To read the origin behind the Unsent series of blog posts, go here.

Dear L,

Happy birthday! Or, as you like to call it, Happy Princess Day!

I know we haven’t talked in a long time. This letter is a long time coming. I’m sorry for that.

Do you remember what we were doing three years ago at this time? Your first (and, as it turned out, only) birthday in the state of Georgia. I visited you that morning, supposedly on my way to work, to wish you happy birthday. I told you I wished I didn’t have to work on your birthday, but that I couldn’t help it. Then I left, only to return twenty minutes later. You weren’t as surprised to see me as I expected you to be. Did you see through my charade? Was I that obvious?

The thing I remember most about that day is getting lost in downtown Macon. You seemed perplexed that a man who lived in a town just thirty minutes away could possibly get lost. I was perplexed at how you could possibly be perplexed given my constant and repeated admissions that “sense of direction” is an area of which I am very much lacking.

But alas, the joke was on me. My getting lost made us late for the theater. My punishment? The only movie we could see was the Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock love-drama The Lake House. And yes, to repeat my often-repeated quote, a little part of me died that day!

You know I kid. That was a good day. I miss days like those.

The past two years have been hard for me. Not because I miss you, though I do miss your smile and the way Apple (i.e. the dog who never stopped moving) would always…well, never stop moving! And it’s not because I think we made a mistake. Breaking up and going our separate ways was the right, and kind, thing to do.

It’s been hard because a part of me hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that I failed you in a major, catastrophic way.

I was “the nice boy.” The guy you kept hoping was out there as you waded through the sea of jerks and ignoramuses. The fear that, after things ended with me, you might feel you were unworthy of another “nice” guy has weighed heavily on me.

I’ve worried about you. I’ve worried that the worst the male gender has to offer would get his meaty claws on you. I’ve worried that, unintentionally, I left you in a far worse place than when I found you. I’ve worried that you might miss out on the wonderful life God has planned for you. I’ve worried that you would be unhappy.

It’s a lot of weight I’ve been carrying.

The reason I’m writing you this letter, besides wishing you a happy birthday, isn’t to ask you for forgiveness. I know I did the best I could. I know I looked out for your well being. I know I did right by you. No, the reason I’m writing is I need to say these things, and I need someone to hear me say it.

I forgive myself.

I forgive myself for letting you to turn your life upside down just to be with me. I forgive myself for letting you leave. I forgive myself for not being able to make us be compatible, via planning and reading and Excel spreadsheets, in all the ways we needed to be compatible. I forgive myself for not having faith in your ability to persevere once we parted ways.

I forgive myself for every slight, intentional or unintentional, every misunderstanding, every unfulfilled expectation, and every night I forgot to pray to God for your happiness.

I wasn’t completely aware of the baggage I’d been carrying until a friend recently pointed some things out to me. I wasn’t living up to my potential. Afterward, I realized I still had baggage from our relationship, much of it literal, weighing me down. I needed to let it go. I needed to move on.

I needed to forgive myself.

Finally freed from this burden, I am able to write you and ask without any hidden guilt or agenda: “How are you?”

And, if you were to respond to me with the same question, I can now honestly say: “I’m doing great. The future has never looked brighter.”

Happy birthday, Princess. I pray it finds you, and leaves you, well.

Love,
Kevin