Uncle Joe told me I should take as much time as I needed before returning to work. Some days, I didn’t feel mentally strong enough to get out of bed, let alone operate heavy machinery, so I called in. The days I went into work became few and far between, and I spent most of the past few weeks lying in bed, one foot in the present, one foot in the past.
I never cried. Every time the tears burned at the back of my eyes, I managed to blink them away and move on, distracting myself with something meaningless. The last time I openly allowed myself to cry was the night Grams died, and Mom told me I didn’t deserve to spill any tears over a woman I killed. Since then, I fought back every urge I had.
Mom’s letter sat on my dresser, abandoned and unopened. Each time I reached to touch it, the fear of learning the truth had me shying away. I wasn’t ready to forgive her yet, and I knew that whatever secrets she spilled onto that paper would change everything.
Her death fucking gutted me. It bore deep into me with the familiar soul-crushing pain I’d blocked out years ago, after Grams died. I still needed her. We had a lot of time to make up for, and the only reason I ever engaged with her was because I thought we had years to repair what was broken. A lifetime of abandonment and resentment caught up to us, and I desperately wished we could have spent what little time we had together differently. Instead, I was left feeling like I lost something I never even really had.
Our last conversation was spent arguing. I screamed at her and slammed the door in her face. Thinking back to it makes me nauseous. I should have been more patient with her. I should have respected her and tried to work through our problems instead of jumping right into the fight like I did. I should have answered the phone when she called that night.
I would have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life, and that alone made me want to disappear.
Niko stopped by a couple times to let me know what was happening at the shop and with the Reapers. He never stopped trying to encourage me to get back to work. I could tell he was worried I might do some stupid shit. I almost did do some stupid shit, and I had no idea how he was able to recover from it so fast. Every day I thought about how close I came to pulling the trigger on Monti; to ending his life. I became the monster Mom always accused me of being, and the realization left me lost, wading through dark, unfamiliar waters.
Uncle Joe told me I had to have the house packed up in the next three weeks. I planned to go through everything slowly and donate anything I didn’t want to the Salvation Army. I just didn’t have any energy, and the days were closing in on me faster than I could keep up. I didn’t want to get stuck throwing everything of Mom’s away, but I couldn’t handle rummaging through her things and accepting that she was really gone.
Any time my thoughts strayed to Luna, I had to pull them back in. I couldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole right now. I was an asshole, and I deserved to suffer the way I'd been after killing the one good thing I had left in my life. I convinced myself I did it to protect her, that I gave her exactly what she asked for. The lack of calls and messages from her only helped confirm that.
Kelsey still tried to text me, but I ignored every single one of her messages. I fucked over the only woman I was interested in building a future with, and the memories with her had my chest caving in on itself. The only way to protect her from the devil within me was to keep her away, regardless of how much it hurt.
Two weeks after Mom’s funeral, I finally started going around the house and getting our shit packed up. I had less than a week left of occupancy in the house, but a full day was all it took. I packed up what little belongings she had and separated them in boxes I wanted to keep and donate.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted beyond belief, both mentally and physically. I had no idea where I would go when the landlord kicked me out, but it felt good to have Mom’s things packed away respectfully.
When I made my way downstairs with a shitty TV dinner in hand, Mom’s handwriting caught my eye on top of the dresser. For the first time since the night I received it, I picked the paper up and held it, allowing the weight of it to sit in my hands. I mindlessly flipped it through my fingers while I watched TV for about an hour until my resolve broke down and I slowly opened it, exposing myself to her final words.
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Liam,
I don’t expect that this letter will ever find you. After the way I treated you when we last spoke, I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again. But my counselor at this posh rehab facility Frank sent me to says one of the steps to recovery is through forgiveness for the past. I told her you didn’t care what I had to say, that the damage I did to you was irreparable. She suggested I write you this letter. Even if I didn’t send it, she said I would feel better. I think she’s wrong. As I sit here in my room and consider everything I’ve ever done to you, the need to numb it all away grows stronger.
How can I apologize for a lifetime of abuse? How can I ask for your forgiveness when I don’t even think I’m worth it? I can’t, but I at least have to try, if only for my sobriety’s sake.
I’m so sorry, Liam. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to be your mother when you needed me to be. I’m sorry I blamed you for every negative thing life threw at me. I’m sorry I blamed you for my parents’ deaths instead of acknowledging that you were hurting just as bad as I was. I’m sorry for every ounce of venom I’ve ever spewed your way throughout your lifetime.
You didn’t deserve it.
God, I’ve wanted to tell you that for so long. You never deserved to have a mother like me.
I wanted to hate you. I wanted you to come out looking like your father, so I could easily give you up and put what happened behind me. But you didn’t. You were a spitting image of me, and instead of hating you like I planned, I ended up hating myself. I took that hatred out on you for a long time, drowning my pain with drugs and alcohol and placing the burden of raising you on my parents and Joe.
They all loved you so much, and they were able to express it in ways I found impossible. When you were a baby, I would sneak into your nursery at night and hold you in my arms, desperate just to feel the bond I had seen other mothers have with their children—the bond my own mother had with you. I would stare down into your deep blue eyes and wish you were given to someone who could cherish you the way you deserved.
In all the time I spent holding you, our bond never came, and that made me hate myself even more.
Liam, you were the light of my life, the only thing that kept me going in my darkest days. You were an angel that was placed in my arms after the devil himself destroyed me. You were supposed to save me from drowning, but instead I took us both down with me. And for that I am so sorry.
You asked me to leave you alone, so you could enjoy the one shot you had at happiness. I decided that the best gift I could give you would be to respect your wishes. I know in my heart that when you’re ready to talk, you’ll come find me.
And I’ll try my hardest to stay sober for you, Liam, because I’m done putting everything else ahead of you. I’m going to fight this. You’re my whole world, and I hope one day I can show you how much you mean to me. I know you’ll be a better parent than I ever dreamed of being. I hope I’m around to witness that.
I love you so much it hurts,
Mom