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 Dear Chai, It’s 2026, woo hoo! Well, that’s a total lie. I do not feel any “woo hoo” at all. In fact, I feel the total opposite. The Christmas tree went down at 11 pm on Christmas Day; it just wasn’t the same without you. Your stocking hung empty. Your bed lay without you. There wasn’t the sound of your feet on the floor, excited to eat any tasty food I put out. Every time someone passed the window or knocked on the door, you didn’t bark. Now, to add to the already existing pain, I have to face my first January in LA without you, ever. That then leads to February, and the time since I saw you last will grow and continue to grow. The reality of not seeing you or touching you again becomes even more obvious. The hole in my heart feels like it’s becoming black; the beating has slowed, and the hole is hardening. Some days are easier than others. I find a small purpose or get distracted enough to get through the day. Other times, I’m barely able to make my walk to get fresh air. One thing that’s consistent, though, is the fake smile I plaster on my face. Not just for others, but also for myself. Fake it till you make it. Trouble is, I realize that’s what I’ve done my whole life. You have opened up this portal to being able to recognize that I just don’t know who I am or what I am. This might sound like I’m blaming you. I’m not. I’m actually thanking you. When you were here in physical form, you saved me by giving me, and showing me, unconditional love. And now, since you left, you have forced me to address so many things about me and my life. These have been life-changing decisions and eye-opening moments that have unsettled me and forced me to re-look at my life. You are still having an impact on me, and for that I’m grateful. So what now? I’m recently diagnosed, as an adult, with autism, having spent my whole life masking. Sharing and feeling my grief was the beginning of this eye-opening change. In 2025, I lost myself, and so I’m having to find myself piece by piece and rebuild. Who is Elizabeth? What does she like or not like? How does she feel about things? The plan I had for us in the next five years looks different now that you’re no longer here. I’m not doing it for you or with you, so I have to work out my why. The most powerful three-letter word that exists is “why.” If I have to live with this hole in my heart, how can I make it look pretty, feel comforting, have a purpose? I feel strangely paralyzed, yet feel like I can do anything. I feel trapped, yet free. I feel sad, yet calm. I feel confused, yet clear. I was going to write this letter as if it were my goodbye, but I’ve realized it’s just the beginning of our communication, of you being here for me, my guardian angel, to help guide me and show me and lead me to my why in a very different way. One of my many superpowers as someone with autism is my ability to have high-speed processing, which means I can work things out and see the whole situation through to the end very quickly. So I’m needing to know what my “why” is now, today. But as usual, living in the way you did, it’s more about being present, being aware, feeling things as they happen, making decisions I would’ve made if you were here. Ironically, I do less without you. We had such an awesome life together, so I need to remember that. I need to remember everything you taught me. I need to keep reminding myself that this is just the next chapter in my life. It’s not going to be easy. It’s going to have good and bad days, and it might take time to work out, but that’s okay. Getting up in the morning, putting one foot in front of the other, and bringing some light to the world and others is enough. I am enough. Maybe my “why” is to work out the “why.” My best life is with you by my side. I now have to remember you’re still here. It’s just different.  My friend made a suggestion that makes me smile, which is to not think of the time since I held you as growing bigger and further away, but actually that the gap to when I’ll see you again is getting smaller. It feels like a small glimmer of possibility and hope. I’m six months closer to seeing you. These little glimmers aren’t perfect, but they are all I have at the moment. If I can place that glimmer like a small shining star in the black hole of my heart, then maybe one day it won’t be a black hole. It will be a mass of sparkles that shine so brightly it will fill me with your light. I love you, I miss you, and I can’t wait to hold you again. Your partner, Elizabeth
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