How many times we have detested our mothers. How many times we have labeled them outdated or overbearing. How many times we found ourselves growing impatient with their cautions and dismissing their concerns. Soon to post in a neighborhood near you, a love letter. From me to my mother—from what was meant for my mother, now meant for you, too— Conversation Two in a Series: To my mother, a Love Letter.
Act(ion) II of the Dear John, Letters from a Friend experiment shows something more in order to share something more. Unlike the first letter, destined for Evan, this love letter to my mother is meant to connect us by something rooted more deeply than friendship. It may be that not all of us have an “Evan,” but each of us has a mother.
Written in Fall 2009, this letter to my mother is a confessional, an apology, and a tribute to the woman whom I know must have faced many trials, most of which I know I cannot understand. Penned freely and honestly in a moment brimming with both gratitude and remorse, my mother’s love letter is intended as a testimony to the sacred nature of all that has preceded us, to all who have paved our way. From an intimate place in an intimate moment came a love letter, to my mother. Perhaps it is an intimacy too crude-less than should be displayed on the streets, with a kind of tenderness to make us blush.
Posting soon to your neighborhood— Dear John, Letters from a Friend: Conversation Two in a Series, a love letter to my mother. Let us blush together.
