Dear Mom, I'm Glad You Aren't Here

A Letter To My Mama

Dear Mom,

This entire year I thought I was 48 about to turn 49.

Turns out I’m 47. I’ll be 48 next week. You already know that.

I’ve been in my feelings because I thought I was about to turn the age you were when you died. I can’t believe you didn’t see 50. I think I will, but I’m not sure. Who knows. The truth is that none of us know.

However, you knew. A few days before you passed, I came home to find you hauling boxes of your journals to the curb. The next day you stocked the fridge - you only did that when a snow storm was headed our way. I realized later that you had thrown your wallet out too. What was in your wallet? Did you ever carry my picture?

Is that why you left your insurance card on your nightstand? You tried to make it easier. As for the journals, you cleared out parts of your life that a child shouldn’t know about a parent. The food was for me. You knew I wouldn’t be able to leave the house for awhile and you were right. Thank you for the comfort snacks, ma.

I thought I saw you in a dream the night before. And, I did. You said goodbye. Were you there when I found you? You probably were. I pray you didn’t see the relief on my face once I stopped screaming and realized you were gone.

I was glad you weren’t here anymore. That’s not true. I wasn’t glad but I was grateful. I was grateful that you didn’t have to live in your cruel reality and that I no longer had to watch you suffer. That was hard on me, Mom. 

I barely knew you as an adult. I don’t think you knew yourself. You’d been so beaten down that the only part of life you could focus on was survival. You played the cello and wrote beautiful poetry. I’m sad that the world didn’t create space for your joy. You started every day with a cigarette and a beer - that’s how you coped. Remember when I turned 18? I wanted you to quit so damn badly that I threatened to take up smoking. You laughed in my face and offered to buy my first pack. It was insensitive of me to want you to give up of the pieces of comfort that made life tolerable. I just wanted you to be around, I couldn’t imagine living without you. But now? Now I know that your existence was hell. I understand now. Please forgive me for wanting you to endure. You had already given the world so much. 

I wonder what life would be like if you were here. I think we’d be friends as adults. Our parent-child dynamic was a dumpster fire because as you told, you didn’t want to be a parent. I wish you’d had the support you needed to make a different choice. I’ve made peace with our relationship. Or, the lack of it. If we ever cross paths again, we don’t have to talk. If you’re at ease, then that’s all I care about. A brief smile of acknowledgment to say “ I see you kiddo, you did good” is enough for me. 

I love you, Mom. Rest easy. 

Your kid, 

Robin