A Letter to My Mother

By Debra Markert

Dear Mom,

I remember, in kindergarten, I sat next to you on your bed and asked, “Mom, why don’t you divorce dad?”  You never answered.

I carried that question with me for so long.  I saw the way he treated you, mom.  He never once held your hand, never once looked lovingly into your eyes, and never once smiled when you walked into a room.  I was there.  Did you see me in the corner when he’d order you around?  Did you see me when he expected instead of appreciated?  Did you see me when he’d never kiss you, but rather cup your breast and cop a feel each morning as he left for work?  Did you realize you had a daughter?  Did you realize you were leading by example?  You were my female role model, and I couldn’t even see you as a human.

I saw dad demoralize you, I saw you take it, and I in turn took you for granted.  It was the ultimate example of the trickle-down effect; dad used you, and that allowed me to do the same.  You were the family’s maid, you were never our mother.  I saw how you’d go years without buying new clothes for yourself just so dad could get that new video camera.  I saw you leave the kitchen table hungry just so I could have a second portion.  At the time it didn’t register as anything other than weakness, how could you not speak up for yourself?  I hated it when you’d stop to take a nap, how could you dare be so tired? 

I’m going to turn 30 years old soon, mom.  Isn’t it crazy how time has flown by?  Isn’t it crazy how the further away we get from a situation, the clearer it presents itself? 

There are so many things I now want to say to you, but pride stands in my way.  You and dad taught me to be stone-faced, so how can I now, three decades after my birth, utter new words for the first time?  How can I now recant all of the horrible things I thought?  How can I now tell you I love you?  How can I now tell you I’m sorry?  I’m sorry that dad never loved and respected you, I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you, and I’m sorry that I treated you like my personal servant.  You are a human, a woman…my mother.

You were never weak, you were strong and selfless.  You sacrificed your own happiness for your family, and we never bothered to notice.  Such is the plight of so many women, and I have to pause to wonder what the next generation of females will think of me.  Will I be dismissed as weak, too?  As each generation gains more and more strength, will the women who made their lives and freedom possible be diminished to “pushover” status?   You exhibited an amazing strength throughout my entire childhood, and ironically only now that I am a feminist can I see the strength a stay-at-home mother has.

My back would have broken under the weight, but you are still standing.  You’re a hell of a woman, mom.  If we meet again, and I see you napping, I’ll be the first to pull a blanket over you and tell the others, “She’s worked hard.  Let her rest.”  I understand now, and I cannot compliment you enough.

Love,

Your Daughter