Letter to Mom

As part of my healing journey, and per the advice of my therapist, I was tasked with writing a letter to my mom. Why you may ask? Well, in this journey of trying to figure out why and how I had even become an avoidant and afraid of someone I care about leaving, I had to trace back to my earliest memories, and she was the first to leave me.

Plot twist, I had no idea that my mom, who had suffered so much in her own life was going to pass away a little less than two weeks after writing this letter to her. I didn't write it with any intention of her hearing it, but my sister read it to her when she went into the hospital, about a week before she passed. I know it was a sign from God, and the series of events that happened both before an after her passing were nothing short of His divine intervention, timing, and will.

So get ready, I've only removed names for privacy, but this is the real deal and helped in my journey more than I could have ever imagined. In loving memory of my mom.

Hi Mom,

Doing something here I should have done a long, long time ago, just never really knew I needed to. I’m not really sure how to even start this, so I guess the first thing I will start with is, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for having so much hate for you when I was younger. Hate that you didn’t even know I had for you. Hate because I was too young to understand why you did the things you did. Hate that I had for you because dad’s non-stop pain and his hate for the things you put him through. Hate for thinking you didn’t love us, dad, my sister, and myself, to not try to keep yourself together, to make sure you took care of yourself so you could take care of this. Luckily for the both of us, your memory not being very great, and mine blocking out probably more either of us would ever be able to remember.

I guess I’ll start somewhere with some of my earliest memories. Not sure where this will take me, but probably the earliest was probably when I was around 5 or 6. I can remember hearing a story of how I was riding a tricycle around the pool and fell in. You were pregnant with my sister at the time, and the first one to jump in and save me from the bottom. That’s a mother’s love that is unconditional, from the very core of who you really are/were. This is a memory I should have held on tightly too during all of the bad ones.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember a lot of the good memories, mostly because they weren’t the ones that stuck with me or the ones that dad ever remembered either. But I should, and do know now that you loved me, us deeply. It was mental issues within yourself that probably didn’t allow you to show that. Things I’m realizing now, just how much mental stability can affect our lives. My sister and I will never know what it’s like to actually suffer what you do and have most of your life. While we lived through it, it was never through your eyes, heart, or mind. Part of why I’m writing this is to try to address some of my own issues with relationships, dealing with my past trauma, trying to heal from crushing the woman that was meant for me, and forgiving myself for it, so that I can be a better person in the future. I’m glad that she was the last woman you were able to meet mom. She meant the world to me, and unfortunately, I pushed her away because of my own issues that I never actually dealt with. I don’t know if she will ever speak with me again, but knowing you were able to meet her means the world to me.

Fast forwarding through some of the other things that I can remember. I can remember times where you were sitting on the porch by yourself kicking the steps and saying the voices were telling you to. Then there was a time where you left us on your way to see your boyfriend Don Johnson from Miami Vice. While looking back at that one, it’s kind of funny, I mean not really, but Mom, really? You were pretty good looking back in the day, but he was probably out of your league. And yes mom, you missed so much, but I’m a fairly funny guy every now and then. No doubt due to all of said childhood trauma. I can remember times where both you and dad were arrested for claimed domestic violence. It was probably a little of both you and him. With drug and alcohol abuse from both of you, on top of your issues, that’s not really a shocker. I can remember a time where you took My sister and I and we stayed in some motel for a few days, maybe a week. I remember when you accidentally ran over My sister in the Camaro. We were over at a friend’s house running through the sprinklers or playing in the front yard. I think you were going to the store, and she wanted to go with you, so she ran to the house. She was on the passenger side of the car and was pulled under. I can’t imagine how that made you feel. It was terrifying for all of us, but I know guilt, and that must have been unbearable. Fortunately, by the grace of God, she was mostly unharmed.

Then there was the almost year where My sister and I were taken into protective custody. I’ll never forget the day that happened. I was home alone, probably after school or something, and there was a knock on the door. I answered, because people actually answered the door and not hid when someone knocked or rang the doorbell in the 80s. I don’t remember all of what happened next, but I can remember My sister and I being put in the backseat of a car and taken away. I’m sure that you and dad suffered tremendously when that happened, but you weren’t kids. My sister and I were taken from our home by strangers “looking out for us”. As a kid, we had no idea. I’m sure she had similar thoughts, but there’s a lot of thinking things are your fault as a kid. I don’t know how many times I asked myself, why couldn’t I have behaved better, maybe if I was a good kid, we wouldn’t have gotten taken away. There’s a lot that I don’t remember during that time, but there were some good memories with the bad.

The first place we were at was called Orangewood. That one was kind of like a college campus, I guess. There was like a main housing building with separate wings for boys and girls. We were paired up with another kid our age in a two bedroom. It had its own school there, so we did that. I remember there was even a dance. I tried to impress some girl with my cool breakdancing skills, or so I thought, haha. I don’t recall how long we were there, but I can remember one thing, we didn’t stay. That was another really terrifying memory. I can remember being interviewed by some social worker. The next part I don’t know where it came from, because it’s completely made up. But I can remember having to answer questions about what life was like at home. I can remember making up a story about dad shooting a gun in the house. Dad bought his first gun here in Texas, when he was in his 60s, and after taking a course to get his concealed handgun license. For as verbally loud and angry as dad was, there was one thing he wasn’t, physically violent. Shoot, I can only remember you ever being the one to spank or hit us.

Anyways, this story that we made up was obviously taken seriously, and probably the reason we were moved even further away, to Childhelp USA or something like that. I remember them having to take My sister first for whatever reason. Even at 7 years old, I knew this meant a possibility of us being separated forever. We didn’t have you or dad, all we had was each other. I can remember telling My sister that if we ever got separated, I’d find a way to go back home and I’d get dad’s old dirt bike and come find her wherever she was. I used to be a pretty protective older brother, lol. Now she’s the one that looks out for me more than I do for myself sometimes, well maybe most of the time. Childhelp was much different. I was on like a huge piece of land with separate living quarters depending on age group. I do remember them giving me the option to stay in the younger house with My sister instead of the kids my age, and there was no way I was taking that up. I don’t really have a whole lot I remember that’s significant from there, besides getting chicken pox. My sister had them worse than me though. Eventually you and dad were able to fight the courts to get us back. I didn’t know then, but we’d only have 5 short years after that as a family.

It’s hard to put a timeline on when all of the things actually happened, I can only recollect the things that did. So many times where our house was in disarray, dirty, going to school looking like bums (come to find out, that’s normal for boys, mine have been the same, lol), seeing you crying for “no reason”, watching you fall apart, ignoring it just because it’s what you did, not wanting to be at home ever so I spent most of my time out of school over at my friend’s house. Watching dad self-destruct as well because he didn’t know how to deal with it. Visits to the psychiatrist with you. Dad and you giving it your best at the time with what you had. No doubt looking back how much of a significant role all of that played. After the protective custody thing, I gained weight, got fat, probably ate my feelings.

Man, I really could have used therapy back then, lol. Things I struggled with and still do at 43 years old because I never really dealt with them either. Dad ended up selling both of the Chevron stations so that he could be more present. He probably never really should have done that, but he did what he thought was best to support you and us at the time. He started a vending machine business. There were so many times we were so broke, we were literally living off the quarters, nickels, and dimes from the vending machines. I was a kid; money didn’t matter to me. We always had food to eat, whether it was some of the bulk junk food we were using in the vending machines or stopping at AM/PM to get burgers or hot dogs for a buck. Probably my favorite and still is to this day especially because we don’t have them here in Texas, was stopping and getting burritos from Del Taco. See, I do want you to know mom, that even through all the crap, I know you were doing what you could with the resources you had. Again, the things I should have held on to in the bad times.

Then came the call to dad. You were picking My sister up from the babysitter’s house and turned left in front of a semi. God was with you and My sister that day, and neither of you were hurt, but I think that was a real turning point for dad. He was never the same after that. The last hot rod he’d ever build, destroyed. I remember standing with him in the driveway when the tow truck turned the corner. All I could see was the hood of the El Camino, once flat and now in a peaked triangle. I know it's just a car, but dad’s soul was crushed. I think that might have been the first time I saw him cry. I am proud and honored to say that like anything in life, things can be rebuilt, and I still have the El Camino today. She needs a little love, she’s just expensive.

As time flew by, at the end of 6th grade our house was being foreclosed on. We had to sell most of our possessions to move from the only real home I’d ever known. We moved to a small, like really small, house in Buena Park. New school, new friends, a chance to start over, I guess. My 7th grade year wasn’t looking any easier though. My sister broke her leg roller skating, dad didn’t believe her, so it didn’t actually get looked at for a few weeks, sorry sis, but you lied a lot when you were a kid, lol. Dad was in the process of filing for divorce, I don’t know if you knew or not at the time. Then your dad passed away. I know you took that so hard, and like really, did you need one more thing bad to happen? Life was life-ing so hard for all of us.

I remember you needing to have some gallstones removed not long after grandpa died, and that’s when you gave up, on everything. On me, on My sister, on dad, and most importantly on yourself. We won’t ever know what all you were actually going through, so the question of why will always be unknown. I know your mental health issues probably are the cause of why you took it so hard. Losing dad in 2017 was devastating to me, and I still miss him every day, but I don’t suffer from the same things as you. Life went on the next month, while you withered away. Here I was, as 12-year-old kid, literally watching his mom give up.

I did what any kid would do I guess, just kept going to school, doing my thing, ignoring how much you actually needed help. We tried to make sure you ate and drank, you would say you did, you’d say you took your medicine, but we knew you didn’t. Dad was working like 6 days a week trying to keep food on the table, and he already had his mind set. He was done with you after everything. He finally got fed up, and one day he carried you to the car where we drove you to a hospital and left you. I know you were too out of it to even remember any of it. I don’t even know if he visited with you while you were there. I think My sister and I did a couple of times, before you recovered enough to be transferred up close to Aunt Debbie. And that was it. You, my mom, our mom, was gone. That’s when the hate for you really started.

How could you have given up so freaking bad, that now, me a 12-year-old kid had to become mom of the house? Why did you give up? Why couldn’t you ask for more help? I know dad was done, but why couldn’t you stand up for yourself, if not for My sister and me? You didn’t love us. Even though dad literally dropped you off at a hospital, it was you that had already left. That was the only answer I could give myself at the time. And they were equally reinforced by dads ranting and hate for you being crazy, and all the things he gave up for you.

He really loved you mom; I don’t know that he ever stopped. He tried everything in his power to help with the tools he had, fought through your mental outbreaks, fought to get us back, fought to make us a family again, gave up his businesses to be with you, gave up his house, his car, everything, until he had nothing left to give, and you gave up on him, us. The only reason I know he always loved you as much as he did, he never stopped talking about you. Mostly bad, but that’s because he could never get past the pain you caused him. That says a lot though mom. I know he was actually grateful for the way things turned out. He was a better man after time, he had to step up as a single dad, he ended up doing pretty well for himself financially. Could have used a little help with some other things, but the point is, he never stopped thinking about you. He’d still dream about you, cry about things when he was depressed. But his influence on my opinion of you was strong in my teenage and early adult years.

I know you don’t because of your mental health, but I don’t want you to feel any guilt mom. I wholeheartedly forgive you for everything you’ve ever done, whether in your control or not. It’s something I think I’ve told myself just to not think about things for a long time, but in this journey, I’ve been on recently, it’s time to actually live like it. Had none of that ever happened, a lot of the positive things that became of it wouldn’t have happened. Yes, I had to grow up way to fast, it royally messed up me being able to just be a kid, which I fight to not do the same to my boys now. Probably not the greatest, but hey, nobody knows what it’s like to actually raise kids until you do.

At 12 years old, I had to teach myself to cook, to clean the house, had to get dads liverwurst sandwiches ready for lunch, yuck, had to make sure My sister and I were up and ready for the bus because dad was already on his way to work. Had to make sure dinner was ready when pops got home, even though he wouldn’t freaking eat until after a few beers and he unwound from his workday. Then he’d yell because his steak would overcook when it was reheated, smh. Had to learn how to do laundry, fold clothes, you name it. I became mom, and My sister became his accountant, lol.

You weren’t there for my first actual girlfriend, helping teach me how to drive, helping with my homework, making sure I was doing the right thing, staying out of trouble, you weren’t there to see me graduate high school. You weren’t there to see me get my first job, see me hungover from high school parties, lots of first and ongoing things we experience. And honestly, I didn’t care then. It wasn’t until college when I was taking speech, that I decided to do one on bipolar. I did a lot of research on it and learned just how awful of a disorder it is. It helped me understand a lot of why you did some of the things you did. Why you chased the highs, the manic episodes, as well as just how bad the depression and schizophrenia actually were for you. It also helped explain why you wouldn’t take your medication, or why you would be out of whack when it changed up. It offered an explanation or reasoning that I was searching for. At the time, I think I was able to forgive you, but it was more of an understanding rather than an actual forgiveness.

That’s what I’m doing now mom, actual forgiveness so that I can try to heal and fix some of the long-term effects they have had on me. I’ve had plenty of relationships over the years, and all have failed. I have never really seen, at least up close, what a good, healthy relationship is. Dad never remarried after you, had a few girlfiends, but his own issues caused him to die alone, without his person. I’m trying to figure out and address more wholistically why, so that I can try to be a better person and partner in the future. Most of my longer-term relationships have ended up in my girlfriends and ex-wife cheating on me. There are probably many reasons outside of my control that led this to happen. All of these I think relate to how my last relationship ended.

It ended because of my own fear of abandonment. Pretty much everyone I’ve ever loved has left me, starting with you. You left me first, then it was girlfriends, then dad passing away, and finally the mother of my children leaving me. I think that was the nail in the coffin for me mentally. I felt like I wasn’t good enough for anyone to actually stay. This caused me to put up walls so high that nobody was breaking them down. I don’t want to continue living like that, because it made me crush someone that really didn’t deserve it. Now I haven’t been a saint my whole life, I’ve hurt plenty of people, but this last one was different. She was the one mom, and I wasn't able to ever let her in all the way, shoot even a fraction of the way. She loved me regardless of my flaws, and tried to help, but I was too stubborn and stuck in my head to let her. 

Something about it that I can’t explain actually made me want to do something about it. Actually look back and see why the hell did it happen. What do I need to work on? Over the last year and a half almost, I’ve been dedicated to my physical health, eating healthy, and working out. I’ve realized that my mental and spiritual health need the same kind of attention. To be honest, probably should have started with those, and I wouldn’t be in the situation that I am right now, but at least I’ve realized that and started. I’m trying to apply the same dedication and consistency to make the right things habit and just part of my daily life, like I have with eating healthy and working out. At first, there were no results, or little anyways besides seeing the scale go down. But I knew I couldn’t just quit because I wasn’t seeing things yet. Over time it just became part of my life, and now I’m probably healthier than I ever have been.

I’m only a short time into this spiritual and mental awareness journey, so it’s still new and I’m not really seeing anything yet. That in combination with a fear of not knowing how I can put some things into practice when I don’t have her to do it with is a little difficult. But I know that I’ll be a different and better person in time. So, keeping faith in God, and continuing to put the work in daily is something I just have to do. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make things right with her, but I owe it to her and myself to try and give it everything I have, even if it’s too late. I’ve had to give it all to God and trust that He is in control of it. Which is still really difficult to me, but there isn’t any other reason I can justify it with.

I want you to know that I don’t blame you for anything mom. I’ve also recently been able to put some of my experience with bipolar to good use. I recently had an employee that has bipolar and is starting a divorce process with her partner. She called me one morning because she was freaking out, not because of a manic or a depressive state, but because she was feeling nothing, she was numb. She also struggles with her medication because that’s exactly what it does. It numbs the excessive mood swings that her body has physiologically become addicted to. She called me because of you mom. She called me because I’ve shared that you are bipolar, so I might understand what she is going through. Her family doesn’t understand it, they just tell her she’s crazy or overreacting, that she just needs to get more meds. Some of her friends, while they are more empathetic, may not have dealt closely with anyone that’s bipolar. She needed someone that is close to her, that she trusts, to really try to understand what she was feeling, and get her through it.

Mom, I want you to know that sitting there where you are now, after everything that you and I have both gone through, all the good and bad memories, it was only because I had you as my mom, that I was hopefully able to help someone else. Mom, I know this letter is for me more than you, but I hope one day far from now, we’re together without any bodily ailments, and you can look back without any regrets of things you knew or didn’t know, and will see just how everything turned out just the way it was designed. That you’ll be able to look back and know that even through all the pain and unfairness of life, that your kids turned out to be some pretty great people. That because, and only because of you, I was able to help even just one person suffering from similar issues. That you will truly know that I’m sorry for things I didn’t understand or appreciate at the time, and the hate that filled my heart for you. I’m sorry for holding hate in my heart for you and not fully understanding you for so long.

Most of all, I love you mom.