A Letter to my Mother

Dear Mom (because all letters start that way),

I was sitting outside in the punishing cold and the night seemed still. I held my breath as I noticed the cars on the highway had stopped going by and yet I still heard my hair crackling on the collar of the coat that you wore. I thought of you and the illusion broke.

I realized that all we have now is the past, but it didn't make me unbearably sad. There are a lot of moments now where I look at all the bad and good that transpired between us and it doesn't feel profound or as if I need to find some deeper meaning in it. It's just a moment where you're kind of there but not really.

I remember all the shapes you taught me. That bird baths are sometimes as telling as stop signs. That big scary trees are still just trees and I can overcome anything with a favorite toy and a good book. That puzzles are never the same twice.

I remember the pain of not coming first. Of being thirsty for attention and being careful of what I wish for. I was never one to dwell on pain, less so when it became a constant.

Above all are the moments where I got to glory in my selfishness. When you smiled as I launched into my latest writing or drawing ventures, where I vandalized magazines in purple pen and poked fun at game shows. Even when I pushed, you pulled and those were the moments when I never flew alone.

Allow me to be a little more selfish. Whenever I put out something new, I'm putting you here with me. I'm doing this all for myself, no matter what, but I refuse to be lonely. It was never about escape, always about moving closer to what I am.

Now, I am defining shapes. I am finding all of the signs because I know how to find them. In the still hours of a cold morning, sometimes I find you.

Oh, the stories I can tell...

Love Always,

Krista