This is a bit of a random blog post, but I came across this letter again recently and it really moved me. So I thought I'd share it here in case you've never read it before.

It's a love letter written by Richard Feynman to his wife, Arline, sixteen months after she died. If you know anything about Feynman, you'll probably know him as one of the greatest physicists of the twentieth century. He won the Nobel Prize, helped develop quantum electrodynamics, and was known for his brilliant mind and endless curiosity. But behind all of that was a love story that, to me, says just as much about who he was.

From everything I've read about them, they seemed to have the kind of relationship that was built on genuine friendship as much as love. They laughed together, encouraged each other's curiosity, and were always dreaming up little projects and adventures. Reading about them, I get the sense they simply enjoyed doing life together, and I think that's something pretty special.

Arline died from tuberculosis in 1945, just a few years after they married. Sixteen months later, Feynman wrote her this letter. He never posted it. 

I know this isn't my usual kind of blog post, but sometimes you come across something that's worth sharing just as it is.

October 17, 1946

D’Arline,

I adore you, sweetheart.

I know how much you like to hear that - but I don’t only write it because you like it - I write it because it makes me warm all over inside to write it to you.

It is such a terribly long time since I last wrote to you - almost two years but I know you’ll excuse me because you understand how I am, stubborn and realistic; and I thought there was no sense to writing.

But now I know my darling wife that it is right to do what I have delayed in doing, and that I have done so much in the past. I want to tell you I love you. I want to love you. I always will love you.

I find it hard to understand in my mind what it means to love you after you are dead - but I still want to comfort and take care of you - and I want you to love me and care for me. I want to have problems to discuss with you - I want to do little projects with you. I never thought until just now that we can do that. What should we do. We started to learn to make clothes together - or learn Chinese - or getting a movie projector. Can’t I do something now? No. I am alone without you and you were the “idea-woman” and general instigator of all our wild adventures.

When you were sick you worried because you could not give me something that you wanted to and thought I needed. You needn’t have worried. Just as I told you then there was no real need because I loved you in so many ways so much. And now it is clearly even more true - you can give me nothing now yet I love you so that you stand in my way of loving anyone else - but I want you to stand there. You, dead, are so much better than anyone else alive.

I know you will assure me that I am foolish and that you want me to have full happiness and don’t want to be in my way. I’ll bet you are surprised that I don’t even have a girlfriend (except you, sweetheart) after two years. But you can’t help it, darling, nor can I - I don’t understand it, for I have met many girls and very nice ones and I don’t want to remain alone - but in two or three meetings they all seem ashes. You only are left to me. You are real.

My darling wife, I do adore you.

I love my wife. My wife is dead.

Rich.

PS Please excuse my not mailing this - but I don’t know your new address.

I think this letter is a reminder that real love isn't measured by how long someone is part of your life. It's measured by the mark they leave on it. The people we love become part of us. They shape how we see the world, the way we laugh, the memories we hold onto, and even the future we once pictured with them. 

People often talk about "moving on" from grief, but I'm not sure that's ever really the goal. Maybe it's more about learning to keep living while carrying that love with you, because love doesn't simply disappear. It stays with you, in different ways, for the rest of your life.

If you've lost someone you love, I hope this reminds you that there's nothing strange about still talking to them, thinking about them, or wishing you could tell them about your day. Those moments aren't about holding on to the past. They're a reflection of a love that still has a place in your life. 🩷