wishes were fishes the whole world would be fed.

But that doesn’t stop me wishing.

Wishing you were here.  That you had been the one crying at Bethy’s wedding instead of me.  That you had met, and approved the marvelous man she married.  That you got to meet the one I’m seeing now.  That  you could revel in our successes, and failures with us still.  That you embarrassed us still in restaurants and begged for more visits with your children and grandchildren.

My faith say’s this is just a temporary thing- that you are there watching over us, giving us what we need to make it through day after day of life without you.  And so I want to be confident that you still see.

You will see us laugh as we take our seats in restaurants, or pull coupons from our ginormous purses.  You will see us with our lipstick for the mail box (okay, more Bethy than me, but I do rock a pick lip for work most days!).  You will see us teach our daughters how to sit in Easter dresses, and how to rock pantyhose on their heads in a grocery store, if that’s what they want to do.  You will see us sing the little birdie song to wake sleeping children.  We will bake biscuits for Christmas cookies, buy a million coloured fingernail polishes, drive around looking for the perfect Christmas tree.  We will rush our children and husbands while we’re not ready.  We will live exclusivly out of the Costco freezer case at some point, and allow each child to choose a frozen treat from there to keep on hand at all times.  We will insist on hydration and sunscreen.  We will listen to our bodies and make the doctors listen too.  We will fight anyone who thinks our kids aren’t good enough. We will make friends who become family.  We will follow our passions to help people.

And we will love.

Because you taught us to.  Until heaven-

All my love, your Sarah Mae


I’ve committed to writing 30 letters in 30 days, according to the 30 Day Letter Challenge.  To learn more about my project, check out my introduction.

Dear Nebraska

I wish I were a better friend.  I wish that I knew how to fix everything when you walked away.  That I knew how to support you through these hard years.  Because these last few years have been hard, and I know that, and I’ve stood by, unable the find the words to express my love for you.  I wish I could have known Mr. Nebraska before you married him- and celebrated your wedding and marriage and happiness together.  I wish I could have been crying with you when everything fell apart, and laughing with you when it started to turn right again, and watching horror movies in the middle of a random Friday night with you during all the in-between times.

But wishes get us nothing.  They create a nostalgia for something that’s not there.  And while it’s a lovely game to play, sometimes the thought is not all that counts.  Sometimes the act is more important.

I just don’t know how to act.  So this is my whispered prayer:

May you see this, and know you are loved.  May you see this, and know you are missed.  May you see this and be stronger than me, and ready to act.  And if you don’t, or aren’t, or need something else in your life, may you know that I am always here.

My number hasn’t changed.

XOXO Sarah Mae


I’ve committed to writing 30 letters in 30 days, according to the 30 Day Letter Challenge.  To learn more about my project, check out my introduction.

Dear Verizon Guy

I’m coming for you.

And by that, I mean, I will politely enter your store, sign away half my life, and come out with a shiny new phone, with your help.  I would be a horrible horrible customer.  I actually say please, thank you, and excuse me- even if a sales person is ignoring me (and subsequently their jobs), because I too worked retail.

But this kindly customer girl is in need of a new phone, and my upgrade came up like weeks ago.  So now, I just need to drag Mom and Dad down there.  Because my phone was old before you gave it to me, two years ago.  Dad’s going to be annoyed at being in a retail establishment.  Moms going to be annoyed with the cost of phone service in the modern world.  Also, we’re going to get Mom her very first smart phone- so I’m sorry, but we may be the only customers you see that day because we take so long.

See you soon!

-Sarah Mae


I’ve committed to writing 30 letters in 30 days, according to the 30 Day Letter Challenge.  To learn more about my project, check out my introduction.

Dear Modcloth

Okay, so maybe we’re not friends for realsy but, I would like to ask:

Will you be my internet friend?

See- I’ve been admiring your work for some time.  I really like your style.  I’m digging your I-might-be-able-to-afford-food prices.  I heart your social policies.  I love your commitment to indie designers and regular customers.

The only trouble I see, is that I could spend all day, and my whole paycheck on you.  You’re like the best kind of girl-friend that way.  So I really really want to be your friend, but if you don’t feel the same way- I understand.  I’ll just bask in your cast off lime light, and continue to gawk at ease as the popular girl who’s still nice to us under-the-staircase-geeks.

Call me!  -Sarah Mae

 


I’ve committed to writing 30 letters in 30 days, according to the 30 Day Letter Challenge.  To learn more about my project, check out my introduction.

Dear Dumba**

Embed from Getty Images

I wanted to love you, more than anything.  I wanted to be the teachers wife, a shining example of community involvement and loving support.  I wanted to be the girl in our 1950’s daydreams of what a future could look like.

But my gut wouldn’t let me.

I should thank you for that.  For the lesson that going further than you want to, making choices for another person, ignoring the calling in your heart only hurts you.  It’s an important lesson to learn, and I am thankful that I did- because it changed everything.

You made dumba** choices.  Not just with the teenager that landed you in jail (that would have been and should have been prison, if they hadn’t lessened the charges), but with me too.  You squandered my spirit in the guise of love, played the hero while picking me apart, and became the closest thing to an abuser I’ve ever had.

No, you did not hit me.
No, you did not rape me.
No, you did not scream, yell, or throw things.

But it wasn’t what is was supposed to be.  And I knew that.  So I walked away.

You gave me something else too- sympathy and empathy for the women and men who can’t walk away, for those who can’t escape, for those who die before they hit a breaking point.  I had the spark in me, that you never got to see- it kept me warm, and safe, and pushed me out before the police arrived at your classroom door.  Not everyone has that- not everyone has BookBoy and BigBrother to highlight the difference in love and support and disenchantment, or a voice to say no.

You will accuse me of being a hateful bi*ch, of having the situation wrong, of victim blaming you.  That’s okay with me.  You can call me a mess, unkempt, a girl who wouldn’t get contacts for you.  I’m okay with that too.

You see, I’ve managed to find love after you.  In glasses.  And pants.  And saying “no” when I’m not into something.  All without a grown man pitching a hissy fit.

So thank you.

Never yours- Sarah Mae


I’ve committed to writing 30 letters in 30 days, according to the 30 Day Letter Challenge.  To learn more about my project, check out my introduction.

Dear Strangers

You don’t know me yet.  You might know my name, my hair colour, that I don’t like apple pie and salmon (I know, I know- how can I be a genuine PNW Girl?).  You’ve heard that I am patient, that I am kind, that I know which fork to use at the fancy restaurant, but you don’t know me, and you don’t know about me. (That’s a picture of me, up there, just in case you haven’t seen).

That’s okay.

You’ll learn me, and I’ll learn you, and we might become family some day.  But today is not that day.  Today we are strangers, living separate lives in separate cities, held together by a single middleman who is at best an unreliable narrator, and at worst, a love sick pup with rainbows and unicorns in his eyes.

I want you to know I don’t want to hurt him- even if I end up doing it.  I want you to know that if it happens it wasn’t malicious; I’ll only make choices that are the best I can for the both of us.  I want you to know that I want to make this work- not just with him, but you too- because he loved you long before he knew me, and I respect that.  That I want you to like me, but if you don’t, and it is everything we can do to force smiles in group photos and exchange Christmas cards, then that’s okay.  I will make your favorite dessert when you come over, to smooth things over, even when nothings ruffled.  I want you to know there are others that came before you, and that I love them still, but I am not afraid to love you too.  I want you to know that I don’t expect  you to warm to my family as quickly as I do yours- they’re a wild bunch, and part of the grace of you is a small escape from them.  l want you to know that I am here.  That you can call me.  That I will answer questions, even if they are awkward and cause us both to blush.  I will That few things offend me, but making him the middleman will drive me crazy.

And most of all, I want you to know me.

So here I am, at your disposal.

XOXO Sarah Mae


I’ve committed to writing 30 letters in 30 days, according to the 30 Day Letter Challenge.  To learn more about my project, check out my introduction.