Guardian Angel

My dearest lover,

It’s been over a half of a century since you’ve been gone, and your absence hurts more and more with each passing day. It’s amazing, Matthew, the love we had. I never would have imagined anything on this Earth could be so pure, so good. You were the purest thing in my life, the realest thing, too. It’s strange, even after all this time, I can’t imagine life without you. Every day that you’re not here passes like a century, but when it’s all over, I still find myself awaking the very next day, wondering if that day would be the day you came home to me. I would be lying if I said I had given up on you.

I know this must all sound very silly, but I feel like I just met you yesterday. You lay there, you poor pitiful soul, in your blood-stained soldier’s uniform, gasping for breath. My heart ached for you, Matthew. I’ll have you know that I’m chuckling as I write these words, because I know I’ll never forget what you said that day when I approached your table.

“Nurse, please,” you sputtered, “please help me. Only one thing can mend my wound.”

“What is it?” I questioned you, trying to find a way to ease your obvious pain.

“A kiss from a lovely lady.”

I’ll never forget the sly words that came out of your mouth, or the way you flashed your pearly whites so charmingly. That’s what you were, Matthew, my charming man. And like you said, I was your guardian angel. I’ll forever be your guardian angel.

Your love is the truest thing I have ever known. Every day I would come into the hospital to check on my brave soldier, and every day you progressed. I was nursing you back to health as quickly as I could, although I secretly didn’t want you to leave. Those six months you spent in the hospital under my care were the best of my life, Matthew. Why did you have to go?

I know I ask this in every single letter that I write to you, but I’m yearning for an answer.

Eighteen thousand or so. That’s how many letters I wrote to you in those years you were gone, Matthew. I wrote to you every day, and not once did I get an answer. I suppose that sending the letters to the hospital where I worked all those years ago wasn’t the best idea, but I had to try something. After all, I didn’t know your surname. Now, with my old age, I’m starting to believe that reaching you is impossible.

But when has ‘impossible’ ever stopped me?

As incredibly stupid this may be, I feel that I must tell you this anyway: I have never loved again, Matthew. You were my first love, and you will be my last. I feel as if I should hate you for leaving, but I just can’t. Something inside of me tells me that you still love me. My heart is drawn to yours by something bigger than us both. And although my old body is failing fast, I can feel something churning in the depths of my chest; something I have only felt for you.

I’m sorry it has to be this way, Matthew, but this is the very last letter I will ever write to you. I don’t think I will live to see another day, which quite frankly should scare me, but it doesn’t. I figure life without you isn’t much of a life at all. If you’re still around, you’d be quite in old age yourself. You were two years older than me, which would make you eighty-six years old. What an old man you have become! And what an old woman I am, sitting here, rotting away while awaiting your return.

If you are no longer around, I might see you on the other side. If there is another side. You know, I was never much one for religion, but if there is a God above, I pray that he gives me salvation. I pray that he has mercy upon my soul and leads me to yours, if you are dead and gone.

But more than anything, I pray that you are alive and well, living your life to the fullest, and loving with all of your heart and soul. True love lasts forever, and let it be not forgotten.

I have not forgotten.

Your guardian angel,

Ramona Buckley