Birthdays

Dear Mom,

Birthdays used to be a semi-big thing back at our house growing up. Remember how you used to come to me and my sisters on our special days with a song and a treat for dessert.

We would wake up to your melodious voice serenading Happy Birthday to us. We loved it as smaller children. As we got older, we pretended not to like your singing first thing in the morning, but we honestly did deep down. At least I know I did.

I remember one birthday when I was 11 or 12, you didn't wake me up to Happy Birthday. I thought it was a ruse. No one spoke of my changing of age all day. I chose to keep quiet because I didn't want to spoil the "surprise" I would probably get once the cherade was over.

Once it got late into the evening and I didn't see a cake concealed by an Acme paper bag in a corner like usual; there was no card for me to read; no song for me to hear, I realized that you actually forgot my birthday. It crushed me.

I later informed you of your mistake and you "made it up to me" and vowed to never forget my birthday again. I held you to that.

Now, as an adult, I realize that there was obviously some important reason why you forgot my birthday when I was younger. It's not that big of a deal to me. However, I realized something about myself the other day.

Before my "big day" arrives I tend to make sure everyone knows it. Not so much to brag, I guess. But I do it so that if I tell enough people at least one person will remember. Kind of sad, right.

It was, in fact, my 30th birthday last Thursday. I was honestly determined to do absolutely nothing, but as the day approached I began to drop hints about my day. Well, actually, they weren't even hints. They were more of an outward acknowledgement. And honestly, 30 is a big milestone, especially since I didn't think I would ever see it.

This year, however, I didn't expect you to sing for me as I sort of expected in past years. I did think that you would at the very least acknowledge it.

I got nothing. Totally forgot. Hadn't said a word about it until I mentioned it to you in our 60 seconds or less conversation that we usually have these days. Crazy part is - I didn't care. I still kind of don't.

I mean, it would have been nice if you called as you do my sisters, but I know that is as unrealistic as believing you'll read this one day. One can only hope.

Until then,

Your daughter

Pas De Deux

Dear Mom,

I was wondering if you knew Pas De Deux by Tchaikovsky is one of my absolute favorite pieces. Sitting here listening to it brings back so many memories of you, me and my first child.

When I was young it was cool that you would let me borrow your CDs so that I could enjoy them on my own. The Nutcracker Suite, I honestly believe, I borrowed the most. The blends of string, brass, and woodwind moved me, while the percussion rung within my soul. It motivated me somehow in ways I have only recently discovered.

Before my first child was born, I read that playing classical music while pregnant can possibly increase a child's intellectual outlook on life.  I think I played Pas De Deux, at the very least, 500 times. Leaving it on repeat with headphones sitting comfortably on my stomach.

You don't know how much I wanted to make sure that my child was smart. Smarter than me - to be totally honest. I wanted my baby to be able to figure it out, while getting as much love as she could from me. You were so angry with my decision to have her, I don't think you honestly realize the responsibility I took on.

Now granted I was 15 and I wasn't truly ready for the bold chess move I made because I was young. However, I made a promise to myself that whatever happened my child would be better than me. Aborting her wasn't the answer. Are you still mad that I made that decision for myself? I get that I shouldn't have done what it took to have her, I didn't think that far in advance.However, it happened; and it came with consequences.

I'm sorry I "embarrassed you" by having a baby when I was young. Haven't I made up for it though. My life took that turn and I've gone through a lot. Most of it, without you. I made my choices, but I'm doing okay. I just wish you were around for it.

You won't admit it, but I know you better than you think. I just wait for you to open up. Maybe tell me some things about when you were young. Did you ever feel shunned by your mom at any point? The way you despised me during, and for many years after, my first pregnancy.  Have you ever felt rejected?

Until then,

Your daughter

Nutcracker Suite: In Full Score by Tchaikovsky, Peter Ilyich 

Memoir Material

Dear Mom,

It's a new year which always means new possibilities for even the least goal oriented individual. For me, it means so many new ideas that I can try out.

The other day, a reader suggested that I write a memoir after seeing the content of my letters. I had never thought about it before because, of course, I've never written one. Besides that, I'm not even sure how a memoir is put together. What do you think?

I already know that these letters may or may not rub you the wrong way. If I were to place the feelings that I   have in a book, would that make you even more disappointed in me? Or would you pretend it doesn't exist as you do my letters?

For the record, these letters that I spend so much time writing have given me so much clarity. They have allowed me, thus far, to let go of anger that has been bottled up for so many years. It gives me a voice again, considering you took my voice long ago. Well, not exactly took it, but you smothered it to the point I have to dig for it when I want to really be heard by others.

All of the things I do, especially expressing my feelings for you, is to help me become better. A better mother. A better significant other. A better writer. Most importantly, a better woman. I see myself so much differently than before I started this.

I have been thinking deeply about the memoir idea and will let you know if I decide to go ahead with it. I would love your opinion on it regardless that I know you may not be too happy about it.

Until then,

Your daughter

Symphony

Dear Mom,

I wrote a poem some time ago that I found the other day. It's not one of my greatest verses but it brings back so many memories of you at a younger time. It was a time when you were in your musical prime, teaching thousands of students the love of music.

Watching the way you loved the sounds of the different instruments in a symphony used to make me smile so big and proud. You are the reason that, to this day, when I am in need of relaxation classical music plays through my house.You instilled a love for music that is indescribable.

The poem I want to share with you was inspired at a time when I was listening to a symphony play on the Classical Music channel. The words kind of blurted themselves out onto paper and this is what came out of it:

as the Symphony plays

i think of my mother

she instilled music in me

desire like no other

she taught me the instruments

with their different sounds

she taught me from a little girl

classical is where the love was found

this masterpiece reminds me

of my mother’s youthful gaze

her love for music was evident

that memory I replay

I hope you enjoyed that. There are many other poems that you have inspired me to write, good or bad. What matters most, is not the content but the fact that I allow myself to relinquish harsh feelings and bask in better days.

Maybe one day you'll come see me perform one of these poems.

Until then,

Your daughter

Puzzling

Dear Mom,

Many times I sit and try to think of times when we were happy. Times that we smiled and laughed with each other. Sometimes, sadly, nothing comes to me of positive origin, clouded by the forces of negativity. Every now and then, though, a ray of light will shine through reminding me that we weren't always enemies.

When I was young, you used to love doing jigsaw puzzles. And you never got them small. You dealt with mostly 3500 piece puzzles, which seemed so large to me back then.

You would sit in the kitchen alone, staring at fragments, placing them here or there. The box's top would sit upright so that you could view the picture you were trying to recreate with all the broken up portions. You would start first with the edges and fill in the middle begininng with the most vivid sections.

Mostly, you sat by yourself, contemplating the hundreds of pieces that lay on the kitchen table waiting to be placed in the picture. Other times you actually didn't mind my sister and I getting in on the action, allowing us to put together the rest of a drawbridge or the flowers in a small garden.

We all would laugh and talk about whatever. You would praise us if we got a piece right and let us know if we put the wrong piece in the wrong place. When we weren't helping you, you just sat and stared, for hours at a time it seemed like. Do you remember?

A few weeks ago I decided I wanted something to let my mind wander. I remembered this time in my life and decided to get a puzzle. Now, I sit and stare. It's actually quite relaxing to tell you the truth. The first puzzle kind of let me down because the company forgot to send the upper left corner. It was unfinished, even when I finished it.

I had to get another one to put the first to shame. So, I just finished Fern Grotto Wedding.

Isn't it pretty.

Now, anytime I feel down about something that has to do with you, I sit in front of a puzzle and stare, slowly putting the pieces together. I figure doing these puzzles will help me begin to get rid of some of my negative emotions. It's a really helpful tool so far.

By the way, I've added a page where you can keep up with the puzzles I finish. Have a look.

Until then,

Your daughter


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The Beginning of the End

Dear mom,

My last letter got a little deep and harsh. I did not mean for it to come off so rude or antagonistic. It would also seem that I jumped the gun.Maybe if I explained where things went wrong on my end, you can begin to understand my feelings. And just maybe, you will one day share where things started going south with me.

But first I must explain my self-esteem issues. They began with my eye injury. Growing up I disliked being made to go outside with my eye patch. Even if it was only for an hour or so, it caused so much name calling. It was really hard to deal with and since my eye has been messed up since I was 1, there you have it. The older I got the more I was teased. Between 7 and 11 was the hardest, you would never just let me stay in with that thing on; almost making me believe you did it purposely. You knew the kids were cruel.

There were tons of things kids would make fun of me about; my awkward shape, my untamed hair, the cheap clothes, and of course the eye (glasses and eye patches). This was the start of believing I was ugly and therefore unworthy. At first you would occasionally tell me not to worry about it. And I tried, honestly. It was embarrassing as a child, yet as an adult I know all of these things were not to punish me. You did the best you could with me growing up.

Now that you have a better understanding of how I felt about myself at the time, I can explain where the first hit to our relationship happened for me.

Do you remember the day one of the older neighbor boys touched me inappropriately?

Playing outside the house one day with friends an older boy took it upon himself to take my innocence, so to speak. We were all playing one of our made up games. There was the secret teller (the older boy) and the people would individually go to his realm (behind one of the many bushes out front) and bring back a secret for the rest of the group to guess (me and the other girls on the block). You know the typical stuff we made up to pass the time.

When it was my turn to go “get the secret” behind the bush, the older boy told me if I did not let him “touch me” he would make up a bunch of stuff and tell people he did it anyway. If I went in the house, he would still tell everybody. If I stayed outside and let him do it, it would be our little secret. I was about 11 and he was like 14. I did not know what to do, so I did nothing. I said nothing.

He turned me around, pulled his penis out and began to grind on my butt while rubbing my small but developing breast. I just stood there. Stuck, paralyzed by not wanting everyone to know. When I went back to the group I did not have a secret. I made something up. The game went on a little while. About 3 or 4 turns to the “secret teller’s realm” and being fondled. I was afraid to say anything to my friends or go in the house.

One of the girls finally realized that when it was my turn I took a very long time. She caught the older boy in the act. He ran off and I was so happy someone stopped what was going on. I wish I had not been so weak and stopped what was happening on my own. I could have stopped playing, but I was so scared he would make my life with the other kids worse.

Nevertheless, the girl suggested that I tell you and dad. I did NOT want to. This would not be good news. So instead she told my older sister, who then told you and dad. I just stood there watching your infamous eyebrow raise when you heard I was touched by the boy. While you stared me down as we stood in your bedroom, the girls had run down to the boy’s house and told his mother. They came back with a message that this grown woman wanted to talk to me. You didn't come.

My sister and I went down to that woman’s house. We sat there as she told me she could not believe what I was telling her because it was her son. She knew I was a nice girl but she was not going to go against her boy. I said I understood, but at the time I really never got it. My sister walked off and left me. I came back in the house because you put me on punishment for stirring up stuff. My friends found it hard to understand what I did wrong, but I felt like the whole thing was my fault.

Was that not a situation you should have been right there next to me on? You should have been in that woman’s house with me in my defense. You should have told her I did not need to make anything like this up. There was even a witness. You, as an adult and my mother, should have been there for me. You never talked to me about it. This is actually the first time I’m telling you the story in detail, I was too nervous to say everything without feeling sick back then.

This is when it started. The day I began to despise you. It was also the day I realized a bad way to be accepted. It feels good to actually get this out in the open. I hope you are learning more about me and what I think of our retched relationship. There is so much more I need to tell you. I hope you will start to share with me one day.

Until then,

Your daughter

Marriages Go Through Rough Patches

Dear mom,

One thing I've always respected was your marriage with dad. That has changed now that I'm older but I know I was one of the "lucky ones". Blessed to have both my parents, married for 33 years. Two-parent homes are supposed to be awesome, right?

When you "suggested" that I get married I felt it was the best way to make you happy and be a real family - father, mother, child - like you and dad. Of course I already had a child, was 18, and would have rather gone to Berklee College of Music. I wanted to do right by you because I felt I messed up. Besides you told me that going off to school would leave my daughter without her mother. Yet once I got married you thought it best that I live with my husband and my daughter stay with you. (That's another subject for another letter)

The day I walked down the aisle I didn't think it was what I should be doing, but I had to go with the plan. The wedding that I had nothing to do with except picking the colors and the song. The wedding that I was over an hour late for. The "special" day when the ring got stuck on my ex- husband's finger and we had to go to the emergency room.

My marriage was a disaster from the start.

You kept telling me marriages go through things and what went on in my marriage was between him and me. My pathetic need to gain your approval agreed with you without putting up much of a fight. All it led to was being in a mentally, emotionally, and physically abusive relationship for 8 years. The first 2 to 3 years weren't totally bad, but after that it was an utter nightmare. I would come to you with the busted lips and bloody noses.

Your first question would be, "What did you do to him?" Do you remember? Can you see where my tooth tore through my lip. I still have the scar to prove it. When you close your eyes can you see how I cried to you all those times? I needed your help and I needed more than you telling me that 'things would get better but I had to stick in there'.

It took me a very destructive marriage to put into perspective what you could be hiding in your marriage. You always did tell me, "Keep your business to yourself". Did your marriage have rough patches? Have you gone through "things". 33 years is a long time. It took me less time to get out of my cell of a marriage, ironically that was something that seemed to piss you off.

Wouldn't you, as a mother, want me to have a healthy relationship without violence? Wouldn't you want to take me out of that situation? I don't know about you, but I wish a man would lay a hand on any of my daughters. The fact that you still have a relationship with that monster irks me tremendously.

My ex-husband and I are not you and dad, and I honestly do not wish to be like you two. And I also do not wish to be with my ex-husband. Nor do I agree with or accept your on-going relationship with a man who is, even to this day, mentally messing with me.

Your actions are so childish and I honestly don't get it. There is no logic for why you do the things you do to me. Sometimes I wonder if you told me about the rough patches because you wanted me to be punished. That seems very probable.

You will never confirm nor deny the things you were responsible for and had a hand in. It's okay though. Being in such a harmful situation let me know what I would want once I got out of it. I have a more definitive perspective on what I need in a husband. I already know what NOT to do.

Would be glad to give you a list.

Until then,

Your daughter