Somedays I want to pick up the phone and just talk to you about what's on my mind, and listen in on what is on yours. When I was little and I was having a bad day, I used to crawl into your lap, lay my head on your chest and listen to your heart beat and the way your voice echoed. It always soothed me. You were the only one that could smother the flames of my anger. I learned late that you were right about so much, and when I figured that out, I leaned on you for advice for everything.
I hate that that was all stolen from me. I feel like you were stolen from me, and that it is so incredibly unfair. I feel so alone now more than ever. I know I have people to talk to, but at the same time I feel like I have no one. No one that is going to understand me, accept me, and yet tell me to shape up at the same time. No one to give me direction. I just want to hear your voice, see your face. I want this to be a dream, and more than ever, I want it to be over.
I wonder if you gave up because of me. I didn't get to say good bye. My last conversation with you, I was annoyed and hurt because I felt like you were taking your anger out on me. I didn't understand like I should what it was that made you speak that way. You looked forward to the kids this summer. They didn't even get one last summer with you. I feel like after I told you I wasn't coming to Oregon, and that he had summer school, that you gave up. I am angry about that, mama. I am angry at myself, I'm angry at you. More than anything, I hate that I am angry. I feel selfish and stupid for it but I can't get over it no matter how hard I try. Now I wonder about everything, if you're watching me now, if you're judging me, if you love me still even with the things I've done? Are you proud of me? Are you still trying to give me direction, or are you just gone?
Mama, who will love me now? Who will love me like you did? Why did it have to be you? I really feel like I should wake up and get some kind of phone call from you, or see that you've played a Facebook game, or that you're at Bingo. I hate that dad as to go through this alone, and at the same time I am too afraid to really dive into his life. I don't know how he deals with staying in that house, filled with memories that aren't all good. I can't bring myself to go to church, I can't bring myself to do anything and I know how angry you would be over that.
There are times when I feel like calling you to have a question answered. But I can't. I am totally torn on what to do with things, and I can't call you to have you help me sort them out. I feel so screwed up, mama. I feel selfish and ashamed and alone.
