I love you, and I miss you more than you may ever really know. I miss the real you, the one who is so very different from the unrecognizable person have become. I miss the little things, like the 2 phone calls every night. At times, I know I used to get annoyed by them because I'd be trying to get dinner ready and help the kids with homework, but I miss them now. They were normal, mother-daughter conversations, and I miss those. Whitney Houston died last week, and if things were normal, we would have talked about that. I would have reminded you that we listened to her tape everyday on the way to daycare for more days than I can recall. You would have reminded me that, during one of her tours, I asked you to call Whitney and invite her to stay at our house when she came to town, and we would have laughed about it. We didn't talk about it, though. There are times when you don't want to talk to me at all. Then, there are times when you are so angry and mean when you talk to me, and it crushes my spirit. I know that, right now, you want me to call you, but I am afraid. Throughout my whole life, you've never truly been mad at me, and it scares me that if I call you'll hurt me again. If I could talk to you, though, there are some things I'd tell you about.
The real you would be proud of us. You have always been helpful to people in difficult times of their lives, and that has rubbed off on us. You'd be so proud of the way we have tried to help you, the way we have tried to be so tough. We have spent more hours than we can count trying to find the help you need. We have continued to try, even though our efforts have made you hate us. You would also be happy to know that your daughters are taking care of their dad. He's simply devastated, and we are doing everything we can to comfort him and help him get through this. I know the real you would want that for him. You know how he is, so independent, and you'd be proud of how pushy we are being, forcing him to let us help him. I also think you'd be happy that so many people are reaching out to all three of us and making sure we have the support we need.
The real you would be sad to know that I have experienced the darkest days of my entire life because of the anger and hatred with which you have become filled. You would be upset to know that my birthday may never feel the same because of the letter you sent me this year, and you'd be embarrassed to know that you carry it around with pride. The real you would be devastated to know the horrid, damaging lies you are saying about us. If the real you could look at this person from the outside, you'd accept our help, because you wouldn't like this new person and you would want the old you back. You should know, however, that I forgive you for everything. I forgive the real you, because the real you didn't do any of it. I forgive the real you, but I may never get the chance to tell the real you that. I'm starting to think I'll never see her again. I hope I'm wrong.
I love you, Mom.