Dear Mom

Now that Bobby is a senior in high school and most likely going to graduate a semester early, it makes me think of you and the problems we have. Quite often I think of you, ya know. Probably much more often than you realize. You already know all the things I am about to say, but I’m pretty sure you don’t see them the way I do. Let me help you to see things through my eyes in hopes of putting some of the pain behind us once and for all. Since you so kindly asked in your last hysterical phone call to me.

Here in the beginning I need to say that I am not writing to hurt you or make you feel bad, although that’s how it may seem, it is truly not my intention. Please know that I want to make things better and this is how I have decided to do it. I am not good at confrontations, so much of what you will read, you may have never heard before now. It always seems that when someone I love hurts me, I think about telling them, but I don't because I don't want to fight. I wait until later to tell them and then, after some time has passed it doesnt seem quite as devastating, so I typically end up suffering through it alone. It works best this way for me because I have found that no one has ever cared enough to say I’m sorry anyway and you never even admit you were wrong or that your actions may have hurt me, much less get me the help I needed to heal my wounds in a healthy way. I always just have to ponder it in my mind for awhile, figure out how to deal with my disappointment and then wait for it to fade away. Wait for the pain to sink into myself somewhere deep in my soul where all that dark stuff hides. For other readers though, I need to explain where I am today so that they can somewhat understand where I am going. First they need to know where I have been. I say “I” because I can only explain how I feel, because I don’t know how you feel. You seldom tell me unless you feel like exploding and I am the closest one around for you to relieve yourself on. You are my mother, but honestly you make me feel like a urinal.

It is almost Christmas, 2009 and yet my uncertainties are not focused on the gifts I cannot buy or the boxes of holiday decorations still packed away in my attic, but on next May and graduation.

Bobby my youngest is 17 and graduating in May. Bobby is my 4^th child to graduate from High School. My oldest Marsha graduated ten years ago, Greg earned his GED a few years later and then Pete graduated year before last. My last baby is about to leave the nest and I haven’t been taking my anti-depressants the way I should, so pardon me if I seem a bit spiritless. It is times like this that I don’t remember to pretend to be happy or sad. Pre-menopausal is what I am, I guess. I have also been a widow since my early 40’s.

My children...First of all there is Marsha. She got married, produced two children and then divorced her husband soon after the second baby was born. A few years later she moved in with another woman. My oldest son is Greg. He is currently holding down a good job and in a promising relationship with a nice young lady who sees, like I do, that Greg has the makings of a great husband and father. He just needs a good woman to guide him in the right direction and hit him with the rolling pin occasionally if he gets off track (just kidding). Pete is quite a character just like his father, he is an outdoors man, a true southern redneck, a good ole boy if you will. He is as independent as they come, always trying not to burden Aunt Colleen, almost to a fault. They are each one my favorite and I tell them that all the time. They are always trying to corner me into saying which one of them is my real favorite. I always say it is whoever is absent when they ask, or I simply say “you are”. Each one is truly my favorite, although sometimes one or two of them can be on my “you are not my favorite today” list.