Not my best ever, but I needed to post something with all these points! Just kidding. Please review!
My Dearest Mother,
I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you have to bear this. I truly am.
It’s not your fault, I want – no, need you to know that. It’s completely mine, and I'm to blame for not telling you, for not being a better daughter than I was. I guess I felt it was time to take matters into my own hands, time to relieve you of the burden dumped on you fourteen years ago. I hope you’ll be happier now, seeing as that’s one less mouth to feed. It’s hard to raise ten children on a single, meagre salary, isn’t it?
You don’t need an irresponsible girl who fails in almost everything. You don’t need a wheelchair-confined girl who either can’t or won’t do the merest task to help you. You don’t need a self-pitying girl who can’t draw, or sing, or even play to save her life. You don’t need me. I saw that.
You’re right. I was useless. I was hopeless. I knew it, and I knew that you knew it. Don’t you think I saw how you pent it up inside? I could always tell, whether I was going out for , supposedly, a stroll, or taking an unnecessary afternoon nap, I could tell that you were frustrated, that you wanted to break down after your day of work. That you were dying for a rest instead of the pile of house chores for your pains. You always saw through me. You always knew that I was just avoiding work. And yet, you kept mum.
It hurt. Maybe that’s why you did it – it hurt more than any yelling could. Or maybe you just knew that old habits die hard, and even if you did say a word, I wouldn’t change my ways.
Every night I’d sob myself to sleep, scolding myself, tearing myself apart, when the real one who should’ve been crying was you. You were so strong. You bore all. I never lifted a finger, yet I was so, so weak.
Remember the toys you bought me when I was little? Remember the pretty little teddy bear, the one I lost? I found it. It was in the drawer, under all the old photos.
If you see any tearstains there, I'm sorry. I couldn’t help it, especially when I saw the pictures of Dad with us. I wish Dad was still here. It doesn’t change anything, does it, this pointless wishing? They never come true. We would still be living in luxury if they did. We would be happy, we would be together.
I’ve made a wreck of my life. Irreversibly. There is no starting over; no “undo” button. That’s why I threw it away. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t undervalue life. I cherish it. But mine was beyond repair – there was no reforming possible for me.
It must’ve hurt to bring me into this world, but I hope it hurts less still to see me out. Grant me a few things, will you, please? A few whims of a worthless daughter. Donate my organs, if they are still whole. Sell everything of mine that can’t be used by Joanna, Daniel, Suzy or Angela. Keep my savings, which I left under my bed sheets.
And lastly: Be happy, because, though I didn’t show it, I love you.
Felicity.
