A Letter to my Mom

So thirteen years, huh? Your death is a teenager. (Stop shaking your head at me. I’m hilarious, and you know it.) 

You’ll be glad to know that it’s officially Someday, and I understand. Except I didn’t have a kid just like me like you hoped. Whatever you aimed at my sister bounced off her and hit me because this child of mine is WILD. I’ve even called her by my sister’s name a few times when she made me snap back to childhood. Not to brag or anything, but this kid is smart. I’m waiting for the moment she figures out she’s smarter than me, but I’m trying to keep her in the dark as long as I can.

You would be disappointed in the way I’m raising her. Seriously. You would hate it. We don’t go to church, and we certainly don’t read the Bible. I don’t think she has ever opened a Bible. She’s gone to church with a friend a few times, but it’s not her thing.

I wonder all the time what our relationship would look like now. I’m out here navigating the world as what I’m assuming appears to be a fully formed adult. I like to imagine you would have found some peace and gone a little easier on yourself. I hope we would have a relationship today. I have a friend whose childhood was similar to mine, and she and her mom have done so much to repair and strengthen their relationship. I like to think that’s what we would have done too. I saw little shifts and attempts at letting go before you left. But I don’t know if that was because you were finally seeing me as a separate person or if you realized you were about to say goodbye and had no choice. 

I know without a doubt you would disagree with a lot of my choices. But I think you would be proud of some things. Just like I promised before you left, I’m doing okay. I’m making it and sometimes I’m even thriving. I’ve learned to stand up for myself a lot more. You would be interested in my job. It’s something you had a heart for, and I know you would love the opportunities for learning just as much as I do. You really cared for kids and wanted them to be safe and okay. Growing up, I watched you do your best to help and love every kid you crossed paths with the best way you knew how. You and Dad made the effort to keep our house a safe place for anyone who needed it - even if things did get preachy sometimes. 

You’re the reason our churches ever had youth ministries. I won’t downplay how groundbreaking it was to establish youth ministries in little country churches in the 90s. You pushed so many people to acknowledge that kids and teenagers were actual living breathing human beings who deserved consideration. Thank you for recognizing that so many kids needed a place to go and someone to care. You made a difference. I still have people tell me how you positively impacted their lives because you paid attention when so many other adults refused.

I love that you showed me that women belong wherever men belong, especially in leadership. You were a feminist whether you liked to use the word or not. Something about all that “submissive woman” stuff really stuck in your craw. Thank you for setting that example. Thank you for pushing back in the church (and eventually in the workplace). I don’t believe in the church and religion anymore, but that fight wasn’t in vain. You made an impact on someone, even if it was only me. You never backed down when you knew something was unjust, and I love you for instilling that in me by example. Thank you for never rolling over into the submissive and pious role and instead loudly speaking up. 

While we’re at it, thank you for choosing a Dad for us who believed in empowering women inside the church and out and who loved and supported me. Thank you for choosing a man with a family who to this day, even though you are both gone, continue to accept and love me as one of them. I’m so grateful to Dad and his family for loving me unconditionally and never reminding me that I “wasn’t actually related.” They never once made me feel like I didn’t belong. It wasn’t until I reached adulthood and saw the way so many families treat stepchildren that I truly realized how lucky I was to have them.

On that subject, thank you for getting me those Babysitter’s Club Little Sisters books. The books about the little girl who had two families gave me the words to explain what I meant when I talked about my dad and my other dad. It made me feel lucky to have two families. I never once felt like I came from a “broken home.” All four parents absolutely kicked ass at making me feel secure, and I learned a lot about what a blended family should look like. 

It’s funny… I sat down to write to you thinking I was going to bring up the things I’ve been processing: the emotional trauma, the things I wish you had done differently, etc. But when I started, all the things you did right poured out. Yeah, I could have done without the James Dobson upbringing and the religious fear. I won’t minimize the effect that had on me. But as I’ve worked through them (and continue to do so), I deeply believe you did your best with what you had. I believe you loved me. And while I’ve learned that a lot of what you intended as love is not what the love I accept in my life should look like, I’ve also realized that you taught me so much that I’ve taken for granted. You gave me advantages that many other children don’t get.

You taught me how to budget and gave me a crash course in filing my taxes to the best of your ability. You taught me financial literacy and gave me the tools to find information you didn’t have. You instilled in me a love for writing, learning, critical thinking, and asking questions. (Even though you sometimes regretted when I directed those questions at you.) You encouraged my love for reading even if I did occasionally pick up a book you had to snatch out of my hand - remember the ones at my aunt’s house with a shirtless man and lingerie-clad woman on the cover? 

You taught me about human rights and bought me Addie, the American Girl doll I so desperately wanted. You got me her book series and took me to the library to devour all the books I could get my hands on and validated my indignation over the injustices in our country’s history. Now, if you would have just extended that to LGBTQ rights, we would have been golden. Even then, you taught me that it was our job to love.

There are things I’ve had to learn on my own, like self-love and setting boundaries, letting go of trying to control everything around me, and learning that I can’t save everyone.  I’ve learned that our purpose happens in the little things and not in some grand divinely ordained mission. But I also learned that you couldn’t teach me what you didn’t know. You worked hard to learn from your mom’s mistakes, and I’m doing my best to do the same. I hope my daughter does the same if she chooses to have children. 

I love you, Mom. I know you wouldn’t be thrilled with my choices to walk away from your faith and to raise my daughter in a way that doesn’t present God as absolute truth, I think you would be proud of the work I’ve done to love myself and others. I think you would be proud that I’ve used the fundamental values you instilled in me by word and by example to try to make the world just a slightly better place.

You would adore your granddaughter’s wild humor and wit, her creativity, and her passion for life. You would roll your eyes at her smart mouth and probably tell me I need to discipline better and not let her talk back. Yeah, I’m still navigating this parenting thing, and I’m definitely screwing up sometimes. But I also know I’m doing my best with what I have and working to do better each day.

Thank you for being the best mom you could be. Thank you for always being there and for loving me.

Love,

​Deidre

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