Conversations with My Dead Mother (pt. 1)

Dear Mama, if you were here there are so many things I’d ask you, so many things I’d wanna discuss. I wonder how many letters and internal one-sided conversations have begun like that in the past almost four years? I can’t believe it’s been almost four years since you died. Sometimes, it feels like yesterday and sometimes, it feels like a lifetime. Neither one feels very good or less depressing than the other.

As you aged mama, did you find yourself becoming more private, more recluse? Did this create a sensation of not feeling like you could really, genuinely speak to anyone? Or is the above just a product of my generation and the ever changing social life that’s dictated primarily by gadgets, by technology?

If you had a grave, I predict you’d be rolling around, howling with laughter at your refusal to ever own a cell phone or a computer, for that matter. To which I would confidently reply that they’re beneficial for some things but I admire your aversion toward the rapid evolution of technology and your valid reasons behind it.

I’d love to know what you would do if you were me right now? How would you handle David and his vindictive three-faced tendencies (and yes, I mean three) seeking to obtain a rise out of you, still trying to maintain control over one last thing in your life? It’s disappointing though hardly surprising.

I’d like to know your thoughts on current politics, economics, social injustice, etc. I’d like to plan a trip with you – a big one – a mother daughter getaway. Oh, the places we could go! Santorini? Italy? Spain?

I would ask you how it felt to be the black sheep and how this feeling of being an outcast shaped your morals and values. I would like to know what your regrets are and the things that you would do differently if you were given the opportunity to do them over.

All these questions and no answers…I can only speculate on how you may respond and that will never be good enough and that will never be okay.


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