Mail

Today I mailed a letter.

It was a letter I needed to mail, full of words I needed to say, words my therapist helped me form, words helping me seek closure on old wounds. After weeks of composing, I brought it to my therapy appointment today all folded up and stuffed in an envelope, an envelope with a stamp, hoping my therapist would change her mind and tell me that as a matter of fact I’m one hundred percent fixed and I don’t need to mail the letter after all. She didn’t; she encouraged and applauded and cheered and said she can’t wait to hear about the response I’ll get. That bitch.

After therapy I went to Target and took deep breaths and tried not to think about the letter in my purse. I put things into my cart that I didn’t need, and then I took the things out and put other things in. I looked at all the different Easter baskets, one by one. I pretended the letter wasn’t still waiting, nagging me, daring me to mail it or burn it or shred it into Easter grass. 

I paid for my stuff. I sat in my car and ate an entire bag of kettle cooked potato chips. I drove around and pretended I wasn’t thinking about the letter. I drove and ate until somehow, inexplicably, I was at the post office, face to face with a big blue mailbox. 

I took a deep breath. I wiped potato chip crumbs on my jeans. And I dropped the letter into the box. 

Oh my flaming heck. I just mailed the letter I mailed the letter I mailed the letter.

Instantly a sitcom unfolded in my mind, one in which I took apart the mailbox using a screwdriver and my teeth, a sitcom that culminated in my pursuing the mail truck in a high-speed chase across the Arizona desert, and then cut to a wide shot of me stranded with a flat tire amidst the saguaro and the sagebrush, shaking my fist at the sky, as the mail truck bounced blithely toward its destination. Oh, the shenanigans I could undertake in a 23-minute time slot! How funny this would be, if it weren’t my life!

Instead I drove home in a state of moderate panic, where I now face several days of fighting back nausea whenever I check my email and jumping out of my skin every time the phone rings. I hope it isn’t too high a price to pay for closure. I hope I don’t regret not chasing that mail truck.

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3 Responses to “Mail”


  1. 1 Donna Bechtel March 17, 2009 at 7:58 am

    Abi, will be praying for their heart to be prepared and receptive to the words you wrote, peace for you, and full healing of this wound. May this cause your relationship to be restored to a deeper and more beautiful level. I love you and am so proud of you!!!

  2. 2 Chelle March 17, 2009 at 4:35 pm

    I echo what Donna said… I will pray for you and I am proud of you!

  3. 3 Rachel June 9, 2009 at 7:56 pm

    I’m a day late and a dollar short, as usual. Just now caught this as I was perusing your blog.

    By now months have passed since you mailed that letter, and didn’t chase down the mail truck. I am proud of you. I have a few letters I should probably write and send myself, but can’t bring myself to do it.

    Just wanted to let you know that you rock. 🙂 I hope that by now some kind of peaceful resolution has come from your letter.


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