The Letters

“So? What did you think?” My mother asked as she started the car. Her smile was wide, lighting up her eyes and showing her wrinkles. I could tell that she was as excited as I was about the college, if not more excited.

“I loved it!" I exclaimed. “I can’t wait to start. I really liked the library. It was huge!"

My mother listened to me as I continued to talk, her smile never wavering. I was so wrapped up with my own excitement, that I didn’t even notice that we had been driving. We had come to a stop at a four way red light when I finally realized that I wasn’t letting my mother talk. She was sitting patiently, still smiling and clearly amused by my chatter.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” I said with a sheepish smile.

“It’s okay, Baby. There is nothing to apologize for, I’m just listening.” Her voice was patient and loving, and that made me feel warm inside. I wanted to hug her, but she was driving and I knew how particular she was about safety.

“What was your favorite part of the tour?” I asked as I turned my attention to the changing light.

Mom began to move the car forward as she replied. “Well, I think I really lik-”

The wind was knocked from me as my body slammed into the passenger door and I heard the sound of metal crushing metal ring through the air. I was thrown like a rag doll, unable to control my body as the force of the impact slammed me forward and backward while the car spun uncontrollably. I felt a scream come from my lips, but I couldn’t hear it, I could only hear crunching as we flipped over and spun again. It felt as though time had stopped, and now we were trapped and unable to stop the force of movement. I couldn’t see straight, I couldn’t brace my body, I could only let the car take me where it wished before my head slammed forward one more time and everything went silent.

I opened my eyes to a blurry scene. My head hurt and I could feel something warm dripping up my face. I couldn’t understand how I got in this position, but slowly the pieces of the previous moments came to my memory. Mom!

“Mo-” My throat felt like sandpaper as I tried to speak, but only a whisper wanted to creep from my voice. I need to know she was okay.

Pain shot down my neck and up my face as I forced my neck to turn to face the driver's seat. “Mom!” A shout burned as it left my lips. I blinked several times, trying to clear the blurry image from in front of me. I stopped and took a shaky breath. I squeezed my eyes and moved them around before finally opening them again. My heart stopped.

My mother was beside me. The window was smashed and so was the driver’s side door. She wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t she moving?

“Mom!” I screamed. I couldn’t stop myself, and I didn’t want to. “Mom, wake up! MOM!”

“Mom!” I heard myself scream as I shot up in bed. My heart was beating in my chest. I reached up my hand to it as a way of calming myself. The room was dark, but I could hear the tic-toc of the clock in the hallway. I forced myself to take a deep breath and feel the air going into my lungs and out again. I ignored the pain from my ribs that told me not to do this, and continued to breathe until the beating slowed down.

It was a nightmare, just another nightmare. I was as safe as I could be since the accident. I was in my old room, in my childhood home, and I was alone. So alone. I felt tears well up in my eyes as the memory of the accident filled my head. It was all my fault.

It had only been a month since my mother died in the car accident, and the world had somehow fallen apart. Everyone told me the pain would one day go away, and so would the nightmares, but that felt impossible. Even if I made a new normal for myself this pain would never go away and my mother would never come back.

It was still late, but I knew I wouldn’t fall back to sleep, so I forced myself out of bed. This had become a habit of mine. I would wake up, walk to my mothers room, and lay in her bed until morning. I made my way down the hall, wincing slightly as I walked.

This house meant a lot to me, and now I had to make a decision. After my mother died, I learned that she had a life insurance policy. The insurance representative sat down with me in the living room and explained that I would receive $20,000 from her insurance policy. I was shocked, not only because I didn’t know she had an insurance policy, but also how little it was. The man seemed to care very little about the situation, but apologized for not being able to do more for me.

“Your mother wanted you to go to college right? Sell the house. It might help you a bit.” His words burned, and at the time I simply asked him to leave. After he left I broke down. My mother wouldn’t have wanted me to give up my childhood home, but she would have also wanted me to go to school.

I sighed, fighting the feeling of tears as I made my way into my mothers room. I crept under her covers and breathed in what little of her scent still lingered in the pillow cases. I closed my eyes and imagined myself being held by her as I cried. I wanted her with me, holding me and whispering that I would be okay. I wanted to wake up from the empty nightmare. As I cried I brushed my hand over her other pillow, trying to imagine her beside me and alive.

I cried for a while. It wasn’t the hardest I’d cried since her death, but it still left a hollow feeling when I could no longer cry. The air settled around me as little hiccups still escaped from my chest, threatening to pull me back into another fit of tears. I brushed my hand over my mother's pillow one more time, but this time I actually felt the pillow and realized it didn’t feel right. I sat up and reached under the pillow, and pulled out a small, worn black notebook.

“How did I miss this?” I asked myself aloud. I didn’t know my mother kept a journal. Should I open it? Should I put it back? If my mother was alive I know she wouldn’t feel comfortable with me opening it, but that's the thing. My mother is gone. She’s not here with me anymore, and this is all I might have left.

I reached across the bed and turned on the light to get a better look. It was old, very old and smelled like a book from the library. As I turned it over in my hands and ran my hands across the front a picture fell into my lap. It was a picture of my mother and I when I was a toddler. I was sitting on her lap as she made a funny face at me, which by my own expression must have been very funny. She was a lot younger and her hair was long, falling down her shoulders. She looked so happy. I sighed, trying not to fall back into tears again. Putting the picture back on my lap, I opened the book to read.

“Dear Baby.” I read the sentence again, confused by the note before me.

“Dear Baby,

I found out today that I’m pregnant with you. My Mama wrote letters to me when she was pregnant with me, so I will too. I’m scared, Baby. Your Daddy doesn’t want to be around, and wanted me to do something bad. I won’t ever hurt you. No, Baby, I love you already and I promise I’m going to give you a better life than I had. You looked so tiny on the ultrasound, and your heart beat so fast. I can’t wait to meet you.

-Love Mama.”

My mother wrote letters to me, and I didn’t know. I felt dumb-founded and intrigued as I turned to the next page. Why didn’t I know about this?

“Dear Baby

I found out you are a girl today! I’m going to call you Anna. I can’t wait to meet you.

-Love Mama.”

The next few sections continued on much the same. I learned about my mother’s pain while she carried me, yet despite my mother's struggle she never comp0lained of me. She always wrote of how happy I made her. I read about the day I was born, and how I was small and wrinkled, yet she knew my cry from the other babies in the ward. I read about my first year of life, and how much my mother struggled, because my father refused to see me. It hurt her, because she wanted to see me happy.

I read about how my mother worked two jobs, but stayed up as much as she could to play with me. How she cried on my first day of school, and her internal battle with wanting to homeschool me, but couldn’t due to working so much. I read about how scared she was when I was in the hospital in second grade, and how she slept in the parking lot until I came home due to the strict visiting hours. One of her jobs refused to give her the time off and fired her, but she made ends meet. As I read my heart squeezed, because I realized my mother made sure I was unaware of the struggles we faced to keep my childhood stress free.

Soon, I found myself smiling and wiping tears away from my face before they hit the book. There were hundreds of entries and the more I read, the more I began to see my mother in a new light. Finally, I turned a page and saw there was only one last entry. Confused, I turned over a few more pages to find them blank, and my heart sunk. I turned back, it was dated only a day before the accident.

“Dear Anna,

I try to write you these letters as often as I can. I want to capture all of your precious moments. Tomorrow we’re going to look at your dream college, and I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do this. My baby is all grown up, and it’s hard to see that. It feels as though it were your first day of school all over again. I’m proud of the woman you’re becoming. I think I will keep writing in this until you graduate, and give you this as a gift. That way you can see how far you have come. I will say it again, I’m so very proud of you. If anything ever happens to me, I want you to know how proud I am of you and that I love you. You made my life worth everything, and I’d do it again if given the choice. You’ll always be my Baby, and no matter what I’ll always be here with you.

-Love Mama.”

I pulled the book to my chest and the tears came again in full force. As I cried the pain bore deep in my chest, spilling into every part of my body. A mixture of guilt, sorrow, and grief poured into every wave of tears. She should be here with me. She should have been able to hand me this when she was ready. I needed her with me, and I didn’t know what to do without her. I missed her and I would never, ever see her again. What was worse, is that I felt like I’d killed her. If we hadn’t gone, she would be in bed with me instead of gone forever.

I don’t know how long I cried, but after awhile I was finally able to breathe. I laid there looking at the picture of my mother holding me, tracing my finger over her smile and then over her hair. She wouldn’t want me blaming myself over her death. No, she would have wanted me to be happy and to keep living for her.

I realized I had been letting stress weigh on me so much that I hadn't thought about it from a different perspective. I didn't need to do anything right now. For now I could save the $20,000 she left me, then take life slowly until I could find a better option instead of selling the house. That way I could grieve. I hugged the picture to my chest. As imagined her with me, I could feel a lone tear down my cheek, but this time I let it fall with a smile.