Notes from Xiao-Yu Zheng:
This series of letters are from Hannah, a multi-media artist, to Jeffery, her deceased partner. Jeffery was a neuroscientist. More details about them are developing. My friends have been enjoying this series so far. They have encouraged me to share. So, here we are.
I hope you enjoy. Share with someone you love if you’d like to.
All letters are written with love.
Xiao-Yu
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Letter No.1
J,
Your sister texted. She mentioned a dream where you two went diving with a group of teenagers. It made me smile. She seems to be doing okay. Her job and the new baby are keeping her busy. She invited me to join her for Christmas. I think this year I am going to pass. She needs some rest. I, too.
Erin has been not so subtly setting me up. There is often an unexpected (to me) 4th person joining our dinner. She is determined to make us an even number. I quite like the number 3. She thinks that I should stop living my life like I am a widow. She is adorable. She thinks that grief has a timeline, and by year three, I should have moved on, as if three years are enough to capture what we had, as if she knows what living life as a widow is like, as if moving on is good for me and what I need. But I understand where she’s coming from. She is trying to be a good friend.
I wish she could experience the aliveness/your aliveness in me. Occasionally, I still mix the tense of my verbs. She refrains from correcting me. She says it is impossible to compete with a dead person. Good point. No one will be comparable to you. Tough competition to begin with. I am still hopeful that life will surprise me at some point. It did with you. I want to believe that good surprises are not finite.
I stopped actively searching for your eyebrows on strangers. And I am thinking about letting my hair grow out. A signal of some sort? Don’t read too much into it. You know how I am.
I have a complaint. I have not dreamed about you for a while. What about that promise to come back and haunt me for life? You need to deliver.
I miss your single dimple when you smirk. And your heat (I am glad we’ve never agreed on how cold the weather was).
Talk soon,
H
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Letter No.2
J,
I tried a new yoga studio yesterday. The flow was nicely designed and the teacher seemed professional. I like her voice and the fact that she doesn’t linger towards the end of her sentences. She looks like the child of Grace Kelly and Elizabeth Taylor. You can imagine how packed her class was. I get a sense that half of the room wants to impress her. I parked close to the windows, hoping there might be more air flow to dilute the cocktail of colognes.
The studio offers other types of dance related classes. I might come back given how close it is to my new place. I am slowly settling in and establishing new routines. I didn’t know what relaxed felt like in my body until I met you. You were my medicine. My tense shoulders scream for your attention. I am doing a good job of caring for them. They simply miss you.
One of your colleagues is doing a podcast interview about the health benefits of regular cold exposure. I was listening to the interview this morning. It reminded me of you taking me to try a polar bear plunge early into our relationship. I was visibly nervous. Though you were equipped to guide me and help me, I didn’t fully trust you then.
While you were coaching the group through hyperventilated breathing exercises before the plunge, I was thinking to myself, “What the hell am I doing here? This is nuts.” You were way beyond my comfort zone. And you were so alive and so weird and so intriguing. I couldn’t stay away.
After the plunge, while driving to grab a bite, you confessed that you just manipulated my brain to your advantage. You were certain the plunge would bond us. And you smirked and glanced at me. I didn’t say anything back to you and sat quiet for a block or two, and then pulled on your shirt at the next red light, and leaned in for a kiss. I am glad you didn’t say anything to ruin the moment. For that, thank you! And of course, you are right. Brain manipulated.
Loving you and being loved by you, feel like having the sun on my chest and my back at the same time. Go ahead and gloat. That’s one hell of a compliment. I am going to stop right here today. I need to go to the store and grab couple things for Thanksgiving. Talk to me.
XO,
H
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Letter No.3
J,
I had a slow start of the day. I am just sitting down to write. Laundry is running. Pistachio shortbread cookies are in the oven. It is Thanksgiving. I am thinking about dipping the cookies in dark chocolate. What do you think? Y/N? What about makeup? I am feeling really lazy. I don’t remember whether I washed my face this morning. I miss our Thanksgiving: pizza and wine in robes.
I am a little bit stressed out about dinner. Matt is bringing his new boyfriend to meet the group. Hopefully, this one won’t ruin Erin’s party. I really liked the previous one. His name is Justin. I was hoping they’d stay together. Justin is a great drummer. And his face is symmetrically pleasing to stare at. But Matt seems to have trouble staying put.
I am thankful for Matt. He plays a role that Erin needs. She is a parent. And Matt wants the motherly attention from Erin. I wonder whether he hops from man to man so that he will never run out of problems for Erin to fix. And I admire Matt. He is all in, every single time. When his heart breaks, Erin steps up and comes in to pick up the pieces. She’d fill Matt’s tank and he’d go on to the next one.
There is something about Erin, I catch myself wanting to please her in small ways. I put on a dress and wear makeup. I remember when I introduced you to her and the group, there was a weird tension between you two. You were both territorial of me. It was not comfortable for me to be sandwiched in between. I was worried that I had to choose between you two. And then something changed, I still don’t know what. Neither of you wanted to tell me. I choose to trust you and let it be.
Speaking of dresses, I think I am going with the ivory silk dress your sister gave me. Do you remember that one? She has good taste. It would go really well with your charcoal grey suit. I miss sitting next to you. Do you know that you would unconsciously tighten your left fist when you are deep in thought? And you would loosen your fist and squeeze my knee when you have something smart to add to the conversation. I enjoy watching you.
That’s it for today. I am going to do some regular life stuff. I wish you were here to help. You make folding laundries fun. How are you so stupid and so smart at the same time?
H
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Letter No. 4
J,
I woke up with a light headache. Erin made her infamous wassail sangria and invited Daniel to the party. I felt bad for Ben. He must be punching walls inside.
If you ask me what’s the best gift you’ve given me by dying, I’d say, I now have more space and energy to sit and observe the room. I am less distracted, or rushed. I moved your occupancy from my head to my heart. This move released a good chunk of CPU space. I am feeling smart.
I forgot to tell you that I ran into Kate the other day. Your team did well this year. She is still in the seven seat, and the team has switched the stroke seat back and forth between Nick and Will. She misses your levity. Nick doesn’t say much and Will doesn’t shut up. Some shoes are harder to fill than others. I wanted to suggest that Kate should try the stroke seat but I didn’t say anything. She shared that the team got a new bowman. He is in his early 20s and moved here at the beginning of the year. From Kate’s description, I sensed that the bowman is getting along with the team nicely. I forgot his name.
I was going somewhere by talking about Kate. Now, I don’t remember after having stuffed my belly. I think I am done with carrots for a while. I am starting to feel that my weeks of not wanting to chew is around the corner. I asked you why I’d have weeks like that, as if you had all the answers about me. You simply shrugged your shoulders and made me a smoothie. Do you remember that day? We were fighting about something trivial in the morning and it was pouring outside. After a day of not speaking to each other, I missed you. While you were making pie dough, I hugged you from behind and pressed my cheek against your back. Thankfully, you didn’t resist the hug. When you slowly turned around and kissed me, I knew pie wasn’t going to happen that night. Though, I could have timed my hug better and we’d have pie in bed.
What do you remember of me?
With my ongoing new project, I have been consuming materials from different sound artists/sculptors. I am currently turned on by Jacob Kirkegaard’s Opus Mors. I will tell you more about my project at another time. Jacob’s work reminds me of you. I made the mistake of googling him. Artists should not have their photos taken. What they look like has nothing to do with their work. I know that myself. But he looks like you. And I like his work.
What did you say about being Scandinavian again? I should spend some time clearing my Inbox. I don’t want to. How I envy you right now. Are you a freakishly tall ghost? Does height matter in ghostland?
I love you.
H,
