Mom,
It was once said the hardest part of writing anything is finding the words to write the first sentence. I started this letter with the hopes of formulating and perhaps collating some of the feelings I have and perhaps one hopes find a way to let you be at peace, even if it means just in my head.
On May 2cnd 1975, I was born. There are a lot of nuanced stories that I've grown up with about the origins of my birth. I never knew my father, or the man who donated his sperm to bring me into existence. From what I've learned of Fred Daniel Loftin, I've no desire to want to meet or know the man.
For the better part of 41 years of my life, you were the primary parent. You were the person I sought out for comfort and provision when I needed it. Only, at times you weren't always there.
Maybe it was drug use, maybe it was loneliness, or a combination of things; in my early years I always felt something lacking. There seemed at times, two or maybe three different people I had to deal with. The "High" mom who was always fun and creative and full of laughter and life. The "Low" mom who was sullen and depressed and hidden. And at times there was an angry creature I had to deal with.
There was a mom who when we were poor, would write beautiful stories to read me to sleep by. She'd catch me tree frogs and spiders to keep in jars. She'd bring me crystal swords from the bar she worked at that smelled of cherries and soda. We'd be happy playing with paper and bugs.
There was a mom who would hide from me when she was hung over or hurting. She'd be missing for nights out when I had nightmares and either Grandma or Grampa would have to comfort me. I know now as an adult that what you were missing was companionship and that you were seeking it in all the wrong places and all the wrong ways. I know this, because I've done this.
There was a mom whose anger was a force of nature, and that sometimes I bore the brunt of it. I feared your hands coming near my face because I feared the sting of a slap, not always anticipating that it might be a comforting hand.
I felt like growing up, that I was somehow a burden to the life you wanted to lead. Sometimes I'd hear you exclaim "God I hate kids!" One time as a teenager I challenged you with all the anger I could muster, "Then why didn't you abort me when you had the chance!"
Somehow, I felt like I had to hurt you back.
I grew steadily more frightened of life and my security as you, Mom, and my Step-Father grew steadily deeper into drugs. When money was in, all was happy and bright. When money was gone for bills, it was door slamming, window breaking, dish breaking fights.
As the police took my Sis and I away after the horrible aftermath of one of those fights, I had some deep mixed emotions. My world had just been torn apart and... I felt almost a sense of relief that the fights had stopped.
I don't feel like we really got a chance to remake our relationship until after your Rehab counselling. We had finally a second chance to be a family again, this time one hopes without mood swings. I felt like I was getting my happy mother back without the downfall of drugs in the way.
You become my biggest source of comfort when life would go sideways. When my marriage fell apart, you were what held me together. You helped me file the divorce paperwork, tell my ex wife to "eff off", and helped me move on.
When my long term relationship ended and I needed a new place to stay, while maintaining a relationship with my daughter, you were there. I felt like I had the mother I had always wanted and needed.
Something happened when you and Dad split. Regardless of the what, were fores, and whys, it was a split that happened and both parties needed to move on. In this mess I saw the anger that I thought was gone. I saw a rage build up with very physical vendettas that you carried out by rampaging through his old house or placing belongings at his dwelling or work.
I lost my temper with you many times over this, to the point of screaming and raging back at you. I loved you Mom, I wanted something to occur to you that it was time to let it go and move on.
What hurt most Mom is that after all these years, I felt like I was losing a relationship with you because all you wanted to rant about was "Dad". You'd tell my exes that you would take with them about anything, anything but me. I tried to tell you that same thing but I realize that only raged you on further.
It got so bad that I just couldn't talk to you about anything. I started putting off wanting to talk, or wanting to meet up. I wanted to just see my Mom again. Not the anger or rage.
The part of me that I find feeling most guilty over... Happened the day you died.
My daughter confided in me that day that she was a Lesbian. That she wanted support and wanted love. I being a loving father gave it implicitly. But I felt like my mistake was posting about it on Facebook. I said "A family member came out to me today, and I gave the support I needed to give", or something like that.
Not thinking that it could have been interpreted many different ways.
Like somehow I had contributed to your passing by giving you a reason to be upset. And I'll never know for sure. That night, I was woken up by Aunt Theresa calling in tears to tell me that you had passed away in a horrific accident. I woke to Facebook been covered with news broadcasts of the horrible picture of your car strewn across the highway.
You were gone...
I had put off and put off seeing you and wanting to talk with you. At that moment I'd have pulled my own teeth just to get another minute to talk to you. There is nothing like the revelation that you'll never see a parent again. There is a hole in your heart that probably won't be filled by anything else after that experience.
I'm trying to put this together to deal with the emotions that life brings up at this form of loss.
I felt like I lost you to drugs, but I got you back with rehab. I felt like I lost you when I got married, I realize that I married the wrong person. I felt like I lost you when you got a divorce. Now I am sitting here wondering, praying, wishing that I could see you once more and try to talk this mess out with you.
The hardest part of writing a letter like this is trying to find a place to finish it.
I miss you Mom. I miss happy Mom. I miss your hugs.
I am just praying that this helps put something in me to rest.
Mom, I guess what I'm trying to say is that no matter what the issue we've had... I love you. I have always loved you mom. I miss you now more than ever. And I can hope and pray that I get to see you again.
Love, your Son.
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