Since her dad passed she had held herself together thinking she was being strong, pushing forward to some other side, growing.
But with such a treacherous loss, she finally slowed down long enough to understand that sitting with her grief was a form of recognizing her love for him.
There is no other side to grief. It isn't a wall you walk through. It's more like this, a field of rolling land and flowers and you walk through different seasons of resting in stillness where nothing grows for a time. And then one day, you look out, and snowdrops are pushing their fragile bodies through the earth and reminding you of life.
Eloise sat under the willow tree, the limbs parted for her as she watched the sky cry with her, laying down its heart for her to see and share. The yellow and purple flowers were now abundant, spots of color amongst the slowly growing grass.
Flashes of memories of her dad filtered through her.
Teaching her how to parallel park using a riding lawn mower and two trash cans.
His laughter and humor was so warm it was like you had won a great prize by being in on a secret with him every time you were the one to draw it out of him.
A crack of thunder shook the world; she felt it beneath her and she held her breath and closed her eyes as the tears ran free and wild.
When she opened them she was both surprised and not to see Taylor walking toward her. They didn't dilute this moment with pleasantries or apologies. He reached out his hand and she took it without pause or question, his skin warm against hers, and he pulled her into his large body, wrapping his arms around her as the rain covered them.
Finally after some time he pulled back and looked down into her light golden brown eyes and pushed her wet hair off her rain-kissed cheeks.
"Tell me about him," he asked.
Fresh tears rushed through her at the invitation and she was afraid she wouldn't be able to talk but then the words came out as if they had been saved up and ready for the right time.
She told him that her dad was the kind of man who invited people to be whoever they needed to be. He met them where they were at. She smiled remembering the feeling of that. She told him it was like he was put here just to create a space for people to stop and heal.
And he was funny, but also told the same jokes like a dad, she said laughing. Laughing and crying.
And Taylor listened, taking it inside of him, her memories and her grief.
"I don't know how to exist in a world where he doesn't," she admitted softly, her eyes closed. "I have been terrified of facing that. What if I sat with my grief and it swallowed me? Because it's like this living monster, sneaking up on me when I least expect it. I will be driving and the smell of leather comes out of nowhere and I'm back in his office healing fake hearts while he takes notes and tells me I'm amazing. I will be making coffee and suddenly I'm back in the kitchen with him and his newspaper before the rest of the house is awake while we talk about everything and drink coffee black." Her mouth quirked in a half smile. "He let me try coffee when I was little and begging to. My mom didn't want him to but he drank it black and said it would get me to stop asking. I told him I loved it." Laughter, messy and gulping jumped out. "I did not. But I wanted to be just like him. I've been drinking coffee ever since."
"Explains why you're short," Taylor said softly with a crinkle-eyed smile.
She looked up into his eyes, blue and warm. He reminded her of her dad in a way. He was solid and could joke but also talk deeply. He made her feel safe.
He made her feel seen.
"Why are you here?"
"Logistically? Because Ursula called me and told me what happened," he answered honestly. "I didn't get her call for a few days because I turned off my phone."
And she nodded, feeling a pang in her heart at that truth. Of course she'd been hoping he would say he came for another reason. For her. For hope. But that was immediately deflated.
Then his warm hands cradled her face so gently she wanted to cry for other reasons.
"But truthfully, I was on my way here, back to Salem when I listened to the voicemail. I had gone away to a friend's cabin in Rockville, Indiana. I was surrounded by woods and quiet and 800 miles away from you. Which is what I thought I needed to stop this pain inside of me," he pressed one of his hands against his heart. "Eloise, I have never felt this kind of...aching before. I've been disappointed I couldn't love before. I have been sad, maybe a little bruised that someone I found interesting would never be anything more. But with you?" He tilted his head back and closed his eyes taking a moment, taking a breath. She watched the rain slide down his face. When he looked back down at her his eyes were so blue they looked like they were lit up. His hands cupped her face again. "God almighty I felt sliced in half. I was sitting on the back covered porch with terrible coffee, you've ruined me by the way," he said and she smiled. "And I was looking at the trees and listening to the rain fall gently, a group of eastern bluebirds were singing and I realized this kind of visceral pain can only be felt with an equal measure of love."
"A flock or hermitage," she whispered. "That's what a group of eastern bluebirds is called."
"Why do you know that?" he whispered with delight. "I love that you do."
Then he pulled out a folded paper. It was thick journal paper, cream and she could see with slanting ink covering both sides as he unfolded it.
"I wrote you a love letter."
Her eyes shot up to his, the shock of this catching her in the chest.
"I looked down as the flock or hermitage of bluebirds were singing and I had written this and for the first time there was a name, a person it was written to."
