Dear Madre, Year 8
Hi Madre,
I am writing early again this year. I’ll be in Maryland for Mother’s Day and your death date, and I wanted to write to you while I was in North Carolina. Currently, I am sitting on an air mattress that definitely needs more air added to it. I was concerned if I added more air, it might explode in my face. Who would I be if I didn’t imagine the most ridiculous outcome to a mundane task?
I feel like this is my face?
Anyway, I live in North Carolina! I wonder how long it will take me to get used to saying that. The list of people who have helped me make this dream come true is so long but all I keep thinking about is I wish you were here, just me and you— bar hopping and picking out all the things I need and you saying, “let’s put my pots there”, even though those pots didn’t even become your pots until you were dead.
I turn 40 this year, as you know. I feel so fucking old. It’s hard to not beat myself up about that. Not turning older. No offense, I have a lot of insecurities, but God Bless I don’t have all the insecurities you did. But just this sense of not doing what I should have. I’m so tired of hearing myself say that. I hope it goes away someday. But I know this bravery, to come here in the first place, came from you.
I found my baby book while I was unpacking tonight, and you wrote— amount of sociability: “Very much” and shyness: “very seldom, even around strangers.” This checks out for adult me, but I guess that is not always great, based on how I am sometimes perceived. I worry that no one is ever going to really get me. It’s exhausting constantly having to explain yourself. I guess that’s how you felt in your marriage and why you left. I guess that’s part of the reason I left mine too. (Can you imagine if we had been divorcées at the same time? You, hitting on men that could have been your son, me hoping their dad buys me a martini because I am so poor)
A blessing of getting older is that I feel like the people in my life are this little family I have curated. I don’t wonder anymore if someone is going to just disappear or doesn’t like me. There isn’t a single person in my life I couldn’t count on in some capacity or all the capacities. I don’t think you knew you had this too. I wish you would have leaned on me more for things that mattered, like how sad you were, and not what dumbass shit some man that didn’t deserve you did. But I guess we both failed in this regard.
I had a perfect day today and I wasn’t entirely sure I was capable of having those by myself anymore. I am often so in my head, so anxiety ridden, so…me. But I got up early, drank coffee in bed (and by bed, I mean an expensive mattress on the floor), bought a rug I really like, found a grocery store, bought myself flowers and hiked up a mountain to see a waterfall. And now I am sitting on my porch — my porch! — writing to you.
I was thinking earlier about why this place feels so special to me when Pennsylvania had mountains too. But I chose this place, or maybe more accurately, it chose me. A part of me will always consider PA home. The guy that hooked up my internet said I had a “Pennsylvania Accent”, but it stopped feeling like a place I belonged to a long time ago.
When I got home, I had Delicious (for those of you not in the know, Delicious is what my siblings and I called that flaky fake crab meat when we were younger because we had impeccable palates) and eggs for dinner. I didn’t remember until I was making it that you put it in eggs too. Although adult me does have an actual palate and I added turmeric habanero hot sauce. I don’t even know why that’s what I wanted or why I bought Delicious, a thing I haven’t eaten in years. I hope I return, unexpectedly, to pieces of you, over and over again for the rest of my life.
I’ve been missing Mam something fierce. I am sure that is because that “warm grandma love” has been missing from my life for over a decade now. I feel like I might find that here too though. My next-door neighbor is older and super sweet and is already trying to take care of me. I am going to make her cookies this week (baking; my favorite way to show love obviously) I have made genuine friends here and I feel so lucky to have done so, it has made this transition easier.
I am going to get a tattoo with your handwriting in the shape of a rose. On my arm, where you had yours. Hopefully I’ll have a photo to show you next year.
I know I usually update you on Matt and Becky and other people you loved but I think I’ve earned this one year of selfishness. They can check in with you if they want to.
I don’t often recall your laugh, it’s too painful, but I am now. Even though I am crying. Your laugh was intoxicating. This was why everyone feel in love with you. I hope you are still laughing, wherever you are. I hope I laugh more in the next phase of my life too.
Miss you and love you and hope I’m making you proud.