Dear Lexie,
It’s human nature to share our joyous moments; in the same way that you were, we are more reticent when it comes to sharing our pain. Maybe it’s because it exposes our vulnerability, our regrets, our shame. But pain makes us compassionate and life is about all these things. Each of them is real.
As another spring comes around, the finest haze of verdant green steals across the landscape, with it, delicate tendrils of hope appearing. Hope that one day, I will be OK again. That this OK-ness will extend beyond the face I present to the world, to the broken heart I hide inside.
We all experience loss. It’s part of being alive. But some losses cut deeper; are harder to bear. They don’t go away. We wouldn’t want them to; they are a precious part of our human existence, and we hold them close.
Since losing you, I’ve found solace in nature, and living at Mary’s has been healing in more ways than I’ve realised. Not just because I’ve brought her once-neglected garden back to life, planted flowers that have infused it with colour, but the peace here, the passing of the seasons, has reminded me I am part of something greater.
In short, in caring for it, her garden has cared for me. Maybe Mary had known it would be that way. Maybe that was the real reason she invited me here. That when she said I was deserving of kindness, that was what she really meant. I’ve learned from her that everyone’s deserving of kindness.
I move into my cottage on a cool spring morning. Joe helps me. I take it as a sign that the garden there is coming alive. Tulips growing up in one of the flowerbeds – orange, your favourite; cherry blossom cascading from a tree I didn’t notice before.
That evening, Ollie and Jenna come over, with Harrie and Charley, the puppy they’ve recently acquired. While Harrie totters around the garden, Charley runs rings around her, Jenna tells me she’s pregnant again. I hug her tight, feel my heart fill with love for this family of mine.
And so, another chapter of my life begins.
After moving, over the weeks that follow, I feel my future being drawn into focus. As I gaze up at the sky one night, something you used to say comes back to me.
The universe is infinite, Mum. Do you have any idea what that means? How many incredible possibilities there are? And at the same time how unlikely it is that we even exist?
That time, you were simply wondering, rather than looking for answers. But for whatever reason, you and I have existed. And you are still here, Lexie. Entwined into my heart, into the furthest reaches of my mind. Into my soul; knowing you has changed who I am.
And so, I find the smallest amount of your courage. Then I mix it with hope. Hope is something we all need. And because you are with me and change doesn’t come without risk, and because it isn’t really a risk, I go to talk to Joe.
When he sees me, his face lights up. ‘I was going to call you. I’ve sold the practice – to one of my employees.’ His relief is palpable. ‘It means I’m going ahead and starting up here.’
I gaze at him, slightly shocked at the timing of this.
He looks at me. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’ I pause. Then I summon that courage again, not that I need it. ‘I know how this is going to sound, but hear me out,’ I say, liking the way he smiles at me as, going on, I tell him my plan.
EPILOGUE
SEVERAL YEARS LATER
Dear Lexie,
It’s a few years since I’ve written to you. So much has happened and I need to tell you about it. I think you’d be proud.
I’ve discovered an animal shelter never really starts. You don’t open the gates and wait for something to happen. As soon as a whisper of what we’re doing gets out, it becomes, an invisible message borne across the ether, reaching into the lives of those in need of us. But I think you’ve always known that.
One morning, I open the back door of what used to be Mary’s house to find a dog tied to the gate, with a bowl and a note.
He was my mother’s. She died last week. Please can you look after him.
Whoever abandoned him hasn’t thought to tell us his name, so we christen him Primo, because he’s our first. He’s a grey, wire-haired crossbreed with anxious eyes, who is humble and quiet and just wants love. Cats follow – from manky old ones to orphaned kittens and everything in between. Ex-egg-farm hens. My window into your world widens when orphaned piglets are brought to us, and I think of your piglets born in a slaughterhouse. But even without them, each and every day, I think of you, Lexie.
To mark our official opening, we organise a party in honour of you. The day before, I read through all the letters I’ve written to you. Letters that have helped me heal. Remember your words. When our guests gather, silence falls as I tell them what you achieved in your life. Then Joe unveils the plaque we’ve nailed to the gate that says quite simply, Lexie’s Place. Then underneath: A legacy of kindness.
After scaling back our flower business, Lucy and I juggle weddings with running the shelter together. Ollie dedicates every spare minute he has to helping, Jenna manages our accounts while looking after Max, baby number two. Harrie is our dearest, most loving animal-cuddler, while Joe’s new practice rapidly takes off. And it isn’t just animals who arrive in their droves. Volunteers turn up, almost always when we need them most.
Having sold the cottage I bought, Petals carries on in part of the stables, while we convert the rest into Joe’s new vet practice and housing some of our homeless creatures.
It seems incredible to me how seamlessly all of this has taken shape; how so many lives have become enmeshed, the direction we’re taking. How none of it would have come about without you, Lexie.
After two years together, Joe proposes. We get married in the church where your funeral was held, then have a marquee reception in the garden – just a small one that Lucy and I decorate with flowers. Life exactly as it is, is as good as it gets.
