A Letter to C.

I never saw you this way before.

I never saw you... happy.

But I don’t think the old photographs lie. These were taken long before the Photoshop Age. The contentment was real, the smiles sincere.

At first, it scared me shitless. It hit me hard, turned me black and blue inside. You used to be just like me. I saw you cradling your children, purpose in your tired eyes and a smile no one can fake on your unadorned mouth. No makeup necessary - you were glowing.

How did all that slip so far away? How could it get so bad? So deeply and mercilessly fucked up? Your babies never left you. You never tried to leave them. Instead, you just... drifted slowly, violently, achingly away. We lost you long before you died.

Are we doomed as well? Are death, despair, and darkness all that lie ahead? Am I damned to lose it all?

Slowly, over weeks and months, my perspective shifted. Instead of seeing me in you, I saw pages full of “could haves”. You could have been there on Saturday: drinking in the summer, dancing to the music, celebrating your oldest boy making one more revolution around the sun. He would have liked that. He deserved it. In a way, this hurt him the most. He’s worn mourning under his skin for years now.

You could have come to the pool today. You could have watched three blonde grandsons soak and suntan and squeal in the mayhem. You could have had sticky-sweet popsicles in the backyard with us, then washed it all off with the hose.

You missed a little girl’s seventh birthday. You could have been there for that, too. It was all fairies and mermaids and unicorns. Real girly stuff. You would have LOVED it. Owned it. You were great at that, creating magic out of nothing. I saw it in the pictures.

IT DIDN’T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY. I don’t know how many times we have to scream it from our souls for you to hear it. Can you hear anything now? I hope now that you can see from your children’s tears that they never stopped loving you.

We don’t blame you, either. Not really. We always hoped you would chart a new course, make a great escape, even take just one wobbling step toward a better life. I’ll never know now if that ever would have happened. Your life didn’t end on your terms. That’s not your fault either, and it’s monstrous. All I know is that you never made that change while you still had the chance, and that’s what is gut-wrenching us all.

We will miss you. As wild and uncertain as your presence could be, your absence is sharp and painful and impossible to hide.

We will honor you. We will not pretend you never happened. We will speak your name and observe your traditions and tell your stories. And we will honor the five beautiful souls you raised up.

We will remember you. I will remember you as you WERE, the way I never knew you. I’m sorry it took your death for me to see you, to really see you. When you were free, when you had love without resentment and freedom without regret. I will remember the way you were meant to be, before time and abuse and fear left you twisted and jaded. I will remember the girl and the woman and the mother. The one who loved magic and tried to make everything special. The one who saw wonder everywhere. The one who still had compassion, even at the end.

I will learn from you. I will choose my road carefully and own my choices plainly. I will accept my children wherever and whenever, with unshakeable loyalty. I will know vividly that cruel words are seldom forgotten. I will try my damndest never to underestimate the influence of a mother.

All I really want you to know is that you are loved, no matter what else. For your kids to hurt this hard, they must have loved you just as deeply. Never doubt it. Please be at peace.