Chapter Thirty-Two

voice message 11:34 a.m.
Sean—
After I left the hospital yesterday, it was time to begin the short retreat that postulants take before receiving their veil. Which means no outside contact, no technology, nothing but three days of contemplation and prayer. But I couldn’t have you noticing my absence at your mother’s funeral and thinking it was because I didn’t want to be there.
I wish I could be there. I wish I could hold your hand during it. You deserve that, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you didn’t. You deserve a girl who will give you everything.
Before your mom died, she told me…well, it doesn’t matter now, I guess. But I wanted you to know that those words are lodged in my heart like shrapnel, just like you are.
Just like you are, Sean.
There’s no sanctuary free of you and the memories you gave me, there’s no part of me that isn’t splintered with you. I still don’t know how to feel about that—angry? Melancholy? Lucky?
Happy?
Blessed?
There was a reason I didn’t answer you when you asked me if I loved you back. And there’s a reason I’m sneaking a phone call and not sneaking out to tell you these things face to face. Because if I told you face to face, you’d see, and you’d know and then—
God, you’d be right and I hate it when you’re right. It’s so funny that I ended it because you can’t give up having control…and now I’m finding I have the same problem. It’s not that I can’t give up God or my sisters or even my vocation, because I know I could still have these things in another life. I’m not so categorical and stubborn that I can’t see that. But I can’t give up control over my life, because if I don’t have that, then what do I have left? If I don’t get what I’ve been working so hard for, hurting for, and sweating for—then what will all those sacrifices have been worth? It would feel cowardly, and I’m no coward.
I started this with you to find out what I’d be missing, and I did find out. It’s you. I’ll be missing you.
I hope my saying that counts for something. Somehow. In the end.
<end message>