The Independent Oldest

Dear Mom,

Before even writing anything, you can probably tell that this letter is from me. I'm the only one of your children far enough away to send a letter. But yes, it's me, your oldest child. I am the child who you knew would move away and never move back. I am the child who was always eager to be alone and independent. I am the child who went to college on the other side of the continent, which was actually my second choice because I was sure going to school in Ireland would have caused you to panic. It turned out to be a good choice anyway.

I'm sending you this message because I have to confess some things to you. Being an autistic, non-binary child who enjoyed their time alone reading in their room more than most things, I was a lot different to raise than my siblings. When I was younger, you used to tell a lot of stories about your children's varying levels of attachment or tomfoolery. You say that you don't remember most of the stories you used to tell us, but I've always had a very good memory. To get to my confession, I'll tell you a story that you told me, then I'll tell you what I remember.

You once recalled the first time that we would ever be separated. You were dropping me off at daycare and you were so worried. You mentioned you were crying and how worried you were that I would cry as well. When you dropped me off, I left into the room immediately while you had a harder time letting me go.

I believe I remember that daycare. You brought us up to the front door and I saw other children my age. I went in, eager to try to make friends, but since you never left before, I didn't think you would be leaving me there without you. Even when your absence was felt, I didn't worry because I knew you would come back for me soon.

Here's the confession, mom. I have always been the most independent, but I'm worried you think that meant I never miss you. I never cried when I was left in daycare, but I still missed you while you were gone. I just had so much faith that you would never leave me for good and so I never worried. I never worried except one time.

You were working late one night. I was the last kid to be picked up. It was dark, and it was the day I learned how to draw stars. I was excited to show you all day, but you never showed up. I spent the last of my hour sitting at a table in the dim light, drawing stars over and over again so I didn't forget how to do it, considering for the first time in my life that something might have happened to you. That memory is so vivid to me because it was the first time I ever felt real fear. When you came to pick me up, I felt ashamed for how wild my imagination got and I don't think I even got to show you that I learned how to make stars.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about you. I remember once we were dancing to music while I helped you clean and I still listen to music while cleaning to this day. I remember being curled behind where your knees bend while we watched Hercules together. I was the first after you to read the Harry Potter books you got the day they came out because you read the first book to my sister and me before putting us to sleep. I remember shopping trips, moments at Drive-Thrus, and the time we both got so invested in a movie that I was late to one of my Drivers Ed classes.

I may be independent, and I may be far away from you, but not a single day goes by that I don't think about you, and I keep you near my heart every single day.

I know this confession may come as a shock, but I figured it's time that you knew. No matter how self-sufficient or responsible I may be, I will never not miss you. I love you so much, Mom. I love you to the stars and back.