To Justin

I reread that letter today. I edited it and added in what I have learned about myself in the 4 years I had refused to open it again. The bold text is the original letter. The edits are in italics.

I’m supposed to be writing this to say that I forgive you. But the thing is, I don’t. I did learn how to eventually. You can’t go and kill my mother in front of me and then shoot yourself in the head because you don’t want to go to jail. Still true. You think I wanted to watch my mother get shot in front of me? People have to do things that they don’t want to, but the difference is that normal people don’t kill innocent women. You committed murder, you deserve to go to jail. You deserve to go and you deserve to rot in there, and know that no one forgives you. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that it is better that you’re dead. I wouldn’t want to ever run the risk of you manipulating me further. People tell me that I should forgive you because there’s nothing I can do about it, but that’s bullshit. Just because I can’t change anything doesn’t mean that I should just forgive the man that shot my mother. People weren’t trying to be dicks. I was so consumed by this one thing you did, and I blamed myself. Everything that had happened felt like my fault, and I was so fucking angry. Not only at you, but at myself as well. It wasn’t until I learned to forgive you that I was able to finally forgive myself. I was left with so much shit, so so many horrible memories, and you get off with no repercussions. But, you’re the one who did it. It took me so many years to finally accept that. You did it. Not me. Even if you did it because of me, you were the one that shot her.

I didn’t fucking shoot my mother, you did. So why is it that you get to go and off yourself while I have to stay and try to pick up all the broken pieces? For a long time, I wished it had been me instead. My mom had already developed a life for herself. She had a lot of people that loved her and needed her around. I loved her, I didn’t want her life to be the one cut short. But if I had died and she had lived, she’d be living with the same pain I am now. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. It’s been 11 years, and I’m nowhere near over it. I probably never will be. Getting over it was never a realistic goal. You just can’t get over or forget something like that. But I also did neglect to process it until recently. I kept it in the back of my mind. I’ll be 40 years old and I will still be terrified any time a loud noise goes off or I can’t find my family right away. And you know why? Because of you. But also because of me. I didn’t want to think about it, and by doing that I made it even harder for me. I let it take over everything. I refused to get help because I wanted to be strong about it, I didn’t want to be the girl who’s mom died and she was a mess because of it. But being strong about this stuff isn’t acting like it never happened. It’s when you can acknowledge it happened, but still appreciate what came out of it. If I could still have my mom, I would in a heartbeat. But that’s not how it works. Losing her opened doors for me to meet amazing new people and become a person I truly love. It’s completely and totally because of you. I spent years blaming myself, because if I hadn’t been born, you guys could’ve moved away from each other and it’d all be okay. And then I learned that you were doing it because you knew you were going to go to jail for beating up that kid, so “if you couldn’t have me, neither could she”. That’s complete and utter bullshit.

You were going to jail for beating up a minor because they cut you off. How the hell were you planning on parenting me? The first time I got a B, were you just going to smack me? The first time I don’t listen, were you going to kick me? I really wanted to believe you hated me. It would have made everything hurt less. If you just hated us both and that’s why you did, it was uncomplicated. All I had to take away from that was that you were a bad person. But you did love me. You loved my mom at one point, too. And that’s what made it so hard. I could not wrap my head around how you could do something like that to someone you loved. You are not a good parent, and I know damn well if you went to court to try and get full custody, they wouldn’t give you shit. My mother did a fantastic job, and it’s bullshit that you wouldn’t just let me stay with her, where I was happy. I was very happy. She paid a lot of attention to me. It’s so fucking selfish that you would leave me without parents, rather than let me be with the woman who actually loved me, just because you’re a butthurt asshole who wants it all. You can’t have it all when you don’t do shit to deserve it. You can’t take away the only parent that cared about me, just as a ‘screw you’ gesture. I am not a fucking thing for you use to inflate your already astronomically huge ego. You were manipulative. Plain and simple. Before you knew that you were going to off yourself, you told me Mom tried to hurt you first so I’d be on your side for the rest of my life. I was your child. You know, the thing you’re supposed to care about and do anything to protect. Mom was the only parent that did that. You, killing the parent that raised me, did nothing to protect me. Let’s just think for a moment about how it affected me, considering you were too much of a pussy to actually live through the repercussions. You didn’t think about the repercussions because you didn’t care about anything except yourself and what you wanted. I wrote out everything that happened that night and how I was feeling, but I know now it wouldn’t have done anything. Because when I was in the backseat of your car sobbing, you still looked into my eyes and lied to me. Before you made the choice to end your life, you never told me sorry. You never apologized for anything.

(I’m leaving the description out of this piece. It’s too much. I am in a much better place now than when I originally wrote this document, but even now it is too much. And it is not important to the point of this piece.)

My life will never be the same. And it’s your fault. No, I will not forgive you. I don’t care who tells me that I should, just because I can’t change anything, it doesn’t mean I have to stop being angry. Being angry didn’t help. Not thinking about it didn’t help. I have a right to be mad. I have every right to hate you, and I do. I fucking hate you. And nothing will change that. Maybe I do have a right to be mad. No one really knows what the “best” way to handle this kind of thing is. But just because I have the right to do something, doesn’t mean it’s a good choice for me. I took comfort in being mad and stayed in that comfort zone. I didn’t ever try to learn anything from it. I just was mad - at you, at God, at anyone who tried to tell me to not be. And I couldn’t get better. When you came through that door that night, I trusted you as my father. I thought you would never hurt me. You told me that Mom tried to hurt you first. You lied to me about my mother, the woman you just killed. You made her seem evil like you. That’s bullshit. I was scared and you decided to feed me lies about my mother. Thank god all my trust for you ended as soon as you shot that first bullet. I would be mortified if I had actually believed your word over what I had seen when I lived with my mother.

I thought that as I got older, I’d begin to understand what happened and stop being sad and be able to stop blaming myself. Instead, I’ve become angry. Angry at you, in case you couldn’t tell. You fucked up my life. And I mean, you really fucked it up. I get scared around any man, no matter who they are or what they look like. Because of you, I don’t trust them. I’m constantly paranoid that something terrible has happened and that’s why my family isn’t home or that’s why my friends aren’t answering me when I call. Because of you, I always assume the worst. Whenever I hear loud noises, I panic. Because of you, I assume they’re gunshots. I constantly wonder if my mother would be proud of who I am today. Because of you, I will never know. Again, also because of me. I can get better. I can heal from this and not have these day to day issues. But I chose to be angry instead of getting help. And now I’m still dealing with repercussions at 20 years old. Because I was so scared of being labeled as weak for needing help.

I watched two people die that night. Right in front of me. I was five years old. And it’s because of you, and I cannot forget it. So no, I will not be forgiving you. Except I did. I hope you burn in hell. And I’m no longer religious so this no longer holds any bearing.

I’m nineteen now. A year ago, I added to this document. I thought I had figured things out enough, even though I still had yet to really think about everything. I did it, I grew up. I’ve spent the last 5,206 days trying to figure out how to move on. Over 2,000 of those days were spent doing dumb shit as a way to try to understand why. Why me? Why was I left alive while you left? Why do I have to pay for your actions? I was obsessed with finding answers. If I knew every single thing about that night, maybe that would help. Maybe I’m not rotting away in a jail cell like you would’ve been, but I’m fucking hurting. It’s your fault. Every part of everything that went wrong that night is solely on you. You chose to take her from me. You chose to take me away. You chose to leave. You left me alone in that car, watching a repeat of what I had just seen hours before. You made me the sole witness to that. I had started to finally understand that it was not my fault. So now it’s on me. But I did not completely understand how much it was not my responsibility. I have to grow up and be strong. I have to make something out of my life and I have to find a way to move on. I can’t be sad years later. I have to be there for the rest of the family and preach that “if I made it, you can too!” I have to be okay with surviving, with being the only person to make it out. I can’t keep bringing it up years later and hurting those who were affected as well. I have to show my family that I am okay, that losing you both in a matter of hours is just a speed bump on the way to my inherent success. I have to be successful or my mom died in vain. Reading this now, I hope you guys realize the same thing I have. Trauma sucks. It was my responsibility to get myself to be okay. Not comfortable, but okay. Because those things were not the same thing for a very long time. I could not sit and let my parents' deaths continue to have so much weight on my life. I was not helping my family heal by being mad about it. I loved them, and I miss my mom more than you could ever imagine. But it is a waste to spend every day upset and guarded because of it when I have an amazing life today. I have to be amazing, and I have to find a way to make you both proud despite how different you are. I have to remain calm and gentle like my mom; but I have to learn how to fight back and not take shit from anyone like you. Mom taught me how to love and how to forgive. You taught me how to be mad and fight against what I didn’t agree with, no matter how ridiculous it was. You taught me how to hide how I was feeling. I learned how to fake “happy” and “okay.” I learned how to turn sadness into anger. I had to come to terms with the fact that I am both of my parents’ kid. I look more like my mom and I have similar morals to her. But it would be a lie to say I didn’t resemble my father. I can have those traits and still be a good person. But that’s where our similarities end. Because then my mom’s lessons of love began to shine through. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I couldn’t imagine turning the hurt and anger inside of me into something that would harm those around me. That’s what makes me different from my father. We might have both held anger inside of us. We might have both hidden that anger well. Hell, we might even have the same mental illnesses. But I’ve learned that I can not live my whole life angry. And I can’t let my parents’ deaths dictate so much. I can’t go through life scared. It’s not a fulfilling way to live. It fucking sucked. It completely changed the path that my life was on. My life is on a new path now, and it’s a damn good one. I have amazing people around me. I have a beautiful family that I never would have had if it didn’t happen. I wouldn’t be studying for a major that I’m this passionate about. I am happy. I am so fucking happy.

This is going to be the last thing I write about my parents. I am so much more than the girl who lost her parents when she was five. My mom was so much more than her death. That is what deserves to be recognized.