The other day I wrote a letter to my mother's addiction in my writing class. I read it to someone yesterday for the first time. The person cried. And so did I. Here is a second letter, influenced by my conversation with my mother on the phone last night...
It seems your importance has diminished by leaps and bounds. My mother is breaking out of your cocoon you had around her. She now sees light, truth, and hope. For that, I'm thankful.
Since you don't have such power over my mother any more, she is able to backtrack over her memories, or what she has left of them. She realizes just how long you and she had your little love affair. Though she couldn't say the actual words, she was aware that you two have been together, entwined, for twenty-one years. That's a fourth of a lifetime. I'm sure you aren't happy about this new arrangement. I'm sure you are panicking and latching on to any last minute hope that you and my mother may be together again. I'm praying every day you are out of our lives forever.
Sure, it won't be easy. We'll have to help her fight you daily, perhaps even hourly. Taking one hour at a time, one day at a time, will be the strongfast hold she can have to put you at bay. I'll help her do just that. You see, last night was the first real conversation I have had with mother in so long. She sounded happy and clear-headed. She feels some independence, and it makes her giddy.
So, addiction, say goodbye. Feel endangered. Give up.
daughter of someone special