To My Dearest Darling Click The Greeting To Hear Sir Read His Letter
It was March 1999. It was your last night in Australia. It was the last night I looked lovingly into your eyes. It was both awful and intense. I was despondent.
We had returned to Sydney after our dalliances in the Blue Mountains, at Jenolan Caves and in the Hunter Valley. We had one last day together, one last night. We thought we would see one another again and yet still it hurt. The pain, it was like no other. It was a pain that has no name. You were soon to leave these shores. I was desolate.
You reminded me recently how we stood in my laundry as we washed and dried your clothes. I had forgotten, but the memories came flooding back. I would have tried to keep busy, tried to deny that awful reality. I would have also wanted your life to be easy; so we washed, we dried, we folded, and we packed. We readied ourselves to send you on your way. I was disconsolate.
I had booked us tickets to the theatre. We went and saw quite a famous Australian performer at the beautiful State Theatre in Sydney. Barry Humphries and his characters Dame Edna Everage, Sir Les Patterson and Sandy Stone featured in a quite wonderful show called “Remember You’re Out.” You sat beside me struggling with the accent. I wanted the distraction. The show? It was hysterical. My laughter? It was shrill. I was dejected.
I don’t remember where we ate that night. I remember the ride home in the taxi. I remember driving past the incomplete Sydney Olympic Stadium. I just held your hand with a quiet intensity. I was wretched.
We went to bed. We made love. It was fervid and frantic. We could sense the inevitable. Tomorrow’s dawn, it was the Sword of Damocles above our heads. I just lay there and held you. We barely spoke a word. I was bereft.
The sun’s early light would broker no argument. The day was here. It was ours to face. I hated it. We had to return our hire car. I loaded your luggage. We would off load it again as we caught a cab to Kingsford Smith upon returning the vehicle. I remember the taxi driver. He was everything you would want, happy, cheerful, chatty and ready to please. He saw the look on my face in his rear view mirror. He went silent. I was mournful.
We arrived at the airport. I don’t remember checking in, I don’t remember what we did. I just remember one thing, holding you in my arms for one last time. My left hand was tightly round your waist. My right, it cradled your neck and head. I drank in your aroma one last time, our lips locked one last time, and we held each other’s hands one last time. Then it was time to go. We separated. You went forward. Then with tears in your eyes and one last long look back, you were gone. I was inconsolable.
At that point I just lost it. Until then I had held it together (well almost). There was nothing for it now though, the tears where streaming down my overwrought cheeks. What was I to do? You were gone. I grabbed a bottle of water and sat at some dodgy outside table and awaited your plane’s departure. I saw the wheels leave the tarmac, watched them slide under the fuselage and with the four angry engines of the Qantas 747 screaming, awash with ugly power, the plane ascended, banked and you were gone. I was numb.
The centre of my world had left me. In pain, I set off home. I didn’t jump a bus or hail a cab. I walked, well at least I started to. It was about 30 kilometres from the airport to my home. I think I walked about a third of the way before my shoe leather began to bite, and I abandoned my ridiculous undertaking. When I returned to my home, well it had never felt so empty. I began to tidy things up and found your pyjamas, a story I have already relayed.
My Darling I have never experienced such love, such loss and such anguish all wrapped together like a pain ridden bundle of hurt. I knew then at least that we would be together again. That was how I consoled myself. I most assuredly messed that up as you well know.
Darling I must say it again. Thank you for searching for me, finding me and reaching out to me. You are my everything.
You Will Always Be My Darling
From Sir With Love
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Oh My Sir, Click The Greeting To Hear Darling Read Her Letter
That day is hard to talk about. It hurts reading your words and seeing it through your eyes. I can still feel the pain even now from that day; it’s sharp and real. How crazy is that?
Our last night together was so beautiful as well as excruciating. The theater was stunning, and you were so handsome. While I enjoyed Barry Humphries, I was more aware of the good-looking man next to me. Many of Barry’s jokes went over my head and I did struggle with understanding him, but to be fair I was very distracted as well. The time bomb was ticking, and I was really conscious of it.
I remember making love with you after we returned to your house; I cried nearly the whole time. I wasn’t sobbing, but the tears silently rolled down my face. You tenderly kissed them off my cheeks and held me. We weren’t rushed that night. Our love making was unhurried, deliberate, and poignant. You gave me your body and your heart and soul, and I gave you mine in return. I cherished every bit of you.
I remember I had a huge lump in my throat that made it hard to breathe. I was scared to sleep because the morning was coming; it was inevitable. I had a hard time getting up the next morning because of the sorrow that hung in the air. I had to go home. I was leaving you.
I recall crying in the cab as you firmly held onto my hand. I don’t remember the cab driver though. I was too dejected to notice I suppose. You notice everything. I love that about you.
I remember our last hug. I can feel your strong arms around me even now. You held me so tightly. I bawled. My legs felt like lead as I forced myself to walk away and pass through the security gates. I remember thinking that I shouldn’t look back, but I had to. I needed to see you. My last vision of you was blurry, because my tears got in the way.
When I felt the plane lift off from the runway, the hole in my heart got bigger. I left a giant piece of it with you. You still have that piece; it was yours to keep. The flight attendant kept asking me if there was anything she could do for me as my swollen, tear-streaked face was obvious. I could only shake my head no. I remember I was still crying when we flew over Hawaii. I would cry myself to sleep, wake up, and then I would start to cry again. I was one dehydrated, hot mess.
I called you from Los Angeles. You were relieved I had made it back to the United States safely. We talked about me going ahead with the plans we had made while we were together. You told me about finding my purple pajamas in your spare bed. I told you to keep them safe for me until I returned.
If I had only known…..
Sadly yours,
Darling
©2014 Darling and Sir
The Sir Letters 