Epilogue

Dear Mom,

I know, I said I wouldn’t write you any more letters.

But here’s the thing. I didn’t count on where my life would go even in the six months since Hawaii. I didn’t count on starting classes at Oregon State University, studying to be a therapist. I didn’t count on Dad and Deanna taking a much less dramatic page out of my book and buying a 5th wheel so they could come visit me several times a year.

I didn’t count on Nova moving to Oregon, or her and Meg becoming thick as thieves. I didn’t count on Meg naming her tiny little girl Aurelia, or naming me as Godmother.

I didn’t count on Jasper gathering every spare moment he has and spending it on me.

Why did no one tell me this is what love is like? I can remember the doubt in your eyes with some of the boys I brought home, and I never understood it till Jasper took me to meet his mom.

There’s a surety between us I didn’t realize was a possibility, and a daring adventure in every moment we spend together.

If daring adventures can also be long moments of silence, holding each other tightly while we watch sunsets from our favorite stone bench overlooking Nye Beach. Or if they can be meeting up in the middle of the night to enjoy meteor showers.

The best adventure recently though was an early morning walk on our favorite beach a few miles south of Newport. Nobody was there except a few clam diggers, and the tide was so low the mussel covered rocks were completely clear of the water.

We stood ankle deep in the eddies around the rocks and Jasper put his arm around me tight. I looked up at him, because I can’t be near him and not admire him, and he met my gaze.

I couldn’t help it. I told him we should get married, and he burst out laughing before hugging me close.

We’re planning the wedding for next May. It may be raining, but at least it won’t be too hot. The flowers will be beginning to bloom, and Oregon will be becoming the lovely green place I adore.

Meg has already claimed the place of flower girl for Aurelia, and she and Nova will be my bridesmaids.

If there can be a life after death, that’s what this feels like. A life that matters more because of the gray days of emptiness.

I never knew life could be this beautiful and full. It seems impossible in every way that I could be this happy in a world with you gone, but I am. Improbably, dangerously happy.

Sometimes I have this irrational fear that my happiness will be taken from me again. I can't believe I get to be this happy after everything.

It's tempting to pull back. I regularly get the itch to get in my car and start driving again, but it's becoming easier and easier to remind myself of the good things in my life, and even Althea has pointed out recently that those impulses are becoming less and less frequent, and the happiness I now have is becoming my normal instead of an unrealistic dream.

Ryker came to visit a few days ago. I've invited him several times since he wasn't able to come to Hawaii, and since he made the effort I took some time off work and the whole group of us, including Meg, Tom, Nova, and Aurelia, chartered a boat to tour the coast.

I think Jasper thought it was the most ridiculous, tourist trap of a thing we could have done, but the rest of us had fun.

I'm going to have to dig through my closet for the shoe box with your letters to add this one. I haven't gone through it in so long, and I'm looking forward to the opportunity to rub the diamond I found in Arkansas between my fingers, maybe read a few of the letters.

We kept our bracelets for a while after I moved here, but with the panic attacks coming at longer intervals they seemed a bit redundant since we have our phones so they're in the box too.

Most importantly to me in this moment, I want to find Jasper's hexaflexagon and put it in my jewelry case. Your old jewelry case. The feel of that paper between my fingers, and the utter awe when I finally got up the courage to read it are still some of strongest memories I have of my adventure.

It's strange to me to be sitting on my rock bench, overlooking Nye Beach in the pre-dawn chill. Writing this letter and watching the Yaquina Head Light in the distance.

In a few minutes the sun will rise and I'll pack up my blanket and writing things in my car and drive the forty-five minutes to Corvallis so I can be in time for my first class of the day. I'll have the sound of the seagulls and the smell of the surf running through me all day, and tonight, with classes done, at home for the evening, I'll call Jasper and we'll laugh and talk, planning for our amazing future.

My life is full even though there is still a hole in my heart. Every day has me excited for the next, and even though I still get tired, the cloud I lived in has lifted and I can see the light of my own personal lighthouse guiding me in to shore.

Life would be better with you here, but it is good. I am good.

I will never not miss you.

Bo.