By Monica Hicks

Dear Monica,

      I write to you because you're gone. You've died, and will need to be reminded of some very important things that you may not recall once you're alive again. Sometimes I wonder if the reason I gave up is because I realized that I could not give up more deeply than I have today. I wonder, simply wonder, that if maybe, just maybe I had given up sooner, I wouldn't feel so triumphant about giving up. I learned from you that when your hands are tied, and you really want to walk away, you don't. Not when you said you wouldn't.

       I made so many promises. Some I didn't keep and never intended to. Some I did keep, through pure stubborn denial. Some I didn't keep because I just couldn't. Some I did keep, because it was the right thing to do.

       I won't be making anymore promises. I suggest you don't either.

       I died today Monica. Everything I thought I was is gone. Everything I thought I could be is gone. It may not surprise you that I have died several other times before in this relationship. Everything I thought I was strong enough to outlast is gone. I don't have to outlast it anymore.

      How triumphant is that?  Very.

      I don't care to tell you what he said to me, or what I didn't say to him. Just know that I gave up. I stopped listening. I stopped talking. I stopped pretending. I stopped giving up. I gave up on giving up. The triumph is mine.

      What will your triumph be?