A letter to my mother
Dear Mother,
I wonder what I would do if you were to turn up tomorrow, flesh and blood and laughing and smiling, and if you looked at me and asked me if I was happy, and what I'd been like as a child... how awful, and yet, how wonderful. For you were taken from me before I could ever know you, you and my father and my sister, and sometimes I wish I had known you, had known your families, my lineage, my connection to the social structure of the world.
And sometimes I think it would be terrible, you and I perfect strangers. What if you didn't approve of what I had become? What if we never saw eye-to-eye on anything? What if you criticized the very people I held dear, or the way I lived my life?
And I ask myself too, Mother, what I would do if you turned up here tomorrow. Flesh and blood as I never knew you, smiling and laughing-- and changing as only the living can. Would I teach you to read, at last? Could I show you the world, and the amazing things I've seen? What would it feel like to have your arms solidly around me, tangible and warm... would I be able to bear it if you were taken from me again?
I miss Rose, Mother. I think I understand why she left, but I miss her just the same.
...I miss you, too.
Your loving son,
Nobody Owens.
I wonder what I would do if you were to turn up tomorrow, flesh and blood and laughing and smiling, and if you looked at me and asked me if I was happy, and what I'd been like as a child... how awful, and yet, how wonderful. For you were taken from me before I could ever know you, you and my father and my sister, and sometimes I wish I had known you, had known your families, my lineage, my connection to the social structure of the world.
And sometimes I think it would be terrible, you and I perfect strangers. What if you didn't approve of what I had become? What if we never saw eye-to-eye on anything? What if you criticized the very people I held dear, or the way I lived my life?
And I ask myself too, Mother, what I would do if you turned up here tomorrow. Flesh and blood as I never knew you, smiling and laughing-- and changing as only the living can. Would I teach you to read, at last? Could I show you the world, and the amazing things I've seen? What would it feel like to have your arms solidly around me, tangible and warm... would I be able to bear it if you were taken from me again?
I miss Rose, Mother. I think I understand why she left, but I miss her just the same.
...I miss you, too.
Your loving son,
Nobody Owens.