Robert-

It is June 7th, 2015. In the days that followed your absence on this wonderful planet, I felt more sorrow than ever before. The trees seem to weep just a bit more as I look at them from the beautiful porch you built for me in 1975, just when we had moved into this house. The flowers from our garden cannot bear to live in this drought without your care, although I could probably water them with the tears that I have shed since your passing and they would flourish with the love that is spilling onto the grounds of the Earth when I think of your radiant smile. That smile of yours, oh how I wish I could see you smile when you win at Monopoly with the kids when they were still little just once more. Things have changed since you have been gone, and it has only been a couple of weeks since the heavens took you. Our neighbors have come over to check on me every so often to make sure I’m doing well, they say, “Oh, Georgia, you look starved. Have you eaten yet today?” and I respond with the same, “Yes, I had some oatmeal with honey that Robert had collected from the hives before he passed.” Although, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen any honey around the house in the past few days, which is odd since I always put it back in your favorite spot in the cupboard where you would keep your surplus of honey from the hives. It seems as though it just disappeared. 

Your Love, 

Georgia

Dearest Husband-

It is December 25, 1992. That yellow jacket that you gave me for Christmas today is now my favorite item in my closet. It reminds me of you and your bees, and I’m glad that you remembered my favorite color, too. I’m not sure where the kids have run off to, but I’m sure they will be home by supper. I already watered the plants in the garden outside for you, so that when you come home from work, all that you have to do is check on the hives. I’ll make sure to make you a nice, warm cup of tea when you get home, too, since mother nature decided it was going to be a white Christmas this year and bring us snow. I’ll make it just how you like: hot, with a splash of cream, and a spoonful of honey, for my honey. Also, I found this little box thing in my room that seems to be electronic, but I have never seen such a thing before. I wonder what it does. Maybe you can help me figure it out when you get home.

Your wife, 

Georgia

My love-

It is September 15, 1977. There are people here. I don’t know who they are, but they told me that I have to go somewhere with them. They are giving me time to pack up my things, and they said that they are going to take me. I don’t know what to do, Robert. When you read this, I will be wherever these people are taking me. I’m scared.

I’m writing this as I unpack my things in the strange place they took me. I have my own room, a bed that is basically a cot, a desk, and a bathroom. That is all. A kind woman came in and told me to take the medication that she handed me. What if they’re trying to poison me? What am I to do then? Do I try and run away? You know I don’t run very fast, and get short of breath very easily. Oh Robert, please come and save me from this miserable place. This is all so strange. There are many elderly people here, I just don’t belong here at all! What is a spry young woman doing here surrounded by all these elders? 

Your peach,

Georgia

My sweetheart-

It is December 8, 1987. The people gave me my choice of meals this morning. Usually, they bring me whatever they feel like for the day, which tends to be some chicken noodle soup or scrambled eggs depending on what meal it is, but today they let me choose what I wanted. Of course, I chose spaghetti with some grilled chicken and a salad. Remember that’s my birthday meal? I hope you do. I think it’s been 10 years since these people took me. I’m still not sure where I am. It upsets me that you haven’t come to save me yet. You’re supposed to be the love of my life, Robert. My dearest husband. My love. My sweetheart. This world is too lonely for us to be apart. Please ju-

November 4th, 2015, the day my mother, Georgia Willis, passed away. She died from untreated taktsubo cardiomyopathy, also known as Heartbreak Syndrome. Yes, she died of a broken heart. She missed our father dearly, so much that she wrote some letters to him every so often, which my brother and I were given when we had to pick up her belongings from the nursing home. We found it strange how all of the letters were dated years or decades apart, yet the nurses said she had only been there a couple of months. My mother and I hadn’t talked since my father’s funeral. We weren’t on the best of terms, so I didn’t really know much about what was going on with her. I didn’t even know she was in a nursing home. She was 75 years old, so I mean maybe something was happening with her memory, but I’m not sure, and frankly, I don’t really care. I mean, yes, the letters make me sad to see her obviously suffering, but she is gone and there’s not much that knowing what was wrong with her can do now. I did get her yellow jacket back, though. You know, the one with the bee broach on it that my father gave her for Christmas on year. She really did love that jacket.