Dear Mom,

Dear Mom,
Over the years, I have thought of many things I would like to say to you. Some of them kind and full of love, some of hurt and some of anger. There are so many things that I don't even know where to begin. I suppose I'll start somewhere and go from there.

It hurt my feelings when you told me that I needed to give up my "whimsical attraction to other women." It isn't whimsy, Mom. I am genuinely attracted to other women in a sexual manner. I can't change who I am, and I'm not sure I would want to. I suppose in my mind I thought it would be easy for you to accept me. Uncle Dick, Aunt Janice, Aunt Becky and Uncle Kevin are all homosexual. The statistic in our family is 1 in 3 is homosexual. Somehow I thought that would make you more accepting of my own sexual proclivities. I suppose I shouldn't have assumed that just because we have that statistic that you would be accepting. After all, your grandmothers never came to terms with it either.

It hurts that you are gone so much lately. I feel like I never really get to see you or talk to you. And I feel like when we do hang out you are mad at me. I feel sometimes like you just use me to take care of Chris when you aren't there and that is both annoying and angering.

I'm mad that you stayed married to W. as long as you did. I suppose it's time to admit that. I know you kept clinging to the belief that God gave him to you and I know you keep saying I need to stop being mad at God for it. But if God gave W. to us and God is omnipotent, then God is cruel. He knew what W. was going to do long before he did it. He knew that he was going to starve Chris and beat us. He knew that W. was going to take advantage of you. He knew that W. was going to take advantage of me. He knew W. was going to try to turn Hannah against us. And that he would mostly succeed. But you stayed. And I know you loved him, I know you thought it was somehow God's plan.

I'm not angry that you couldn't defend us anymore. It wouldn't have mattered. W. was going to do what he would, regardless of your intervention. He would have just shamed us into not telling you anyway.

There were good times, though Mom. I do remember some of the good points. Like learning to play chess and trips to the Children's Museum. Learning about Sacajawea and Corrie Ten Boom and heroes of the Bible. There were fishing trips and moments where I felt really close to you. I feel closer to you now than I did then.

I was afraid to be close to you. I was afraid you would die, especially after your massive miscarriage. I was afraid that if I cared more than I already did you would die and I'd be all alone. Sometimes I still feel that way. I'm afraid to love you because I know it will hurt more than anything when you are gone. And we all go at some point or another. I couldn't stand to see you deteriorate the way Grandma Bobbi did. I just couldn't.

I still feel lingering guilt from some of the thoughts I had when I was younger. Thoughts that if you, Chris and Hannah all died that you would all be better off because things were so terrible for a while there. I felt like a terrible daughter and sister because I wanted you to be gone so that you wouldn't suffer. But at the same time I couldn't imagine losing you. And I was afraid to lose you. I'm still afraid to lose you.

You're my best friend, Mom. In spite of hurt feelings and anger and fear. In spite of all that, I can't imagine what it would be like to not have you. And I can't imagine not talking to you on the phone for silly reasons or going to O'Charley's all the time. Or sharing some of my random music with you.

I suppose all of this has just been supposition to say, I love you Mom. More than any other human being on this earth. More than I could ever fully express. And even though you have hurt my feelings and pissed me off, I wouldn't be the person I am today without you. And, most of the time, I'm pretty happy with the person I am. Bisexuality, hatred for God and religion, lack of forgiveness for W., currently divergent political views and all.

love,
Sarai