The Letter

I recently found a letter written to me by my mother. It was dated 2002 and I was living in Florida at the time. I was surprised to see that I had kept it.

You see, letters from my mother are never a good thing. Whereas some people can look forward to written communications from their parents, I can't. Letters from her usually hail nothing but badgering and criticism. It's been more than a minute when I stopped allowing her to talk badly to me either in person or on the phone. I finally figured out the value of an untimely exit and a quick hang up.

Then she learned that when she wanted to say something that she knew I wouldn't listen to, she put it in a letter. And her reasoning was sound, at least in her head. This is a direct quote: "I'm writing you because I want you to hear what I have to say and when I'm finished, it's off my conscience and in yours." Ok, so because she was miserable, she wanted to spread misery to all, particularly her oldest daughter.

This letter was no different than many others I have received over the years. It was full of negativity and emotional punishment. I said I was surprised to find that I had kept it, because, some time ago, I alone was responsible for my peace of mind. Therefore I started to destroy any letters from her, unread, and unopened. But this letter apparently came before that realization.

So, I read it again this week. Despite time and distance, the emotional impact was just as palpable and easily took me back to a place of self doubt and self-destruction. She was angry that I made a decision without consulting her. (Mind you, I was well and truly into my adulthood in 2002). And so every line in this 4-page 8 1/2 by 11 inch ruled paper was filled with hate and venom. I have never understood what I had ever done to her to generate this emotion. I am her first born child and by many standards, am fairly successful. I've never been to jail, never used drugs, never stolen or deliberately hurt anyone. I'm mild mannered until you piss me off. And even then, I've never cursed or abused her; I take to heart the bible reference to honor thy mother and thy father.

But despite all this, I would swear that at times, that woman HATED me. I internalized that hate and for the longest time, despite external success, I despised myself and felt that I had done nothing to earn either my mother or God's favor.

I can look back now and see how this internalized hatred lead me into all kinds of bad relationships and other stupid decisions, mostly because I didn't think that I deserved better.

Anyway, I have not spoken to my mother in nearly three years despite the fact that we now live in the same city. She contacted me this past Christmas and I had a brief hope that perhaps the time apart may have led to a meeting of the mind, so to speak. However, the note she sent me was again filled with venom.

My sister and brother keep telling me that I'm wrong in not talking to her. You know how black folk are about their mamas. My brother even had the nerve to chastise me for not calling her Mother's Day. I did think about it, and then opted against it when I compared the relative peace in my life currently against the strife I knew I would feel if I heard her voice again. I also considered that maybe God would not be pleased with my separation from her, memba' "Honor thy father and mother"? But if you read a little further down in that same passage of scripture, it also says, "Parents, do not provoke your children to wrath."

I can't be the person God has called me to be when I allow my mother into my intimate space. The problem is hers, not mine and she has got to find peace for herself. I finally accepted that I would never be able to do ANYTHING that will make her happy, until she finds that joy within.

Finding this letter was timely because recently I haven't been able to write. I finally tuned in to my internal dialogue and heard lots of 'what ifs'. What if my writing is not as good as others? What if I never get published? What if people discover that I'm not as good as they think I am?

And then, the kicker for me was when I heard these words in my own head, "why are you trying to write this thing anyway? You always think you're better than everyone else or you think you should have more than everyone else."

Here's another quote from the letter: "When you get so high you are above your own people, you are too high and is subject to failure."

I'm glad I found this letter this week. I returned to my manuscript and started writing again. I was overwhelmed by my sheer pleasure of the creative process. I couldn't believe how much I had missed Ima, Micah, David and the others. They apparently missed me too because they have had much to say in the past few days.

I know exactly why I kept that letter.

I knew I would need the reminder.

Mother's Day

What makes a mother?

This question holds more significance for me now that I am a mother; and a single mother to boot.

I remember the first Mother's Day after my son came home. Mothers at our church were asked to stand so that the congregation could honor them. I stood up but I still remember even now how awkward it was for me. I almost felt like a fraud, that somehow I had not yet earned the title "Mother" even though my son had been in my heart, at that point, for over 3 years.

I knew even then that there was more to being a mother than having a legal document with your name on it or even giving birth. Take for example, the woman who actually gave birth to my child, or heck, my own mother. A mother does not necessarily have to be one who shares a bloodline either. I have been blessed to have two mothers, neither of which is directly related to me.

A mother is someone who has the ability to experience and provide unconditional love and acceptance. She accepts that many sacrifices will be made over the course of her child's lifetime and she gladly makes them. She looks at her child through the eyes of love through tantrums, disobedience, sickness, puke and diarrhea.

She absorbs the pain of skinned knees, shots at the doctor's office, first fight . . . first heartbreak. Her heart breaks with every swing of the switch and lifts with every sloppy wet kiss or simple grin. She rejoices when her child takes his first step, the first day of school, the first job.

Hers is the smile we look for the first thing in the morning and the end of long stressful days. We sleep the sleep of angels because we know that a mother is standing by, looking over us, protecting us as we sleep.

So, this Mother's Day, I celebrate because I never knew it was possible to love anyone the way that I love my son. I celebrate because I love being a mother and because I had never thought it possible that someone so small could make me so happy or feel so important. Or more satisfied.

Happy Mother's Day!!