Yesterdays
I came home yesterday to find a card from my sister, Kate. Inside the card was a letter she had found in a file somewhere at Grandpa's house. It was a letter from 1993, from me to my mother. At that point in time, my mother was still a recent and painful omission from my household, however my letter does not ring with too much sorrow. I'm telling her about a trip that my father took us four kids on, to the Santa Cruz boardwalk, with a woman who used to be a friend to both my father and my mother who, honestly, ended up being just some random lady.
The letter made me cry, quickly and hard. It was because I remembered the new pain of having to write my mother a letter instead of going to the kitchen to find her. It was because I imagined how heartbreaking it must have been for her to read all about her daughter and "Sarah". I mention the woman so many times in my two page letter, innocently, but I wonder if my mother cried over that. I wonder if my mother was jealous of the time this other woman spent with her daughter, if she really wanted to be the one on those roller coasters with me. Or, perhaps, it was an acceptable concession.
The last lines of my letter tell my mother how sorry I am she is not around. I was so sorry. I still am sorry. This was the introduction to an emotion that I still have not let go. At times it's stronger now than ever before.
The letter made me cry, quickly and hard. It was because I remembered the new pain of having to write my mother a letter instead of going to the kitchen to find her. It was because I imagined how heartbreaking it must have been for her to read all about her daughter and "Sarah". I mention the woman so many times in my two page letter, innocently, but I wonder if my mother cried over that. I wonder if my mother was jealous of the time this other woman spent with her daughter, if she really wanted to be the one on those roller coasters with me. Or, perhaps, it was an acceptable concession.
The last lines of my letter tell my mother how sorry I am she is not around. I was so sorry. I still am sorry. This was the introduction to an emotion that I still have not let go. At times it's stronger now than ever before.