7.9.11 Letter

I remember nights driving around feeling so empty, a shell, with every
breath making me more aware how I had nothing more to draw on.
I remember trying to stop my uncontrollable crying
because there were no more tissues in the car and I was getting
snot everywhere due to my sweater's inability to hold anymore
moisture. I remember thinking of all the ways I could stop this pain.
I remember contemplating which would be the easiest.

I kept thinking that there was no one to turn to.
You thought I loved him, that I was happy.
My friends were all single and wishing they were married and in my place.
God, well God was disappointed in me. A whole bunch.
I didn't want to talk to him then. I didn't know how to listen.

I irrationally thought I couldn't go home to you; I was suppose to cleave
unto my husband. I couldn't call my friends, that would be disloyal.
I wanted to do anything but return to him; he was the only one that was
waiting though.

Hours and hours of wishing that I could talk to you.

That small apartments full of ugly words, hateful yelling, angry
looks, and high expectations was not safe. I lived there daily trying, struggling
to do what I could to make it home. Scrubbed it clean of filthy, trying to
make it appear cozy, comfortable, and happy--how I wanted others to see
us. When all along I knew that the neighbors could hear us. I knew by their
inability to look me in the eye. By the silence that echoed after all the words
were said and we were both too exhausted to yell anymore. And I knew
they were whispering behind our backs that they would give us a year.

I remember all those feelings.
But I remember also when my walls couldn't hold back the surge
any longer and one night, when I knew it was past your bed time, I called.

I was terrified.
I was afraid that you were going to be so disappointed in me,
when I've wanted nothing more then to make you proud.
I cried. I cried so hard that it was difficult for you to understand me.
I told you about our fight. Just that one. Just the one that made me go
out in the cold that night, not the others, not about how wrong and lost
I felt. I just wanted to come home. I just wanted you to hold me.
I can't fathom that you did what you did.
Listened.
You let me break.
(That was the night that a cop found me in the church parking lot and
asked if I needed help. I was pink and puffy and hiccuping because
I was crying so hard. I barely got out that
I was just talking with my mom. He left pretty fast. I think he knew I was
going to be okay, if I was talking to you.)

There were a lot more phone calls after that from a broken daughter
lost in the world of marriage.
I think about how lucky I am and was. That I had someone
like you to turn to. I know you wish that you could have protected
me from everything that happened. But you couldn't. And I'm
glad you didn't, because somehow it needed to happen.
You did everything you needed to do.

There is a big piece of my heart that will never forget your encouraging
words and your unconditional love.

I wish I could express what is making me cry right now.
I wish I could write down how awesome you are and people would see
and understand how much on a pedestal I have you. I'm not that
skilled though. So I'll just say that you helped me so much through
everything. I love talking with you. You will always be my best friend.

I love you, Mom.