Dear Mom,
I hope you’re doing well where you are. When I saw you, over a year ago now in that dream, you looked great. I carry that image of you smiling at me wherever I go.
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I’m really annoyed that you’re dead. I still need you so much. Although I often wonder what the "flesh-and-blood" you would think of the choices I’m making now.
Dating someone half my age from a different culture. Travelling all the time. Living in Mexico, where someone else prepares my meals and cleans my apartment, and my only responsibility is working a few hours a week at my easy Internet job.
Not exactly what you pictured for me at this age, was it?
Not exactly what you pictured for me at this age, was it?
First, of course, before you could attempt to come to terms with my age-inappropriate lifestyle, you would have to get over the shock of my divorce.
You loved my ex so much, I know. So did I.
But I also know you would have supported me in getting a divorce, given the circumstances. You might even have encouraged me to do it sooner than I did.
Still, it sucks, I know. I was supposed to be the parent of an adopted kid by now, living a life of domesticity in my big house with its garden and the fancy food processor and the two pugs. Finally “settled down.”
But nothing ever really works out as planned, does it? Thanks anyway, for paying for the wedding. It was beautiful. I’m so sorry you couldn’t make it. We read one of your poems and talked about you.
I do think that the "flesh-and-blood" you would approve of some of the other things I’m trying to do. Like becoming an ESL teacher and an interpreter.
(And of course publishing another book. Sorry I couldn’t make that happen before you left. At least you got to see me publish one. Thanks for coming all the way to Seattle for my book launch party. That was great, wasn’t it?).
And I know the "flesh-and-blood" you would have already been down here to Mexico visit me at least once or twice because that’s how we Agiewiches roll. Travel is in our DNA, at least ever since Dad got sick and decided life was too short to sit at home watching TV.
In real life you were awesome, don’t get me wrong. You were the best mom anyone could ask for. You helped make me the person I am, who is mostly strong, confident, and unafraid (Well I’m afraid all the time but I’m good at hiding it).
I soldier on no matter what, just like you always did, even though I often just wish I could melt down completely.
With dad getting sick and then dying so young, your life didn’t turn out exactly as planned either. But that didn’t stop you. You cared for him, you cared for us, and meanwhile you got on with things – making new friends, writing, helping people, traveling.
I hope I’m a little bit like you, mom.
Anyway, now that you’re ethereal and all-knowing, I know that you’re totally down with all the stuff I’m doing. Young boyfriend, vagabond lifestyle, and all. You’re not burdened by earthly expectations or judgements anymore.
“It’s all good,” you’re saying, which is something you would never say in real life.
At least, when I saw you in that dream a year and a half ago, when you couldn’t stop smiling at me, that’s what you seemed to be saying. And even now, thinking of that smile, so much more vivid than anything I can remember from when you were alive, I feel your warmth and your unconditional love.
I love you and I miss you more than you could ever know, mom. Come visit again soon.
