Letter #3 – Parent

Dear Mom –

You’ve always been my best friend, and more like an older sister than a mother, but not in that annoying fake way.  Throughout everything, you were there by my side, helping me when I needed help, listening when I wanted to talk, talking when I wanted to listen, and just, being a good friend and parent.  I know the sibs were jealous of our relationship, but they couldn’t see it was because I was just like you.  Granted, I’m a bit weirder and geekier, but we’re two sides of the same coin in many different ways. 

When dad started going crazy, I decided that it was my job to help protect us all, specially later, when you couldn’t do it yourself.  I remember some of the earlier fights.  I had just gotten caught stealing something… it was something silly, some champaign crackers or something, those little things you pull the string on and they go "pop" with confetti.  Anyways, we made it home (I think we were living in Roy? Or were we still in Ft. Lewis?) and Dad took me into my room and beat me, bad, with the belt, screaming and yelling the whole time.  You intervened and he told you to pack your shit and get lost along with your "worthless daughter" who was "soiling the family name."  I can’t remember where the siblings were, but you yelled back at him, told him that he had done a lot worse and that my stupidity couldn’t have soiled it too bad.  He yelled again and I remember you coming in, crying, holding me, and telling me that things were going to be okay. 

At first, when I got big enough to protect you, I thought myself brave and wonderful, knowing that I was stepping in the way of blows that were meant for you or for the siblings.  But once he started really getting bad; once he started hitting the hard stuff, and stopped listening to any bit of reasoning that you and I had to give, I started to resent you.  I remember another fight, towards the end.  He was beating one of the siblings with a belt, or was it his fist this time? His foot?  He was wailing on them, and I screamed at you to stop it, to step in and stop him, and you turned and looked at me with dead eyes and said, "And risk getting it too?"  Oh, how I hated you then.  I hated your weakness, your inability to protect us.  For the first time in a long time, I was a child, wanting her mother to be perfect, and instead, seeing the humanity of her. 

I carried that secret hate inside of me for a long time… when I saw how the house was breaking up, and the family breaking up after I left, I hated.  It sickened me how you pulled yourself into the video games and ignored the outside world, it made me feel dirty and made me want to swear off gaming totally, just so that I wouldn’t follow in your footsteps.  Forgive me, I was young then, and I didnt fully understand.  I didn’t understand all of what he was doing to you, all that was happening inside…. I didn’t understand why you couldn’t just walk away with us, and why we had to stay.  I’m a little smarter now, and a little more wise. 

Twenty Five years ago yesterday, you were 8 months pregnant and married Aaron.  Twelve years ago, the male parental unit started going noticably crazy, and you realized that you were trapped inside of your own personal hell, with three smallish children, no skills, and no support.  And Five years ago, the demon that had stuck you into that hell walked out of your life.  He chose the drugs and the forgetting over the family that he had made.

We’re both a lot older now, and a lot wiser.  I understand better now.  That hate, that childish longing for protection has gone, and it’s been replaced. I got rid of the last bit of it the other day.

I had randomly stumbled across the journal of a woman who was writing about her lover, who had been addicted to meth for two years before leaving her.  As I read her words, I saw bits of dad in the descriptions of her lover, and her lovers actions, and I saw bits of you in her words and her reported actions.  I saw strength.  And for a moment I had such a strong mixture of mingled pride and sadness that I could hardly breathe.  You had to endure so much, so much more than I think any of us kids had an idea of… or at the very least, more than I realized. 

I just wanted to say… Thank you.  Thank you for everything that you did.  And have I mentioned how proud i am of you, Mom?  You were beaten down, but you’re still strong, you’re still together.  And you’ll always have a home with me, always.

I love you Momma,

Chrissy.