Dear daughter

Dear daughter,

It’s been a long time since we last saw each other, and I miss you deeply. Screens can’t bridge the distance or let you feel my hugs, and travel isn’t easy for me. So, I’m reaching out with this, the next best thing: a letter from my heart to yours. If only having you close were as simple as picking up a pen.

I’ve been thinking lately about our latest conversation, the one that led to an argument and the last few months’ silence. You say you don’t like the things I tell you and the children, but I can’t stop thinking that no one else can help you the way I do. After all, I’m your mother. I know you, and I know you miss me. There’s no other way, and we both know it.

You should not be angry about whatever I tell you, because I do it with love, and the kids... well, they aren’t so small now. Your daughter is seventeen, and the boys are old enough to know better. None of them is a baby, and it shouldn’t be forbidden for me, as their grandmother, to love them. You keep on telling me that my communication style doesn’t match your needs, that I’m trying to control you and your family, and the more I think about it, the more unfair it seems... unfair? No! Ridiculous! How could I control you when you left so many years ago, when you put so much land between us, when you made your life mission to avoid any kind of healthy relationship between us?

You know how difficult life was for me since you were a child. I was alone. I had no one but a crying baby by my side, one who entirely depended on me to survive. What would have happened if I had chosen another path? Have you ever thought about it? Have you ever considered how different, how good my life could have been? I could have gone to university. I would have a career. I, for sure, would have a family I’d love, a family who’d love me. Instead, you reminded me of your father every day. You are the spitting image of him. Have you ever thought about how it was for me? Of course not.

We were supposed to be together. You told me you’d be out for a few months, to finish your studies, even if you never were so good at them. It’s a miracle to see you getting your degree, but what for? You left me here, in this mediocre town, waiting for you to return. Still, you never did. You told me you had a job, friends, and even a boyfriend. Good for you, I guess, although I don’t believe it. You got a low-paid job in a low-pay country. Your friends were a bunch of people like you, eager to leave their homes, looking for happiness somewhere else, away from responsibilities. And the boyfriend... well, we all saw how that turned out, right? Once he had what he wanted, once he got sick of you, he left you. You see? I’m the one who stayed by your side, though, believe me, it would have been easier to leave. Nevertheless, I’m still here. One day, you might realize what it is to be like me, alone, but now you talk proudly about what you’ve accomplished.

Let’s be clear, though. If you have anything, it’s because I raised you. It wasn’t your father, your friends, your boyfriend— the one you haven’t married after all these years— or his family, the one you treat as if they were yours. But remember: they are not your family. They would leave you in a heartbeat if they knew what you are, if you messed up. You see? I never did that. I’m the one who always stood by your side, and you don’t even thank me. I thought I’d taught you better, but I guess I’m wrong. You still need to learn, and life usually gives us what we deserve... and what we don’t.

I’ve been sad since you told me you needed space, how I should behave, talk, and love, but I know you don’t think about it. You say you’re busy, even if you depend entirely on someone else to pay the bills. You, who always gloated about having good jobs, just quit everything as if I had never taught you how important it is to be strong, independent, and self-sufficient. No matter how many times I’ve asked you, you’ve never told me your reasons, not the real ones. No one will ever believe your love for literature is so deep that it made you want to write above anything. That’s just ridiculous, and probably a lie you tell yourself and anyone who wants to listen.

You told me I’m too harsh on you, but the truth is that you need me in your life. “You are toxic,” you told me once, as if that’s something you should tell your mother, the person who loves you the most in the whole world. You’ll see one day, you’ll feel it in your own skin. You have three children, but I know you never wanted that. You probably had them because that was the way to make him stay, wasn’t it? At least, I was able to make my own decisions. I left because I wanted to. I don’t know why you stayed with that man. I don’t see what you see in him, but I know what he did: he tore us apart; You, me, the children.

I’ve been talking to my friends, and I even went to therapy once. Everyone tells me the same: that you are just troubled, that you’ll come back, but I’m tired of waiting. I thought about paying you a visit for a few days during my class break. I cannot miss my pottery classes, you know? It’s important to be active at my age. You should do the same: have a hobby and take care of yourself.

I bought you an adorable sweater. I hope it fits you, though you probably gained some weight. You should eat better. I can cook for you if you want once I’m there. Let me know if the dates fit your busy schedule. I have the right to see you and my grandchildren.

Love you,

Mother