From the Keeper of the Meadow

My dearest Emma,

I meet them at the gate, every one of them, and I wanted you to hear it from me rather than wonder. They arrived. They were not frightened and they were not on their own for any part of it. I have their name written down beside yours: EMMA.

I will not tell you not to be sad, Emma. You loved somebody and they are not here any more, and being sad about that is the correct thing to be — it is not a mistake and it is not something to get over quickly. The size of how much this hurts is exactly the size of how much you loved them. That is not a coincidence. It is the same number, measured twice.

They are well here. Whatever hurt has stopped hurting. The meadow is warm and there is a great deal of running and the grass is long, and they have not forgotten you — that is the one thing nobody here ever forgets. They know your name and they know your voice, and every so often they stop and look back toward the gate.

You did the kind thing even though it was the hard thing, and I want you to hold on to that on the days it feels otherwise.

With very great care for you today,
from the top of the meadow —

The Keeper of the Meadow

Who Meets Them at the Gate

P.S. — Talking about them is allowed. It does not upset them and it will not make it worse. They rather like being mentioned.