Dear Mother,
It’s been five years since we said our last goodbye. Do you remember that October? The Indian summer stayed and stayed. I felt that somehow, if it lingered...so would you. How O. Henry of me. Sophomoric, you’d probably say.
I’m writing this letter because I couldn’t find you when I went home. I felt sure I’d see your ghost. To be honest, I’ve been a little mad that you haven’t haunted me. I suppose you and Father are dancing at some infinity ball.
I’ve taken to writing letters, you see. I’ve made a friend through paper and pens and envelopes and postage. A true friend. Not like the girls at school or the silly geese you dressed me up to play with as a child.
Her name is Rita and she lives in Iowa City, Iowa. Her husband just died in the war last spring. He was wonderful even though I didn’t know him.
Are you engulfed up there, with all these spirits coming through? Or do you have box seats?
Anyway, I’ve learned a lot through writing things down. So I figured I’d let you go this way.
I’m letting go of the ache for you. The desire that wasn’t filled even when you were here on earth. I’m letting go of the idea that I can still please or displease you. I’m letting go of the horrible fear that I’ll turn into you someday. And also letting go of the fear that I won’t.
When I came home I wanted to confess all my sins. I needed you to tell me what to do. You see, I love two men. I love Levi. I love him very much. And to make everything more complicated, Robert loves him, too.
Every day I worry about losing one or the other (or both!) of them. I wake up with an ache that won’t go away. It throbs inside of me all day long.
I can’t wait until summer comes around the bend again. I’ll be able to run down to the cove and dive into the deep waters there. Somehow I think those icy waters will calm this heart that is on fire. You liked the cove, didn’t you, Mother? Or have I made that up in my mind?
I’m thinking so much of you lately. Of you and Father both. The love you had together. Perhaps that’s what I’ve been looking for. That combination of fiery passion as well as stable commitment. Maybe you two were the lucky ones. I suppose the rest of us need to pick one or the other and then try our best to create the other portion of that amazing equation as we live our lives. Yes, that seems to be it, doesn’t it? Wake in the stability of a proven, time-tested love and then create the passion that can exist inside of it.
Look. See what you’ve done now? You’re not even here walking on this earth and you’ve helped me make my decision.
I can still see you, the way you looked at me when I came home from the Sadie Hawkins dance. You were sitting in that red velvet wing chair wearing your glorious taffeta night robe and reading.
“Who did you choose?” you asked without looking up.
“Robert,” I said, and sat on the ground leaning my head against your knee.
You didn’t say anything else, but you did the most incredible thing. You let your hand find my hair. And then you stroked my head. Do you remember? It was the most affectionate you’d been with me in years.
Would you stroke my head now, Mother? Now that I’ve made this decision? I’ll dream that you would. I’ll dream your soft hands are all around me.
I love you, Mother.
All best to you in heaven,
Gloria
[Letter stuffed into the side pocket of Glory’s jewelry box.]