Monthly Archives: September 2006

I spoke to Linda on the phone today. We were reminiscing about all the people we have reconnected with from our childhood. I was telling her about how I have recently reconnected with Jennifer, and although we have only had a few conversations, our reconnection seems to have brought about a watershed of emotion. Jennifer was the closest person I ever had to me during that time of my life, so naturally I am starting to think more about those days…

Linda then reminded me of Kevin Dwyer, a friend of mine, who committed suicide when I was about 12. She is in touch with his sister, and she informed me that Kevins’ brother also took his own life a few years later. I have been numb all day.

I remember when Kevin committed suicide and I had nightmares for weeks. I kept trying to keep a picture of him in my mind – a picture of the last time I saw him. I remember spending time with him and really liking him. He was a nice boy, cute and sensitive – not too different from my son David. I was shocked when I heard that he hung himself in his own home. I couldn’t believe it.

For so many years I have put that thought out of my head, and now it is back. Such a beautiful young boy with so much potential. I keep going over and over in my head –what could have been so horrible that it drove him to that? And then his brother too? I keep thinking about how sad all of this is.

Today is Sunday, and now I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel a flood of sadness and anger and frustration. I am home with my kids, and I need to pick myself up and go spend time with them. The problem is that I can’t stop thinking about this.

I wonder if you have seen him? If both of you have found peace and solace where you are – if you have found the place where all is calm and love surrounds? Is that what you both were looking for? If so, I hope you found it. If I could just know that, I wouldn’t feel so sad.

If you do see him, please tell him I said hello. Tell him that I understand, and that you understand, and give him a hug because he probably really needs one. Tell him that he is loved, I am sure, by those he left behind – just as you are.

I miss you.

Love Susan

Dear Mom -

I feel like a woman on the verge. On the verge of many things. Sometimes it is frustrating, and other times it is kind of cool. I am on the verge of having a clean house, a well-rounded dinner, finishing the painting in my kitchen, losing 10 lbs., having money in my savings account, getting the laundry done, painting my toenails.

There are so many things I am trying to do, or want to do – but it seems like I never really get there. On the other hand, I do so many things that life is never boring. Is this normal?

Everyday I am also on the verge of complete happiness, or sadness, or silliness – or contentment, depending on the day. I am also on the verge of having it completely together, remembering everything I was supposed to remember, having all of my bills paid, paperwork done, or dinners cooked on time.

I do so much but most of the time I feel like I am not getting anything done – and more often than not, I feel overwhelmed. All of the things that need to happen to run the household, manage my job – not to mention my life, seem to swell up and it me in the face like a brick wall. This weekend I felt like that. All productivity was completely shut down because of how overwhelmed I felt. Am I crazy? or just being hormonal?  I really need to talk to you about this. I wish you were here.

 I miss you.

 Love Susan 

Linda’s eldest daughters came to visit me this summer. This was the first time in my adult life where I had family visit me. We spend 3 lazy months together – getting to know one another, sifting through family photos, laughing together, and having the time of our lives. During their stay, I got re-acquainted with D.C., the museums, the Zoo, and all of the amazing things that this wonderful city has to offer. I saw it again for the first time through their eyes, and it reminded me so much of when I first arrived. I was in awe of the beautiful streets lined with green trees and beautiful rowhouses with uncompromising grandeur standing tall and proud throughout the city. I love D.C. I remember telling you how much I loved this city, and I had hoped so much that you would come to visit me. I even remember planning your visit. I was going to take to you the museums, walk around Dupont Circle, sip coffee at the bookstore/cafe, walk into Adams Morgan – there were so many things I wanted to share.

I remember when I moved here, it was June 1983. You were not happy that I was leaving – you hardly said a word. You even decided to move into a different apartment (a smaller one) in defiance of my departure. Deep down inside I know that you understood I had to leave, and you understood that I needed to start a life of my own. It was really very difficult for both of us, but especially you — I knew this.

I could tell how hard it was for you through the words you would not say. I think ultimately you felt that through my departure, your youngest daughter moving out, that you had no one else and that your world was empty. In reality this was not true, I was still here for you – just not in the same place.

One year later, in June 1984, you were gone. I had previously purchased a plane ticket for August 19th to visit you. I guess you couldn’t hold on any longer. I am sorry about that. I wish you would have told me that things were so bad, but I guess you didn’t want to burden me. I know now that you were struggling. I was young, and it didn’t occur to me that things would end up this way. How could I have known? I was only 21.

I miss you.

Love Susan

Everyone tells me that I am in denial about you—and that I should be angry with you for many things. Of course sometimes I get angry. I am angry that I do not have someone to look to for advice and guidance, that I had to figure our for myself how to take care of my babies and raise my children, that my children will never know their grandmother, that I can’t invite you to my house for dinner or sip iced tea together in the summertime, or even go shopping together and talk girl talk. But I am not angry at you.

I understand that you did what you could, and could find no other way to conquer those inner daemons. Some people are stronger than others – and we all come equipped with certain strengths, weaknesses and unique talents. I cannot be angry at you for who you were and who you came to be.

I choose to remember the part of you that was kind, loving, creative and passionate. You were my mother, not a vision of perfection or without faults, but simply a woman raising her children as best she could, navigating her way through her own darkness with just enough strength to see us to adulthood. I accept that this is what you were able to do – it is the reality of your life (and now mine). How can I be mad at you for that? What good does it do in the end?

Either way, I love you and I miss you. I am not angry with you and hope that you have found peace where you are.

Love Susan

Daryn has been asking about you. She is 7 years old now, the youngest of your grandchildren. She is strong, focused, good-natured and very, very smart. She often asks me questions about why her mommy does not have a mommy. I explain to her that you died a long time ago, and that you are now an angel who is always watching over her.

From time to time when we are outside, she looks upwards and asks if she will be able to see you in the clouds because that’s where the angels live. I tell her that if she closes her eyes and thinks about you, she will see you. I think that she feels sad for me sometimes. She hugs me and tells me that you are watching over me too, and that when we all die we will be angels together and everyone will be happy.

I know in my heart that you can see her, I know that you are proud of her beauty, her wonder and her strength. I just wish that she could see you, and get to know who you really are. I am doing my best to remember you, to remember everything you taught me. I just feel like you are so far away.

I miss you. I wish you were here.

Love, Susan

I am 43 years old now. That’s 5 years younger than you were when you died. Somehow I still feel like you are 48, frozen in time…

Since you left me, I have been to college, traveled modestly, met and married a man, had 2 children, achieved a successful career, adopted a really large dog and a very cool cat, bought a house, and developed deep friendships. How is it that time passes us by so quickly? Somehow the hours turned into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, years – decades. It has been over 20 years since you died. How can that be?

I have so much to tell you. So many things have happened, so much joy, sorrow – so many experiences. All this has happened without you – and through it all I really needed your guidance and advice, but most of all I needed your love.

I miss you. I wish you were here.

Love Susan