“Letters from Mom”
Mom wrote me hundreds of letters and would often send me greeting cards with snipped comics or articles from newspapers or magazines she thought I'd enjoy.
Here is a short note written on silly Garfield stationery. The cat is sitting on a beach next to a thought bubble reading, “Wish you were here.” I have no idea what P.T.S.O. is or why she was writing about me as if I was suffering from crushing depression. I guess it was just after I’d come home for Christmas break; maybe we’d gotten into an argument.
Jan 9, 1992
Hi, here’s a quickie. It’s 8:15 and I’m supposed to start work at 8:30. I just finished doing the Treasurer “stuff” for the P.T.S.O. meeting tonight. (I’m pretty proud of myself – I balanced the account for 3 months last night to the PENNY! in about an hour. And that included a couple of hundred checks!)
Jenny was supposed to have an away game at Warner at 7:00 tonight, but they changed it to a home game at 6:00, so I guess I’ll get to go. I would have hated to miss it.
My new boss came in yesterday. Her name is Elisa Ball. She’s from New York City and is very New York City. She’s been in communications and sales all her life. Of course, Julie is traumatized at the change. I’m not. I figure I have something to lose — a sense of intimacy and being the confidant of the Regional Manager. But, what the heck. I hope she pretty much sticks to sales management and leaves the rest as it is.
I guess I come down pretty hard on you some times. OK, most of the time. I just love you so much I can hardly stand it. And I worry about your “dark side.” I know you get depressed sometimes, and rebellious and angry and … I wish I could help. I wish you had not had to go through a lot of the shit you had to deal with – a lot of it because of or through me. I know I’ve made you carry a lot. I just hope you still see the good side of things – the real good, not just the passing kicks. Most of the time, I figure you’ll be OK. Then I start feeling guilty about the way I raised you and all the times I cried and whined and couldn’t be mother & father to you. I wish I could take all that back and be Mrs. Cleaver, but I can’t. I hope you guys remember all the good times. I remember a lot of laughter and special “moments” and fun outings and a closeness, a love, I don’t think many people find.
I’m drifting. I just wish you could understand that I understand a lot more than you think. I may not be the best, but I’m fairly good and I’m here if you need me. Or even if you don’t think you need me but you do. Or even if you don’t want to need me.
I may not always agree with you or like what you do. But I’ll always love you.
Just take care of yourself, you know. Not “Nothing bad will happen to me” or “I deserve it anyway” or “There’s no reason to care because all we do is die.” But take care of yourself with hope. You never know …
Anyway, I gotta get back to work. If I won Fantasy 5 last night, I’ll send you some money.
In the meantime, I love you,