Dear Mother,
The time has come for me to sit down and write this letter. A letter that you wont want to read, but one that I must write to you, in order to release some feelings that are so deep in me that it is destroying me from the inside out.My memory is clear and precise, stories have been told to me by reliable family sources that only they would know the details of such events. I feel hurt, mad, disgusted and abandoned. For so many years know you have been playing a head game with me and enjoying every minute of it. You put on a pretense that you love and care about me, when in reality your game continues.
My memory goes way back, even at my age, I can remember many things. My earliest remembrance is being at a little league game as a small child. It was at night, and you were tending to me and Don. I told that story to Steve, and he swears that it was a little league game he was in. And still loves baseball to this day. My next one is when still toddlers and we were all at Grandma and Grandpa Wards house and I had passed out. I remember waking up in your arms as you were wiping my face with a cold cloth. I remember when we all lived in Tacoma, and jumping on the bed and I got knocked off, splitting my forehead opened. You taking me to the hospital and holding me as I screamed as the doctors put in the stitches. As a parent now, I know how you felt at the time, helpless because there was nothing you could have done at that time to comfort and take away my pain. I still have the scar to remember that day, I know that happened.I remember you being a good Mom when I was young; married to Dad and the 6 of us were all together. I don’t have many memories of Dad, Steve or Mike growing up. I have a few pictures that we all seem to be a happy family in. One was taken I guess after your divorce and Mike and Steve we getting ready to go to live in England with Dad. I cherish that picture to this day; I even replicated it at the reunion, with the 4 of us standing in the same positions as we were in that picture.
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I can remember 1966, when the 3 of us left Washington and went to live in Chicago at Aunt Gail’s house. That winter of 1967 we had a ball in the 30 some inches of snow. I remember digging out your car to no avail of moving it. Me, Don, Bobbie, Steve and Cindy playing in all that snow I will never forget. Those were all the happier years for me. Then, you married Frank in 1969 and all was to change. I was 8 then, and didn’t understand what having a step father was going to be like. I knew that you would still be around and that’s all that mattered to me.The discipline was rough, he as an old world individual that believed that spanking a child, and belittling them was the proper course in raising a child. How he ever came to this conclusion still confuses me to this day since he never had children of his own. Don and I were not perfect children by means, but there is no such child that is. Whatever we did, no matter what it was, the punishment NEVER Fit the crime, NEVER. Beating us while wearing only our underwear until we had welts on our legs and arms and neck never worked, yet you and he continued that crap all of our childhood. I was embarrassed to have to go to school with such injuries and have to lie how I got them. Locking us in our rooms for the weekend with string on the door so we couldn’t get out, with nothing but a pee can IS as WAS child abuse. If that would of happened today, you both would be in jail and we both would have been ion foster homes, Something I wished for many times as a kid.
I wished Frank would have died or someone would have taken us out of your household since the pain of staying there was so unbearable. The drinking and fighting was awful and EVERY holiday was like that. We would be in our rooms hearing you and him fight, and then the smacking each other around was tearing us up inside, every time it happened.That’s when my depression and anger began. I was depressed because my family life was in complete turmoil and I was angry that you would allow such behavior, you allowed and sometimes even encouraged another man hurt and beat your own children so relentlessly. The fear that you and him put us in was unbearable at times. Driving home from a weekend visit from the
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Wesslers, or the Stephans, or the Wittes drunk as a skunk, was fearful. Many times, Don and I would sit in the back seat and wait for the accident to happen. Sometimes praying to God a cop would pull him over at least, but none ever did. As these years went on and on, the depression and anger grew and grew. Do you remember the night Frank was so drunk he destroyed the kitchen, “cleaning” it because you were such a pig? He fell off the chair and splits open his leg. Don and I heard the crash went out to the kitchen and saw what had happened. Instead of calling for help, we went back to bed and let him lay there, bleeding. By the time High School rolled around, we were convinced that it was hopeless to get an education after all them speeches about us never amounting to anything from Frank, set the tone. Depression didn’t allow me to care about my education, all I wanted was out. I figured, if I left home, everything in my life would instantly get better since I no longer had to cope with the nonsense you and him were handing out.At 17, it was finally over, or at least I thought so. You signed the papers to allow Don and me to join the US Navy. Looking back, you didn’t do that to we could have a chance to better ourselves, you did that to get us out of your house. Case in point, you reluctantly came to my graduation from boot camp, and when I surprised you with the fact that I was coming home for 2 weeks before reporting to California, your reaction was “WHY”. What I should of done was to cancel my orders and went straight to California, but I thought you were so proud of me and loved me that you wanted me home for a few weeks before shipping out, not knowing when I would get to be back. My depression followed me around the world as I went to different places in the Navy, sometimes it was easy to deal with, and sometimes it was hard. Depression at that time was not looked upon to fondly in the Navy so I suppressed my emotions, and I was trained to do as a kid. And did my duty to the best of my ability.
Then I got married to someone you could not stand, but it wasn’t about you, it was about what I thought would make me happy. When I married Denise, there were never words of good luck, never words of wisdom one would expect from a parent,
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and it was all negative. “What are you marrying that bitch for? Is she pregnant already? You made you bed now you sleep in it”. You don’t think a kid forgets these nasty things there own mother says to him? You expect me to forget that stuff? Then Donny was born, again, never a congratulations, never a card, EVER a card, nothing. You said and I quote. “Now you’re going to see what its like.” Donny was sick and in intensive care, never a loving worked from you as I cried in fear he would die. You had just become evil and bitter.You denied my children a grandparent for 31 years, even telling them when they were 18 and called you, never to call you again. How hateful could you be to my children? You would fuck with me, play games in my head, but I would never allow you to do such things to my children. I am proud of both my sons, they can be at time a bit childish, but they work hard, pay there bills and do the right things in life, and that’s all I can ask them to do. To this day, they can not understand why you treated them like you did, but they are grown now, and have moved on. After our last visit a few weeks ago, my son Don said to me, Dad, I know what you were saying all these years. He’ll have nothing to do with you. When the day comes and you reach those pearly gates, God is going to ask you, what did you do with my children that I gave you? Did you nourish them?Did you raise them as I would? I wonder often what your answer is going to be. His grandmother lives in California with his grandfather and you have no one to blame but yourself. You made these choices, and now it’s your time to sleep in the bed you made. Now you’re telling me you are not close to me because I’m gay? You knew this 20 year ago and NEVER ever voiced a bad opinion about it. You said to me when you found out, “you’re a grown man now, and can make your own decisions. I don’t approve but what can I do?” I am happy now being with my husband Mike, he’s good to me and my kids like him. Approve or not, I am finally found something and someone that makes me happy. And by the way, he’s Hispanic.
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The reason I started this letter to you as “Dear Mother” is because, anyone can be a mother, but it takes a special women to be a Mom. You were barely a mom to me, and as I told you over the phone a few weeks ago, I will never ever forgive you. I am being treated now for severe depression, and anxiety disorder with panic features along with the rest of my medical conditions. I wonder how funny you think that is now. After my last visit with you, I was hospitalized for 4 days, locked up in a psych hospital getting meds changed. I want to know, before I die, what my feelings were.
I wish you happiness and a long life, but for my own mental health we have to part ways. I want to live what little time I have left in this world a happy man.
Sincerely……. David
wow..this is powerful, i've written so many letters to my mum and ended up burning them! Hope u can oneday share some of this with her..goodluck x
David, I am so sorry about your past and all of your family problems. I hope you find peace and happiness with your husband. I went through very similar circumstances in my family too, though not as severe. The pain, hurt, and emotional roller coaster that enveloped your family is too much to bear at times. Long ago, my Mom would also play head games, and I vowed never to be like her. She passed away a little over a year ago, and to this day I can't remember hardly any good times we may have had. I want to remember, but I just can't. My twin sister and I were locked in closets for hours and were let out only to use the restroom. My mom would burn me with cigarettes, and force us to sit at the kitchen table for hours until we ate food we hated. I remember wanting to kill myself at the age of eight. My father, however, is the greatest Dad in the world. For me, knowing that this kind of behavior would not last forever made a big difference. Everything is only temporary, but try to keep your head up and do the things that make YOU happy, not what makes your Mom happy. This is your life, not hers. Again, I hope you are able to receive the help that you need to get healthy again. Don't give up because the help is out there. Mcksnug