13 Years since you killed yourself

Dear Mom,

I hate this day. I always hate this day. It’s always painful. I mean not like the beatings you used to give. I still have a fear of wire hangers, wooden spoons and hairbrushes. That shit really hurt. Neither of them scared like the ones you put on my spirit and my heart.

I am not sure if you really knew what you were doing, but you were good at it. You missed your calling. You should have been one of those Guantanamo Bay torture people doing interrogations. You would’ve been the beast. Those prisoners would have squealed like a greased pig escaping between  six inch wide metal bars.

You did have your talents. That’s for sure. The other day I picked up some material to attempt some more sewing items. Every time I get near a fabric store I think of you. Remember when I begged for you to make me a skirt from a polished cotton? LOL  Well, that is all the rage now. Actually, anything in fashion goes well.  I still believe that was your God given talent. Man, you could have been someone like Coco Channel or Dolce and Gabbana. I mean it would not be easy. You would’ve had to start small and sell on line, but in time you could have made. You really could have. I wished you would have hung on.

I hear you are causing quite the ruckus at the old house. They say buyers come and go each year. I’m not sure why you are so mad at those people. They never did anything to you. You should be nice.

Guess what? I am eating one of your favorite candies, Hot Tamales. Is it me or are they getting hotter every year? Ouch! My tongue is on fire. WTF?  I have to keep a glass of cold Coke near to simmer the burn.

Any who, I found your old Will. Apparently, no one knew you ever had one. It just turned up from an attorney in some letters about 12 years ago. I wish I had read it sooner. Remember all the insurance you had? The ones you forgot to mention in the suicide note. Well, none of that shit was claimed and now we are not certain what will happen.

I’m still writing. Yes, beside this stupid letter. I still write. It’s my gig. I started getting paid to write. Yeah, pretty cool. I earn an entire $0.10 for 2000 freaking ads shown on my blog, at least I know my worth. I still have my children’s books. I love them. Readers love them. Fans love them. Promise and Snow-po books are doing well.

I’ve got to get back to living my life, so I need to end this. I just want you to know I forgive and still love you. I wish you would find peace.



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