Wednesday, November 2, 2016
Dear Mom Letter
A letter can change someone's life with one simple swipe of your finger across an envelope when opening something that is addressed to you. It can bring you the greatest joy, it can cure a mystery of another, it can bring laughter to your heart, yet, at the same time, it can change your life as you begin to open and read that very letter.
A letter shared from the writer to the reader can be the most beneficial therapy especially if we fear standing before them. The phrase "Dear John" is meant to break the heart of a man that a woman can secretly love yet she is telling him goodbye because she may feel she is holding him back. Or, that famous "Dear John" letter written from a woman because he is not giving her what she desires, urns for, what completes her, to then finding a man who does just all that.
But what about writing a letter to someone you don't know? Is it really therapeutic for one's self to sit down and take pen to paper to begin writing one's true feelings? How does one open up to share their most intimate pain, those dark deep secrets one has harbored so far into their soul, not even their very own soul wants?
I shared earlier through my therapy, I was instructed to write a letter to my birth mother. I was to take pen to paper and begin finding answers my soul had but was yet to relinquish. As I began this letter, I was so angry and so frustrated I must have had at least twenty to thirty piles of letters from which I began then crumbled up tossing it as if wanting to throw out the pain.
Then finally, it came. My soul was beginning to relinquish with one swipe of the pen to paper one letter at a time. I could feel my toes tingling, my brain working, I could feel the nervousness beginning to surface mixed with anger.
So, I was told to write to you, I was told to write my pain, my fears, my absence of never knowing you the countless years I have craved to meet you because I always felt it would give me a sense of completion. It would take my boat which seemingly floats through the dark ocean no compass or light to guide me thinking that meeting you, you would be the light my boat needs.
As I continued to write I could feel a flooding of pain begin to lift and then it hit me. It hit me as if a bus had just plowed into my house or a lighting bolt shooting from the sky of a wicked storm then attaching to my body. I remember inhaling and exhaling, I remember how I wickedly began to shake, I remember that dark ocean with no light to guide me through the storms of my mind was now beginning to flicker.
Words of hate surfaced, words of anger surfaced, words of love surfaced. But, the words of love which surfaced was no longer for her, it was for my mom that brought me home from the hospital. It was the woman who sat up with me at night when I was sick, the woman who fed me nightly, watched movies with me, took me shopping, took me to school, helped me with my homework.
Have I been so blinded by my own anger that I now realized through writing this letter, I was blaming someone that had nothing to do with my adoption. Was I so blind to see that possibly, just possibly my birth mother didn't have a choice? Was she is in such a bad place that she loved me so much she only wanted the best for me?
I continued to write, and write, and write, I shared my life of what it was now. I shared the fancy parties, the elaborate home I had once lived in. The countless dedications that my mom gave me, the always consistent "I love you" came from her very voice no matter what I did nor what I said she remained resilient and stead fast to loving me.
Have I been so blinded by my selfishness followed with my disgusting confusion thinking that my birth mom's arms would make a big difference to myself? Would that really make me feel complete when in reality, my mom already gave me that completion to my life.
I began to learn who I was as a person, I began to learn that my cold dead heart wasn't in fact dead, it was there the whole time. My heart was just waiting for me to become the understanding person and to catch up to what I could be as an adult. My heart was waiting for me let go, and love these two women the way they deserved to be loved.
I learned through all this I actually did love my birth mom for giving me life, I learned I already loved my adopted mom for giving me life. I began to see that I could of easily been some back alley abortion. I remember sitting there inside my home, I began to shed tears which lead to more tears then suddenly the bridge of the damned anger soon turned to the flooding of tears.
I learned I was so reckless with other peoples hearts, I learned so much about me. I begged forgiveness as I sat there weeping with full fledged snot running down my face for my adopted mom to never stop loving me, I begged for my birth mom where ever she was to continue with her love of another living or dead because in reality, I never knew if she was actually alive or dead.
Now seven pages later, I felt complete. A massive tidal wave of competition filled my now healing heart. I was so excited I called my therapist and shared through the slowly ending sobs how I finished the letter and how cleansed I felt. My therapist invited me over to share this letter with her and immediately I got into my car and drove over breaking the speed limit through multiple cities to reach her home.
Once I was there, I grabbed the letter and bolted up her stairs with a spring in my step so excited to share the break through I had. As we sat and shared coffee and treats I began to read my letter to her. Once I was done I looked up and saw my very own therapist crying of delight beaming so proudly of me.
Four years it took me to get there, four years of life I selfishly took of another and for what? My therapist got up then turning to the black metal trash can next to her putting it on the table then searching for the book of matches verbally instructing me to burn it. There it was, another revelation, I gasped with shock my body filling with chills. There it was, my mom wanted me so badly that she burned my life in the fire so I could actually become hers.
I was told by burning this letter I wrote I would now release the anger for real, I would have no reason to hold on to this anger that plagued my soul and mind any longer. I proudly stood up dropping the letter into the black metal trash can and striking the match tossing it in watching flames from beginning flickers to a full fledged fire within the trash can. I watched the burning embers flicker hues of blue, orange, yellow. and white. I smelled the burning of the paper I could hear the screaming of the angry words begging to hold onto my heart now slowly die.
I grabbed my purse and hugged her telling her I had some place to be. I thanked her and dashed out the door going down stairs taking two steps at a time like a Gazelle running through the bushes in Africa. I climbed into my car and took off. I had to go see my mom. I had to go hold her in my arms. I had to share this news. I wanted to release her pain. I needed to do this not just for me but for her.
As I weaved in and out of traffic I finally arrived at their home. I was so nervous and yet so excited. I through open the front door and headed to the bottom level of the home to find my mom cooking dinner for my dad. There she was, the most beautiful person in the world.
"What are you doing here?" asked my mom with her loving tender voice. I just stood there looking at her then I lunged at her taking her in my arms holding her so tightly while I whispered, "I am so sorry for causing you such pain, I love you so much, I can see now, I can see now, I can see now."
My mom tried to push away and I told her no I wanted to hold her longer, I wanted to feel her skin next to mine, I wanted to listen to her breathing, I wanted to listen to her racing heart. She was mine, she was all mine and I could not be happier that she was my mom. I could not be prouder that she was my mom.
"Honey, I love you too but what do you mean when you say I can see now?" I turned off the partially cooked dinner on the stove and took her by her hand leading her to the back deck pulling out a seat telling her to sit down then I began to share my letter. I told her so much about myself and my wrong doings and now begging for her forgiveness.
My dad came down stairs bellowing about dinner and we both just looked at him and laughed. This was a moment we need to share, we needed to talk about. I remember we sat outside for so long my dad gave up asking for dinner then yelling he is going for pizza because he was starving.
We had reached a pinnacle level in our relationship and both of us could never be happier. So what is the moral to this story?
Love what you have, not what you think you don't have. Open your eyes to see what is before you and just breath.
And in one single breath. both of our lives had changed forever.