Dear Mom,

It’s been 11 years since Dad’s been gone. Knowing this is kind of weird. For over half of my life he has been void. For over half of my life I have been free of his hands, of his body. For more years than not, I have not had to look to you and wonder if you were going to stop him. I’m not sure why but it feels much more gratifying this year than last. It feels as though I have accomplished something, and I have. Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t mask the 21 years that I have wondered why or the years after that you continued to let it happen. It will never cover the days that I spend reliving every touch, every kiss, every breath. Though small, that victory is still there.  In less than 2 years it will have been over half of my life that you have been gone. I wonder every day what that will feel like. I wonder if it will be just as satisfying as Dad being gone or if it will break me. Losing a mom isn’t the same as losing a friend or a brother or sister. Of the three, losing a mom has been the worst. With all loss the heart gains a hole, some deeper than others. Some holes are able to be filled but yours seems to be the hardest, one that lacks the desire. I’m not sure it will ever be filled, or even get better, but I can only hope that one day I am able to let you go.

Sometimes I wish I had the courage to send you a letter, or something. So often I have so much to say but am held back by the idea of everything being used as target. I know that if I were to write you, directly, I’d have to pick and choose every single word that I used, otherwise it could be aided in Unakites release. I can’t have that. It shouldn’t be this way. I shouldn’t have to worry about talking to you, I should just be able. The other day a friend of mine was talking about her relationship with her mom and how her mom was there for her when her dad abused her. After a minute she stopped herself and apologized and asked if she should stop. I told her no that the stuff I’ve been through is just a part of life, that there’s no need to punish her because it’s not just a part of life for her. It shouldn’t be a part of life, mom. No one should have to say that  having a mom who doesn’t love you, brothers who don’t care, sisters who want to kill you, a step dad who raped you, and 5 families give up on you is just a part of life. I wish you could understand that.

Sometimes I wish that I could just be angry with you. I wish I could be angry with Unakite and dad. I try to be angry but I just can’t. Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of anger, it just seems to avoid you. Sometimes Bailey and I go to the gym to get the anger out and when I try to direct it towards you, rightfully so, I can’t do it. I wish that I could just get angry and  say {aloud}, “I am angry at my mom because she left.” or, “I am angry at my mom because she allowed stupid people to hurt me.” or even, “I’m mad at my mom because she does drugs.” I know that a lot of my anger stems from you, I just can’t find it in me to be angry at you. I’m not sure if it’s because before dad died he made the boys and I promise to always respect you, or if it’s because you are my mother and it is abnormal to be so angry at the person who birthed you. Whatever it is, I wish it would go away and allow me to get the anger towards you out. Life would be a lot easier, healing would be a lot smoother, and letting you go wouldn’t feel like I was going to die.

As much as I wish you could read this, I know you will not. I love you.

Ruby

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3 thoughts on “Letter to the Wind

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