The Letter

“I am not perfect. I say stupid things sometimes. I laugh when I’m not supposed to. I have scars left by people who did me wrong. I’m a little crazy, and probably won’t change. Love me or not. But I make one promise that if I love you, I do it with a full heart.”

What do you do when everything in your life seems to be broken? When you bow your head in prayer and beg God to help you figure out what on earth am I here for? That’s been me for the past couple years. I thought I figured it out, then WHAM, a bigger slam came. I was blindsided. A “real doosie,” my mother would say. So, I begin to think, “What the hell’s the matter with you, are you a slow learner or what?” Well I must be, since I must relearn a lesson fifty or sixty times to really get it. The problems keep recurring and there is no pill, prayer, or principle that will immediately undo the damage of many years. Life itself is a series of problems. I don’t believe there is a person alive who is immune to pain or insulated from grief, and no one gets to go through life problem free and without a price to pay. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those crushed in spirit,” Psalm 34:18. I make myself believe those words.

After what I refer to as having lost a loved family member, it doesn’t necessarily mean that person was taken by death, but by choice. You are shocked, you grieve, then you feel the necessitated anger that they chose to oust you from their life. Those are the darkest days—when your heart is broken, when you feel abandoned, when you exhausted all options of communication, when the pain is so great you want to die—you turn to God, and God alone. It’s during that suffering I learned to pray my most genuine, heartfelt, honest to God prayers. At this point, there is no energy left for insincere prayer. I read somewhere that “…Only through suffering will we know Jesus.” You’ll never know that God is all you need until God is all you have left.

I have never stopped believing in God, nor have I blamed Him for all that went wrong in my life. I have never lost faith in the power of prayer even though one of my many faults is being impatient. “Good things come to those who wait.” I don’t want to wait. I want everything and relationships to be as they once were, but I am powerless. I question the Grand Design behind most everything. I don’t believe life is a result of chance, fate or luck. How can you be sure if you wait out the storm you won’t be dead yourself? The answer is faith. Faith. A simple, but powerful five letter word. Faith renews your soul, your mind, and your heart. I had to learn the hard way that what happens outwardly in your life is not as important as what happens inside your soul.

People come into your life for a reason and they leave for a reason. They sometimes come back at the right moment, the moment that God planned. We always don’t understand the dynamics, but eventually it does become clear. Other than an occasional handwritten entry in a journal, I haven’t written anything in two years. This is the first blog entry in quite a while, and I am compelled…no let me rephrase that…my hand is being guided this night to send a very personal message to someone I have lost in hopes that this will be read. Quite possibly many others who are looking for answers can relate to my pain. It starts like this…

…You have chosen a life without us. How long do you need? I have tried many times to contact you, but you block me. It’s been many months since that final day. Will this silence last forever? I ought not equate my agony to grieving for the dead…you are alive, so I hold onto hope with faltering fingertips.

I am happy…we are happy you are forging ahead with your passions and your life. We are pleased for you and we are proud of you whether you want to hear that or not. All I want to know is for you to let me know if you intend this silence to last forever. I thought you and I were close. I miss you every half hour until it makes me sick. Do you hear my thoughts when I call your name or have you blocked that too? Rejection is a romantic relationship is deeply painful, but from you, my child, the wound cannot heal over time. I cannot replace you. Motherhood doesn’t work that way. The wound is gaping, and it is tender. It becomes reinfected daily, you’ve seen it firsthand.

I look for you on every street corner. A tiny glimmer of hope briefly possesses me when I see someone who resembles you. My vision cruelly morphs the most unlikely stranger into your shape. Many times, each day my mind plays tricks.

I have taken counseling and you should be pleased to know that they all confirm that I have no choice but give you space and get on with my life. This is what I do, but you are below the surface of everything. I am never truly laughing, never relaxed, or content. Tears burst out of me at inappropriate moments, at any reminder. I let it endanger my life and my productivity. I avoid any conversation about you. I can’t stand questions about how you are doing. I deflect them and don’t converse until I come across being cold and closed up. I won’t be pitied, especially by those who make judgements, or by those who inevitably pat themselves on the back for their parental success, in comparison to my shabby rejection. Yes, you can say I’ve become paranoid. I resent what seems to be everyone else having children who enjoy their company, who have meals with them, and talk things through with them. I thought we had that.

Anger. You are not the only one. I have that too. Perhaps, that is what you fear and won’t come back. I am gut wrenching upset that you think this void is okay. Where is the love in that? I am so afraid that the longer this silence continues, the harder it will be for us to break it. I taught you, “strength in silence” when there seemed no other choice to help you through rejection, but I never expected you would use it against me. I used to think we had a bond that would never be broken, and that we were close. I always loved being your mother. It is not even a half a life without you in it. I have lost the right to ever dictate what your life choices are, nor will I stand in your way, but I want you to think about this…we have in the past worked through gaps of miscommunication.

As I write this, I am aware we are now alone. Making full circle back to forty-seven years ago, and childless. I ask myself, “Was this God’s plan all along, or was it fate?” I have admitted to you I am flawed, but can the deep love of a parent for their children be questioned by another? Can a parent be given an ultimatum who to love and who not to? You are not only my child, but my best friend. I thought we would always be able to talk and work things out. I will never give up, and I pray everyday that day will come soon.