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thepainted_ladyDear Gail,
We don’t talk, really. I mean, I’m not sure we’ve ever sat down and actually had a conversation, at least not a real one, deep and true. And yet, you’re family, part of this place, and of us. More than that, you’re a mother--a better one by far than I have known how to be. I watch you with Jennie and I...envy you, having her, having the chance to be with her. You make me realize that maybe I could have done things differently, if only I’d known this place existed.
Even now...you’re the one to have taken Amanda in. You’ve given her a home, a place to sleep, a feeling of stability that she doesn’t seem to get from me. You’re still more of a mother to her than I am, and I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m grateful. I’m jealous. I’m wistful. I wish I knew how to do it. You make it look so easy. I know it’s not.
I wish I had the nerve to actually talk to you about it, to ask you about it, but I just...feel lost, like a failure when I think of it, and I can’t seem to find the nerve to ask what should be the easiest questions in the world.
So....here’s this instead, a cop out, maybe, as a letter, a note slid under your door. I’d like to talk sometime, if you’re willing. I want to be a good mother to my daughter. You know her better than I do...
Can you help me?
Lydia
[complete list here.]
We don’t talk, really. I mean, I’m not sure we’ve ever sat down and actually had a conversation, at least not a real one, deep and true. And yet, you’re family, part of this place, and of us. More than that, you’re a mother--a better one by far than I have known how to be. I watch you with Jennie and I...envy you, having her, having the chance to be with her. You make me realize that maybe I could have done things differently, if only I’d known this place existed.
Even now...you’re the one to have taken Amanda in. You’ve given her a home, a place to sleep, a feeling of stability that she doesn’t seem to get from me. You’re still more of a mother to her than I am, and I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m grateful. I’m jealous. I’m wistful. I wish I knew how to do it. You make it look so easy. I know it’s not.
I wish I had the nerve to actually talk to you about it, to ask you about it, but I just...feel lost, like a failure when I think of it, and I can’t seem to find the nerve to ask what should be the easiest questions in the world.
So....here’s this instead, a cop out, maybe, as a letter, a note slid under your door. I’d like to talk sometime, if you’re willing. I want to be a good mother to my daughter. You know her better than I do...
Can you help me?
Lydia
[complete list here.]
