When memories speak louder than words

 This morning, Joellyn left for Canada and New York. Briant and I sent her off at 6am. As I watched her walk into departure, my heart swelled with pride — my daughter, so grown, so capable. But I also felt the ache of letting go. I wished I could do more, protect more, be more.

Last night, Sharyn and I spoke — 2.5 hours on WhatsApp call. It began with a simple message, but ended somewhere deeper.

She had shut off her “last seen” timestamp again. When I asked why, she said it wasn’t because of me this time — it was to avoid her current partner checking on her online activity. She had promised him she’d sleep early, but somehow, here we were, talking through the night.

The conversation started off awkwardly. But gradually, it opened up into something meaningful. We shared — genuinely. I listened to her talk about work, something she never really opened up about when we were together. I asked questions; she explained in detail. I felt proud of her. I told her she’s a good mentor and thanked her for the way she’s mentored me, too, in life and business.

I admitted that it’s been hard letting go, especially under these circumstances. She told me she hasn’t seen him since I found out, and that things have “slowed down.” Whether that’s the full truth or just a softened version for my sake — I don’t know. I didn’t ask further. She mentioned that I didnt want to see her and I admitted that seeing her felt weird and thats because I am ashamed of my myself.

I shared my blog with her — “Letters That Were Never Sent to Sharyn.” I read some entries to her. I told her, reconnection is impossible with the old Edmond. But I’ve changed. I’m rebuilding. Strangely, she didn’t reject the idea outright. She merely asked lightly "within 2 months?" I explained that if someone loses the love of their live, they would.

We even discussed our futures — our properties. She advised me to get a smaller place, concerned I may run into financial stress. I reminded her that, eventually, the kids will move on, and perhaps, as once planned, she might move in — just a small flat, with a Mahjong room, a guest room, and one for us. Again, no rejection. Just quiet listening.

After we sent Joellyn off, I asked Briant to take the car home as Sharyn will have to go to a nearby dental appointment and groceries errands perhaps. Indeed as it was raining heavily. She replied and thanking me for the car — she’d needed it for a dental appointment and groceries. Her WhatsApp status is still hidden. 

But what stood out most wasn’t logistics, or even the warmth in our exchange — it was her tears.

Several times during our call, she broke down.

When I asked her why, she paused and simply said: “It’s the memories. How perfect and happy we were.”

Her voice cracked. The emotion wasn’t fabricated. It wasn’t even about guilt or remorse — it was nostalgia. A grief over something once so beautiful, now changed.

I don’t know what those tears mean for us, or for her. Whether it’s closure or conflict. But I know they weren’t meaningless.

Maybe, for a moment, we both returned to that quiet space where we once felt safe in each other.

Maybe… memories really do speak louder than words.

And maybe, in all this sadness, I finally heard her heart again.

— Burn