#4

My johnhenry,
I wish I were writing this letter to tell you that I want a divorce, or to tell you that the only plan I am interested in crafting with you is the one that allows us to go our separate ways and yet fully support the children.  I wish I could tell you that it's over, but we both know that this is not that letter.   

I realized the other day that you occupy a certain, shall we say, closet in my brain.  I'm not sure when I put you in there, but there you sit.  The space is reserved for people that I can't/won't leave.  The people that hurt me the most and claim to love me the most.  The people I am obliged to, the people I endure.  Now that I think about it, I didn't put you there; you put yourself there.

How?  Your mixed messages and actions.  For example, some of your messages are clumsy --"This is what I hate about you."  Some are belittling--"That thing you said when we were having sex was stupid!"  Some are just plain mean--"You're a bitch. You deserve to be alone."  The punching of walls, the throwing shit; all leave me wounded and all are somehow connected to a later statement of love.  

I admit, I bring some heavy baggage of my own.  I was often threatened with abandonment by mom.  I was raised to believe that others would never really want me.  I was molested in a closet as a child and I bring the leftovers into our bed, launching me into to tears or vomiting depending on the act.  All these mixed messages and actions from people espousing their love for me.  I've never kept these things from you.  In fact, I trusted you with this information even though it is against my nature to share and to be known.  I would had preferred to keep it to myself.  That is why we have closets, right? To put away what we don't want seen?    

Over the years, you have chosen to use my weaknesses as ammo to be launched at any given moment.  Yes, johnhenry that's how you fight.  It's all fair game to you.  I indeed had that closet ready made in my consciousness well before I met you, but you, my dear, put yourself in it.  

No, this letter is not to tell you that I want a divorce.  This letter is to let you know that I am cleaning out the closet.  It's not going to be easy but it must be done.  You might want to get yourself out of there before I take out the trash.

--with honesty and love

#3

My Dearest,
Tonight I am filled with thoughts of you.  Maybe it's a little too much wine, maybe it's that johnhenry is being an ass; or maybe not.  Maybe it's just that you are never quite out of my thoughts and it is only by deliberate and focused effort that I keep those thoughts at bay.  Blame it on the conversations--long and brainy yet sometimes silent.  The intellect is most intimate... 

While I have never known you and probably never will,  I can close my eyes and feel you.  You are like the essence of winter itself, the absence of color yet so incredibly bright; so brisk yet beckoning play; the very opposite of all that I am.  No wonder I find you so attractive.  Tonight is blustery with a certain nip in the air --winter and I'm thinking of you.

There are a great many things that I would change if I could.  One would be to know you a little more....

But that is neither here nor there.  I am only writing this note to let you know that you are always with me and I hope that makes you smile.
---

#2

Dear MIL,
When you look at your grandson do you see your boy?  You must.  He looks like his dad birthed him without any input from me.  Looking at the three of you fills me with contempt and questions.  See I can't look at my son, your grandson, without seeing that little boy that stole my heart and changed my world 22 years ago.  My love for my son taught me about the love of God, and for the life of me I cannot understand how you can have such a beautiful son of your own and not feel the same way.

Pardon me for being so bold as to suggest you don't love him.  Who am I to judge?  Perhaps you can explain...

I won't take the time to recant all the stories of the violence and the mental torment and the emotional abuse. I'm sure I haven't heard them all.   And quite honestly I don't care to hear your side of things.  I don't need to; I live with the aftermath.

I will say you succeeded in creating an incredibly responsible man.  So responsible that he not only took your abuse as a boy, he takes it still as a man and returns to you only his best with none of his hurt.  I live with the hurt. You raised a man that will go through hell and high water for you, receiving nothing in return.  I live with the void.  You taught him to labor to your unyielding specifications with no encouragement.  I live with his dreams deferred.

Your boy is with you now, by your bedside, risking his job, his responsibilities, his health to care for you with no appreciation.  And I will live with remnants of 428 days sobriety destroyed.

I don't blame you for being ill and I don't resent his being with you. That's where he belongs. However, I will never understand you and I pray for the grace to forgive you.  Over the years, despite what I know of your treatment of him, I have only encouraged him to treat you with love and compassion.  My heart tells me that mothers deeply love their sons and that you must feel that for your son regardless of what you choose to display.  It's my brain that doesn't believe.

Each day I choose to act from the heart; with you and your son.  I hope one day you learn to do so as well.
--DIL

#1

My Dearest,
I can't begin to tell you how happy I am to reconnect with you.  Our friendship means more to me than you will ever know, more than even I fully understand.

"But if that's true, then why did I leave you?"  

It's hard to explain and for all these years I've avoided even trying.   I am just beginning to understand how very selfish my behavior has been, and I am immensely comforted by the thought that you still want me.  My mind races with thoughts that why I left doesn't matter, that my presence in your life doesn't matter and that sharing all of me will just cause you to run from me.  I am battling these thoughts even as I write this.    

The physical distance between us made it easy for me to isolate myself from our friendship.  Even though  I missed you terribly, I had become so incredibly self absorbed that all I could see was my inadequacy.  Instead of taking the risk of sharing my mess giving you the opportunity to respond, I ran from you so at the very least I would have the memories of our friendship and a fantasy, if needed.  

It's ironic, we inadvertently create the very situation we fear the most.    

That's what fear is right?- false emotions appearing real?  Even back then when we talked, I could feel it, rising up in me, slowly sucking the air right out of my lungs.  I loved listening to you, I could provide support, even give advice but the moment it was my turn to be authentic...God I can still feel it now...the overwhelming anxiety. The only way I knew to handle it was to keep the focus elsewhere and to just not be known. But anxiety is unrelenting and it rears it's ugly head in unexpected places like in the gaps of my competencies or anywhere else it can snuggle against my confidence.  My anxiety was fueled by my inability to be all you needed and as we grew closer, my fears got larger and I began to withdraw leaving me exactly what I didn't want.  My life without my friend.

It's been a long time Dearest.   My heart feels warm with the sound of your voice.  Thank you for remaining.  I didn't mean to hurt you.  I did not recognize the breach of trust that I created.  I was completely unaware that I was making a farce of our friendship.  I know there is no excuse for my behavior and my acknowledgement does not suddenly erase the pain.  But I hope our letters can begin to weave together a new friendship, an authentic relationship, and a closeness for the ages. 

I look forward to hearing from you soon.
--Here's to new beginnings.