I'm Not Sorry

“This is Bryce. He used to volunteer at the hospital with me,” one of my good friends introduces me, years ago at a party.

“Hi,” I said, smiling at him.

As the party went on early into the morning, we hung back on the front porch talking about nothing yet everything. I remember he leaned in to kiss me and I kissed back as soon as we pulled away, I put my head on his shoulder to watch the vibrant oranges, pinks, yellows...sunrise.

Soon, we were doing this regularly. Talking late into the night, early into the morning. We would give anything to stay up together and watch the sun rise. “There’s something so rare about the sunrise. Something not a lot of people pay attention to,” he said when he asked me to pull our first all nighter together just to watch the sunrise.

The way his eyes would glint as he would look out to the world of color all around us, the way he would play guitar for me until the neighbors yelled at us to quiet down, the peaceful moments of silence and just staying in each others arms all made it worthwhile.

I thought I knew what I was doing by marrying him a few months later. We both thought we knew what we were doing. But after awhile, it wasn’t all sunrises, serenades, and comfortable silences. It was screaming and fighting, it was crying myself to sleep every night.

We were just too different. He had tried to make me a happy-go-lucky, carefree person. I tried to make him more serious. We were done being kids, we needed to grow up, I tried to tell him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?,” his eyes that I used to love had all of a sudden became more scary looking, and his voice on edge. I thought my heart would break if I dared to try and look into them. Looking down at the ugly tile floor of our apartment, I said barely above a whisper, “Your guitar playing. Becoming famous.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” his voice was rising.

“We’re growing up. We’ve been out of college for a few years. I just think...maybe...we’re married now. It’s just, it’s time...” I trailed off, choking, hardly being able to breathe.

“To give up? On my biggest dream yet? How could you even say that? How could you even make me try to pick between the both of you?”

Trying my hardest not to scream at him and throw a frying pan (the closest object to me) at him was almost unnerving. But despite it all, I loved him too much. Instead, I just balled up my fists, and said, “I don’t want you to have to pick. I just want you to include me. In whatever you’re doing.”

“Look...maybe, you’re too in over our heads here. Maybe this isn’t meant to be. I’m not sure how much longer I can take all this fighting. I just, I can’t...” he trailed off, looking at me guiltily. He didn’t have to complete the sentence. We both knew what he was thinking but didn’t have the courage to say.

“Bryce, please, don’t this. I love you and I know you love me too. We can work this out. Things will be okay, I promise. We just have to try harder, we just have to -”

He sighed, placing his hands in mine. “My band...we got an offer that I didn’t tell you about a few weeks ago. After having to come home to this every night, I wasn’t sure of whether to tell you or not.”

“What is it?” I asked, almost scared to find out.

“We got an offer to tour with The Fray for 6 months. To be the opening act. The band doesn’t want to turn this offer down, and neither do I. I just don’t know what I want...”

“You didn’t tell me? When do you leave?” I asked him, my voice starting to get on edge.

“In a week,” he was looking down at the ground, then finally looked back at me, his eyes begging forgiveness. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to give it to him.

“You tell me this a week in advance?! How could you do this to me? How could you do this to us? This is awful timing, how could you even consider such a thing?” I was now screaming at him.

“Gracie, I’m sorry. But you want me to do something with my life. Well, doesn’t this count? This could be the start of my career as we know it. I need to do this. The least you can do is support it. I even wanted you to come along with us.”

I felt like Ariel from The Little Mermaid. I tried to speak, but nothing would come. All I could do was cry and shake my head at him.

Finally, I mustered up the courage to say, “I can’t...I just...I can’t do this. My career is also taking flight. I can’t just travel with you across the country for six months.”

He kissed my forehead before walking out. He said he had to go to a hotel for the night, just to be alone and get his thoughts straight. After he didn’t come home for a few days, he finally called and said he would come back to get his things later, but he had to do this.

“Fine. This is what you want, I get it. But I want no part of it. Just so we’re clear, we’re over. Don’t call me, don’t text me, email me, anything. It’s over. We’re just too different.”

“I love you enough that I’ll respect your wishes, unlike yourself, who can’t seem to respect mine,” his voice stony, cold, and distant and he hung up on the call and on my life.

- - - - - - - - - - -

“No...This can’t be happening. You’re lying to me. That couldn’t have happened to him,” I shook my head uncontrollably, trying to hold back tears.
“I’m sorry, but your husband...his tour bus crashed. He’s in very critical condition. It won’t be long before he dies.”
“No, no, no...this is all my fault. I need to see him. I need to go. Please...” I was crying now, pushing against the person who had come to tell me, “Where is he?”
“Well, you’re his wife, shouldn’t you know? He’s in a hospital in Milwaukee right now, he was on his way to perform at a concert.”
I didn’t feel like telling the truth, so I just stood there and nodded my head, “Yeah, that sounds right.”

I ordered a plane ticket to Milwaukee and soon enough, I was there in the thrown into the world of scrubs, whiteness, and the thought of death and sickness. I found his room.
His mom and older brother were already there, crying.
“He’s gone,” his mother sobbed, “he’s gone.” My eyes were glazed over and all I could do was nod.
As I walked over to his body lying on the hospital bed, “I’m sorry...for everything I did,” I whispered, hoping that he would hear me.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

As I came back home, I was checking the mail and big bundle of letters tied with a string was inside.
It was from Bryce, it was sent a few days before he had died:

Gracie,
I’m not sorry I met you at that party that felt like a lifetime ago, when in reality, it was only a year ago. I’m not sorry for all those mornings, days, and nights we spent together. I’m not sorry I married you. And I’m definitely not sorry for loving you. The only thing that I’ll ever be sorry for is that this is over. I guess we’ll make it official when I come back from touring.
I miss you. That phone call hurt. The only other thing I’m sorry for is what I said. I think it hurt you. It hurt me too. I made a mistake, you were right. You’re always in my dreams. I hope I’m in yours too. I know I used to be.
Most of the stuff in this bundle tied up with string are things I wrote when I first left to go on tour. Mostly writing songs about you. If you look at the one at the bottom. It’s a CD I made for you. When I come back home, things won’t be over. We’ll start from the beginning. I’ll do it now...Hi, My name is Bryce. What’s yours? :)

Love,
Bryce

I didn’t want to look at the other stuff just yet. Even though he wasn’t here in this world anymore, I did try and write back:

Bryce,
I’m not sorry it’s over. All you would’ve come back to after the tour was more screaming and fighting and heart break. You’re much happier up in heaven, smiling down at me. I’m not sorry that I loved you and still do. Thank you for everything.
-Gracie