MONDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2022 - STORY WEEK

 MONDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2022 - STORY WEEK

I am writing short stories this week.  Generally, I’m a “Pollyanna”, but today’s story might not be so sweet.

*****

Vickie reread the letter for maybe the millionth time.  She had to reread it.  And, like the 999,999 times before she had her tissues at hand for her tears.

*****

“Dear Mom,

This will be the last time you hear from me.  I’m mailing it at the Seattle Post Office just before I shoot myself.  So, I have maybe an hour left to live - 45 minutes to finish writing this, the 10-minute walk to the post office and the minute to kill myself, and four minutes for the body to drain of blood.

I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  Even that doesn’t say it all.  How about one more.  Mom, I am so sorry I hurt you, let you down, and disappointed you.  I’m sorry for the worthless mess I’ve made of myself.  Dirty, rotten, worthless.

From that first time I snuck out of the house to have a beer with Mike, to the first time I smoked a joint with Brian, to the first time I stole from you so I could buy my own weed.  To dropping out of school to be with Sherry.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  

I’m sorry you and Dad had to kick me out of the house for bringing drugs into my room, and even though you paid for a small apartment, I kept pushing the limits.  You bailed me out the first time I was arrested and you paid for me to have rehab so I would avoid prison time.  Ha - what good did that rehab do - but you paid for it.  You had dreams for me.  Graduate from high school, graduate from college, get a good job, get married, live a good life, and give you grandchildren.  Boy did I ever screw that up.  I’m sorry.

When Sherry said we could go to Seattle, I knew I had to - to get away from your nagging. (Or to get away from the shit that was going on in my brain.).  

I did learn how to make money - selling weed and pills to innocent kids.  I thought I was cool.  I could make 500 bucks a night and blow it all the next day.  

Then Sherry fucked me over and her new boyfriend stabbed me - yeah - what an awesome life.  I slept on the streets, maybe in a homeless shelter for a few nights except when I was so high they wouldn’t let me in.  I learned how to steal - first to steal a blanket from one of the other guys, then how to pick pockets and steal stuff from stores and pawn it for money for more stuff.  Yeah, I was smart - street smart.  

I’m hungry - I go through the dumpsters and find food.  I’m tired - getting high is awesome but it kills you in the long run.  It's harder to find a place to shoot coke in my arm - but it’s harder to live without it.

I’m done.  This world will be a better place without me.  

And, Mom, I do love you.  I’m glad you took me to church and Sunday School - but I guess that God stuff didn’t work with me.  

I’m so sorry.  

Randy”

*****

Vickie put the well-worn letter down and picked up her tissue.  A silent prayer went through her head “Oh God, forgive Randy, let him know I love and forgive him.”  Then the tears streamed down her face.  “Merciful God, forgive him - and forgive me”.

Her husband Tony had died two years ago of a heart attack.  Vickie lived alone in an apartment.  Maybe she - like Randy and Tony - didn’t belong here anymore.  Maybe she should just get it over too.

But, she couldn’t.

God would take her someday.  It would be over someday.  But, she still had things to do.  She had to drive her senior friends who no longer drove - Bonnie, Mary, and Rita - to the store; she had to help deliver food for meals on wheels.  She had to survive - and smile - and love.  Only Mary and Rita knew the hurt in her life.  But, she had a mission - a mission of love.

But she too had her doubts - maybe love didn’t always win.  But she knew that she couldn’t let those doubts past the gateway to her brain.  She HAD TO LOVE.

**********

Friends, it is the Christmas/Holiday Season.  Some people are hurting - get your “antennas” working so you can show love to those around you.  They might have their “Randys” in their lives.  None of us have had perfect lives.  We all have hurts - some bigger than others, but we all have our hurts.

My friend Mary was hurting last week as she remembered her son’s suicide.  Every year she reflects on what he could be doing now (some 15 years later).  Even in this story, Randy thinks nobody cares for him.  Even though he had messed up, his mother loved him dearly.  Might some rehab work?  Might he “find God” and turn his life around?  

Today’s story is modeled a little on another friend’s daughter - who still fights drugs every day.  

No, you don’t have to be a psychologist or counselor, just be a friend, be a lover.  

And, never lose track that Love Wins, that Love Transforms.  

*****

Karen Anne White, ©, December 19, 2022