Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

“I love you more than words can say”

“I love you more”

“You can never love me more. I’m your mom. I’m bigger, older, and wiser.”

Where is this mom?

I haven’t seen her since elementary school. Did I make her up?

I still remember her, but she’s fading.

An angel, my best friend.

We laughed, we danced, we sang, we had fun.

I didn’t realize your laughter was laced with liquid venom.

I didn’t realize you staggered when you danced.

I didn’t realize you slurred when you sang.

I didn’t realize you needed “water with lime” to have fun.

I didn’t realize.

I was blinded by your ethereal glow.

I wish the glow didn’t fade. You looked so alive.

How was it possible that you were sick?

It turns out that sickness doesn’t always appear outward.

I wish I could wake up and see you as my hero.

But, the you I knew as a child is dead.

Technically, she wasn’t real to begin with.

You never really had “girls night out” with me to spend time with me, did you?

You would have “water with lime” and I’d tell dad that you didn’t drink.

I was your perfect little liar.

You never wanted to be with me.

You just wanted an excuse to quench your vices and someone to cover for you.

It’s funny, I can remember you driving.

I can remember your swerving.

It was like a rollercoaster.

Only more dangerous.

At the time, it didn’t occur to me that you were selfishly risking my life.

I thought it was all good fun. How could I question my angel?

Sometimes you’d stay in bed.

It could last days, even weeks. I laid with you.

As I aged, your bed rest prolonged.

“Mom, why are you on the floor?”

“Mom, why are you always falling?”

Questions I had, but never asked. By 5th grade they were answered.
I don’t know how, but it all just clicked.

Maybe it was my friends constantly making jokes about how I could disappear

and you would be too busy with a bottle to notice.

Maybe it was looking at the other moms in the neighborhood

and seeing how much more involved they were.

You never woke up with me in the morning.

You never did my hair.

You never walked me to the bus stop.

It was all my dad.

When did I notice that he was the only man at the bus stop?

When did I notice he was the one who went to my school events?

I don’t even remember.

Perhaps it was none of that.

Perhaps it was the day you forgot I slept over at my friend’s house.

You called the police and they called child services.

I certainly remember how upset dad was.

“You need to stop drinking!”

He pleaded so hard.

Neither of you seemed to notice I was in the other room.

“If I can’t drink, SHE can live somewhere else!”

That was the day I lost my mom and met the real you.

It was then that I was broken. Incomplete.

Was that the same person who “loved me more than words can say”?

I never knew that someone who was supposed to protect me could hurt me in such a way.

I was twelve when I grew up.

I was twelve when I lost my mom.

You may be alive, but you’re a husk.

You only care about what you want.

You may have been beautiful, but that doesn’t mean you were an angel.

Just because you put glitter on shit, doesn’t mean it isn’t shit.

At least your deterioration reflects who you are on the inside now.

You can’t lie to me with your looks anymore.

Your bright eyes have dulled,

your soft hair has matted,

your straight teeth are missing,

and your stomach has expanded.

You look who you were meant to be.

An alcoholic layabout.

I guess I haven’t used the word yet.

I might as well use it since you refuse to do so.

Alcoholic.

You’re a freeloader.

You’ve done nothing productive with your life.

I hate you.

You ruined me.

I’ll never be a complete person again.

How can I be?

How can I love myself when my own mother doesn’t even love me?

How can I be happy if I’ve been damned?

How can I move forward when I’m forever condemned as “the kid with the crazy drunk mom?” How can I live when I wake up wanting the day to end?

You’ve drained the life out of those around you and I refuse to be a part of it anymore.

You’ve taken so much from me.

You’ve taken my smile, my childhood, and the mom I knew.

I’m not losing anything else.I may not be able to get much back when I forget you,

but maybe I’ll finally experience the feeling of a true smile.

You had your chance to be my mom.

You squandered it.

Goodbye,

Lacey