January 14th, 1983
Dear Mom,
Mom, I know this letter cannot possibly reach you in time, but I must write it anyway, or go out of my mind. I cannot stand to think of you there! I feel like it is all my fault, even though that is so childish. Remember when I got so angry at you for not letting me go to that party? I hated you after that. I wished that you would die, in the most horrible way possible ... and look where you are now. I really never hated you. I loved you!
But I was so angry...I was the only kid in my class that didn't go. It was humiliating! I told everyone that we went out of town, but Linda knew. She lived too close not to see me sitting outside on the porch, sulking. She was a good friend though, and kept my secret; never telling anyone that my "mommy" would not let me go. I stayed mad, too. When other things came up, like the dance, you told me no again. I can't understand what was wrong with you! Didn't you trust me? You know I was always good. I rarely ever did anything that made you angry, so how could I do something that made you distrust me? What was it?
You know I considered you a pest, that I couldn't get rid of. That is why I locked myself in my room all the time. If I was not good enough to go somewhere with my friends, I was not going out to talk to the family, either. Did this hurt you? I wanted to hurt you, like you hurt me. Look how you are hurting now. Oh, if only I could take it back! I know you must have had your reasons, I just couldn't understand...I was too angry and selfish to even ask. Then, you started acting strange, and I avoided you more. I did not know you. You became someone else, someone that frightened me and was mean to me for no reason. You were always yelling at me, or hitting me. I knew I still had done nothing wrong, to be treated like that. I thought you were going crazy. I thought I was going to go crazy, too.
I don't know how long that lasted, but it seemed like forever! You started hitting me when I was 14. Do you remember? I told on you, too. I told Pat and Dave that you were going crazy... I told the counselor at school, too. I guess they didn't really believe me. Adults never seem to believe a kid, over another adult. That was when I started being bad. Do you remember? I knew I was going to get hit, whether I was good or not, so I decided I might as well have some fun...
That was when I started sneaking out to meet boys. Do you remember catching me that first time? I thought I was going to die! That look in your eyes scared me so bad, I begged you not to hit me...but you hit me anyway. That is when you took the stairs away from my door, and burned them. You knew I wouldn't be able to get back in that way, but I fooled you! I went out through the basement, or down a 2 x 4 that I leaned up against my window....
I started bringing the dog in at night, so he would not bark at me when I snuck out. Is that how you figured out what I was doing? Did he bark and wake you up? I will never forget coming home to find the window and basement door locked. I thought you were telling me that I could not come home...I should have known that was not the case, though. You wanted to scare me, like I scared you. That was why you did that, right? You wanted me to know the beating I was in for. I had to use the front door to get in, and you were waiting... It was the worst one yet, and I vowed to hurt you back for it, someday.
I wasn't good at all, after that. I always cussed you out, I never did my chores, and I walked right out the front door when I wanted to go out. I wasn't going to let you stop me, and I wasn't going to let you hit me anymore, either. Do you remember the next time you tried to hit me? I had been gone for three days this time. I was so tired, I just wanted to come home and go to bed. It is very hard to party for three days without sleep. When I got home, you looked like the Medusa; your hair was wild, and so were your eyes. I remember hoping you would turn me to stone, because my life was horrible anyway. You were going to try to hit me again. I could see it in the way you were inching toward me. Do you remember what happened when you swung at me that time? I caught both your arms in my hands, and held them tight, so you could not move. Then I felt the stickiness on my hands. I looked down at them, and saw blood pouring out of your arms all over my hands. I instantly let go, but I knew I could not have caused that much damage. I only held you, I was not trying to hurt you, yet your skin just seemed to tear away in my hands, like a rotten piece of fruit. This made you even angrier, and you moved so fast! I didn't think you could move that fast, but you did. You had me face down in the carpet, almost before I saw you come at me. I remember what you said, too. You told me how bad I was for sneaking out to meet boys, and that you would make my face ugly, so they would not want me. I was screaming for help, and begging you to stop...it hurt so bad having my face ground into the carpet like that, but you would not stop. After awhile, I guess I fainted, because when I looked around again, you were gone. I got up and went to the bathroom to see how much damage you did to my face. It really hurt! When I looked in the mirror, I wanted to die. My whole face was covered in rug -burns, my eyes were swollen, and my nose and lips were bleeding. For the first time though, I was not afraid for myself... I was afraid for you. I knew you were not my mom. My mom was good and sweet and kind. You had only spanked me three times in my whole life, so there had to be a reason for the beatings. There had to be a reason your skin tore so easily, and would not heal.
I certainly wasn't going to suggest that you go to the doctor. I was afraid it would make you even madder. I was staying at home, at least until my face healed, and I did not want to watch over my shoulder for you. As it turned out, I did end up telling you to go to the doctor. It was a couple of weeks later, when you found that lump in your neck, that I told you to go. You seemed pretty normal the day you went to the doctor, at least I thought so at the time. You called me at school, and said we could meet at Pizza Hut if I wanted...(when did I ever NOT want pizza?) When I got there, you were drinking your beer, and talking to the manager -- all normal stuff. When I sat down, you smiled and asked me about school -- all normal stuff. When I asked you how it went at the doctor's, you nonchalantly said, "It is a tumor or a growth. They want to remove it to see if it is benign, or malignant." They way you said it made it sound like removing a splinter, but I still had an icy chill go down my spine.
The weeks that followed our little luncheon, I will never forget as long as I live. It was a nightmare. When you came back from having your biopsy, we met at Pizza Hut again. You were not so composed. You did not yell, or weep, or carry on, but you had lost that optimism. I was scared. When we heard the report from the pathologist, it was bad....it was cancer.
From that moment on, our lives revolved around doctors. We had to take you for more tests. Then we had to take you for counselling about cancer, and cancer treatments. Then we had to take you for the treatments. When all of the doctors had talked to all the other doctors, and all the reports were handed around and compared to all the other reports, and when they had taken a sample of everything from you...
... they decided you had six months to live.
I had already begun drinking by this time, but now I did it with relish -- I did it to cope; to stay sane. I began to take drugs, too.
I spent long nights so stoned that I could not tell where I was, and that was good. As long as I could do that, I would be able to watch you die. It was terrible to watch you. All the pills you took, the diagram they drew on your chest in permanant marker, the pain I saw in your eyes.
When did the disease progress? It snuck up on me, and caught me by surprise. One day you seemed ok, although very drugged-up, and the next it seemed you were talking gibberish. Did you know the disease had gone into your brain, or were you already too far-gone to understand? Were you just trying to protect me from the truth? Or did it sneak up on you too, taking away your ability to make decisions and communicate? It was horrible not knowing what you wanted or needed. I didn't like taking the car away from you either, but that day you got lost...I was afraid if I had not been there, you would not have made it home. I know you hated me at times over the next weeks and months. It could not be easy having your daughter tell you to brush your teeth, or bathe or change your clothes because you smelled so bad. I can imagine how you must have felt having me come home from school at lunchtime everyday, to make sure you ate something. Can you imagine how I felt? I felt so guilty, and I still do...I made a wish, and it came true. I would wish you well again, if it would help, but I have already done so a million times...
Then one day, it looked like those wishes had come true. You were smiling. You were laughing. You were making sense. I could actually understand you, when you asked for something.
The day you asked me to teach you how to exercise, I knew something was not right. You have never even climbed stairs, if an elevator was around, but you suddenly wanted to jump up and down to some high-impact aerobics with me...it did not fit. When I asked you why you wanted to do this, I suddenly wished I hadn't...
Why did you have to tell me that? Why did you have to say it just that way? Did you have to tell me you HAD to stay alive to take care of your RESPONSIBILITY? That you could not be with your dead husband, until I was grown? You don't know how much that hurt me!
That wasn't the first time you said something like that, either. Do you remember that really bad lighning storm we had when I was seven? The lightning was striking right out in the yard, it was so close! You had already called me in, saying I was going to get struck by lightning. You then went out in it yourself, to bring in the mower, and I yelled for you to hurry, so the lightning would not hit you... Do you remember what you said when you got onto the porch? You said, "No, God won't LET me go yet...I still have you." Mom, that hurt so bad. I wanted to die right then, knowing you could not be with your husband because of me...
So, when you told me you wanted to exercise, so you would be well enough to take care of me, I told you not to try to stay alive -- not to fight this terrible disease ... for me. I wanted you to fight it for you, or to fight because you wanted to be with me...not because you thought you had to. I told you it was ok to let go, because I was a big girl and I would take care of myself.
Oh mom, I was so very, very wrong! I am not a big girl! I lied! I do need you! I want you to help me grow up, and see me get married and have kids. I want my kids to know their Grandma. I want you to be there when I have a problem, or I get sick or lonely. I want to spend Holidays with you...
Please don't die, mom please! I will be good, I promise, just please, please don't die...
God, please, don't let her die...
They pronounced my mother dead at 7pm, January 14th, 1983.
She was attatched to life-support systems, as the tumors in her brain pushed on the autonomic functioning area. She had begged to be released, to die at home with her family, with no machines to keep her alive...
Neither one of us got our wishes...