My love,

If you are reading this, then I am already slipping in ways I will not be able to notice or explain anymore. That thought scares me more than anything else, not because I fear disappearing, but because I fear doing it while still standing in front of you and not fully knowing who you are in that moment.

I am trying to write this while my thoughts still come in a straight line. I do not know how long that will last. Some days already feel like I am holding my mind together with effort: names and faces, dates, places, and even the way my own life used to fit together. I worry some day I’ll look at you and, for a moment, not recognize the face I’ve loved most. That possibility aches in me more than I can say.

So, I need to say this now, you were the center of my life. My days were built around you in ways I only understand more clearly now that I am afraid of losing the ability to notice them at all. The sound of your voice, the way you move through a room, the way you exist beside me without asking anything in return. That became my definition of home.

I need you to know that my illness doesn't changes what you are to me. Not the confusion. Not the fear. Not the moments I may one day have where I fail to recognize who is standing in front of me.

I am sorry for what this will ask of you. I am sorry for the moments where I will not be steady. For the times I will repeat myself. For the times I will look lost even in familiar places. For the possibility that I may become someone you have to guide instead of someone who walks beside you without effort. I hated thinking you’d have to watch me vanish piece by piece. I dreaded becoming a burden to the person who’s been my anchor.

But I am also grateful. More than I have words for. Thank you for staying close when I was still trying to pretend nothing was wrong. Thank you for looking at me without fear even when I could see my own starting to appear. Thank you for holding my hand when I did not know how to ask for it. Thank you for speaking to me like I was still fully here, even on the days I felt myself slipping slightly out of reach.

Please do not let anyone tell you that love only counts when memory stays intact. That is not true. If I forget everything else, I hope I still leave behind the truth of this: I loved you. I loved you deeply. I loved you completely. I loved you in every version of myself I was ever given.

And when I’m truly gone, I hope you understand that my love didn’t fade. My body gave out before my heart did. I’m sorry for not staying longer. For not being the partner you deserved all the way to the end. For every future I stole from us, I’m sorry. But I am not sorry for loving you. Nothing could ever make me regret that, not even how this story ends.

If I have left this behind, it is because I was afraid my voice would fail me. Because I wanted there to be one last place where I could still be clear, still be yours, still tell you the truth without losing it halfway through.

You were my safest place.
You were my greatest joy.
You were my home.

Also, promise me you’ll live after I’ve gone. Promise you’ll laugh, eat well, sleep, let others take care of you. Promise you’ll let yourself be loved, even when you think you don’t have it in you anymore. I want you to be happy, always. Do not build your life around absence.

And if, somewhere inside me, there is still one small piece that can feel you, I hope it knows this: I loved you first. I love you still. I’ll love you forever.

Always yours,
Your wife, Evangeline