Sonny,
I know you hate it when I call you Sonny, but if you’re reading this letter, I guess it’s okay since I’ve gone on to glory. I picked up the pen to write on Tuesday, November 15, 2006, right after you left my apartment, the one you bought for me. I had to write because I couldn’t tell you all the things I wanted to say. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the line I stopped being your mother and became your dependent, one of the people in your life who received money from you but very little else.
You’ve done a lot for me, Sonny, and I appreciate it more than you will ever know, but I don’t think I’ve been a good mother to you. It was much easier when you were a boy and we had very little when it came to material things. My job then was to keep you off the streets and out of trouble, to make sure that you went to school every day and that you got your homework done each night. I cheered you on when your football or basketball team won and encouraged you when they lost. I went without so that you might have the little extras that most kids took for granted—a new pair of off-brand sneakers or a new CD. I celebrated your every accomplishment and always told you that the world was yours if you worked hard and believed in yourself.
You made me so proud. When I sat in the coliseum at that fancy Ivy League school and watched you walk across the stage, I knew I had done my job and done it well. A single, uneducated mother with only her faith in God for support had raised a son who had not become a statistic—dead or in jail before twenty. I thanked God because I had done my job so well. I even took a bit of pride in what I had achieved. My pride increased with each of your accomplishments. That’s my boy, I would tell folks, and watch their eyes widen in surprise, as though they couldn’t believe it. You went beyond what I’d prayed when you started keeping the promises you’d made to me.
One of these days, Ma, you’re going to have a big house in one of those fancy neighborhoods.
Ma, you’re gonna have one of those foreign cars. I’ll make sure you get a new one every year.
Once I make it big, Ma, you’ll never have to worry about money or work again because I’m gonna take care of you.
You’re gonna visit the places in those travel books, Ma, just you wait and see.
Every promise you made to me you more than fulfilled.
So why am I writing this letter? Because today I realized that I had failed you. Somewhere along the line I forgot to warn you to take care of your heart. Sonny, I fear you’ve lost it in your quest to make money, to fulfill the promises you made to yourself and me. I worry that money and power have become your gods.
I tried to tell you some of this today, but you didn’t hear me. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard me. I’ve become another check you write each month. Oh, how I wanted more for us than that! But it’s too late for us. I realized that today.
But it’s not too late for you. While in many ways, you’ve been a wonderful son, you’ve also been a disappointment. I blame myself for not providing you with a male role model who could show you what it meant to be a man. I tried to show you, but I failed. All you learned from me was that a man provided for his family. You didn’t learn that a man also cherished his family. Maybe you mistook providing for cherishing. But they’re not the same. Not by a long shot. You’ve got some housekeeping to do, Sonny.
You met your match in Saralyn. She’s put up with more from you than many wives would have. Unfortunately, in order for you to straighten up the mess you’ve made of your life, you’re going to have to cause her and Isaac more pain. You’ve got to deal with Leah and those kids. Yes, I know about Michael and Deborah, have known for years, but I never said anything. I kept waiting for you to say something and you never did. I have two grandchildren that I never got to know because I was too intimidated by you to challenge you on your decisions. A good mother would have challenged you and made you do the right thing. A good mother would have welcomed her grandchildren even if her wayward son didn’t. God help me, but I haven’t been a good mother in a long time.
I love you, Sonny. No mother could love a son more. But I want more for you and expect more from you than you’ve shown. I want you to know love, that sacrificing kind of love that a poor single mother shows her only son. With all your money and all you’ve achieved, I don’t think you know that kind of love. How can you? Everything and everybody in your life have been second to your work and your goals.
I hope to be a better mother now than I was when we were together. Know that I’m watching from heaven and looking for you to become a better man than you are. You know where to start. Take that first step. God will lead you the rest of the way.