Myth says that Eurydice never minded that Orpheus looked back. Sure, it doomed her to an eternity in the underworld and meant that she would never go home. It meant that there would be no sun, no hope, no laughter or light. There have been scholars who have poured over the consequences of Orpheus's actions. But, so the story goes, Eurydice wasn't one of them. To look back at the one you adore is so unbearably, heartbreakingly human. She had been loved in the purest manner, both on earth and in hell. There isn't a lot that tops that.
When you sent me that letter - written in your sprawling, scrawling hand - I couldn't quite believe it. We have been taught for so long that simplicity is akin to convenience and convenience would have been sending me a Facebook message saying "in town next week, you around?"
But no. No, you had scribbled a letter in the stilted manner of somebody who never writes letters. You had rounded up paper, envelope, stamp (first class, I appreciated that.)
And you finished it with, "I miss you."
You loved me when I put you through hell. You were gracious enough to love me at my meanest, my most selfish. You were kind and patient and trusting enough to love me when I was hell-bent on destroying myself as quickly and efficiently as possible. You let me love you when I came to you with open, empty hands and a heart that was so decimated that the cracks were big enough to disappear into. You let me love you when I felt as if all I could give you was my body - my soul, my everything - I couldn't find it.
And then, after all of that, you looked back.
It was unbearable, and heartbreaking, and human.
