My daughter brings in the mail and drops it on my lap. In the small stack is a manila envelope addressed to me, and of course the writing is recognizable, her scrawl immediately slings me into feeling that she is pleading or wanting something from me, ‘what now?’ I say, ‘what can she possibly want now?’
Dearest daughter, 10/19/09
I am consolidating my scrapbooks. You were always the one interested in relatives. That may have changed and that is fine.
These are yours to keep or throw away. My memories are only mine. No one can take those from me. May you find acceptance and peace in the past. What is – is, no amount of screaming, shouting, crying can change it. I love you, always have and always will. You are my beloved daughter I continue to pray you will come to accept me with all my faults and failures.
Always and forever,
Mom
Beneath her declaration of ‘love’ are old photos from my father’s family, his parent’s death certificate, their wedding certificate, just photos of relatives from long long ago.
Only one picture pops out, it happens to be the first one and has a little green post it note. “Family, only Edna is missing,”
Dated January 1957.
I didn’t even know I had an “Auntie” Edna, until a few years ago. She was never brought up, it just never came up that my mother had a sister that she lost contact with.
Isn’t it strange how history repeats itself?
Maybe by scrawling a little green note that she is missing, she is included.
How I would love to know her story, to know the reasons she left and perhaps of all of us I know.
My mother’s letter wants me to accept without screaming, crying and shouting what is. To silently accept it, perhaps put a smile on my face and be a good girl! Accept rape with dignity. Accept being molested by my father with grace.
And that I am to accept her failures and faults, like accepting a body part. That she has issues, but she doesn’t have to change them, but I have to just accept that, she prays for my acceptance, not for her the courage to change herself!
Oh my God, I wonder what my letter of response would be?
Mommy Dearest,
What I want from you is for you to kick and scream and shout and cry when you see me. I want you to see the past and feel the past and live with the pains and hurts and bruises and silence and all the goodness that I was forced to do while I was wounded inside.
I want you to react when you see a child of yours wounded. I don’t want you to turn away, to make excuses or forgive the man that did this. I want you to make a scene, to shout it to the heavens a little soul is wounded!
Wounded, always and forever,
ME
