Dear Mom,
Have you ever stopped to reflect on the “signals” you were sending as you tucked us in at night during those warm South Florida summer evenings? While the sun set and we were sent off to bed, you would leave to meet your friends for your daily dose of Scotch. The messages were unmistakable to me: “The drinks matter more than your dad, your siblings, or you. I choose to spend my time with them rather than sharing moments of love, understanding, and encouragement with you.”
I often dreamed of you turning back, charging through my bedroom door and saying, “Not today! Today, I want to know how you’re feeling, about the girl you lost, what scares you. I want to hear your thoughts, your poetry, and what makes you happy or sad. Instead of just dropping you off at the driving range, I want to watch you play and understand your love for the game, to see why instructors insist on refining your swing. I want to support your talent.”
“Today, let’s skip the haze. Let’s do what you want. We could watch a movie, grab a pizza or some ice cream, or just talk about whatever is on your mind.”
I realize now that alcoholism is a complex issue—what might have begun as a choice stemming from your own heartache transformed into a struggle that required immense strength to overcome. Yet, you needed to be the one to initiate that change, to recognize that there was something more valuable than the next drink.
Mom, you had the potential to confront the challenges life threw at you, to embrace your scars and demonstrate to us that true strength comes from overcoming pain rather than succumbing to it. You could have filled the voids in your heart with pursuits that mattered—like nurturing your dreams, inspiring us to chase ours, offering real hugs and genuine smiles, or serving others. In doing so, you would have shown us that being broken is just the beginning, the cocoon from which beauty can emerge.
I still ponder why you never took that step, why you didn’t acknowledge your struggles or seek help, especially when I know Dad would have supported you without hesitation. Most of all, I wonder why, even after all the damage, you never said you were sorry. I gave you every opportunity to do so, right until your last breath, and I’m left questioning: Why couldn’t you see your own worth? Why didn’t you think we mattered enough? Why wasn’t I important enough?
Your Son, Michael
P.S. It has taken time for me to understand the gaps and heal my own wounds, but I believe you would be proud of the man I’ve become—at least I hope so.
Parenting is an imperfect journey for all of us. Despite our best efforts, the desire for a “do-over” is common. However, rather than looking back, we should focus on “doing now.” For you, Mom, “doing now” means reflecting on whether your choices to cope with your own pain are teaching us how to handle life as adults. For me, it’s about finding the strength to forgive and transform the pain from the past into a force for positive change, not just in my life but in the lives of those who look to me for guidance.
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Summary:
This letter expresses the author’s feelings about their mother’s alcoholism, conveying the emotional impact of her choices on their family. It reflects on missed opportunities for connection and understanding, urging for healing and forgiveness. The message emphasizes the importance of focusing on the present and making positive changes rather than dwelling on the past.