Dear Mom, Do You Ever Wish You Would Have Just Let the Boys Hang Me?

I mean, I can’t say that I’d blame you. I did try to kill you, after all. No, not on purpose! I’m not a psychopath.... at least I don’t think so.

You know the story you told me about how the afterbirth slipped back in after I was born, and how you nearly lost your life? I’m sorry, I didn’t know what I was doing, I swear. First I decided to send you into labour six weeks early, but then I changed my mind. I guess I just didn’t want to face the big bad world without the comfort of your uterus. My chubby little naked body got one whiff of that cruel cold air and said “screw this shit, I’m going back in”. Obviously it didn’t work. I’m here and you’re stuck with me.

You had other opportunities to free yourself from your dreadfully wonderful daughter as well, but you missed them all. What’s wrong with you, Mom? You could have gotten rid of me several times, but you kept rescuing me or taking me back. Are you nuts?

I remember a story you told me that occurred within hours of my birth. As you know, they didn’t keep the newborns in the same room as the mothers back then. When they got you stabilized after the delivery, you asked the nurse to bring your baby. They brought you the wrong one. Even though the nurse insisted that the child you were holding was your daughter, and even though you had never met me prior to that moment, you knew she wasn’t me. Call it maternal instinct if you will, but the name on the band confirmed that you were right. You told me the nurse apologized, then returned to the nursery to get the right baby, me. Do you every look back on that moment and think “Oh shit. That was my chance?” You know what, Mom? That was your chance and you blew it.

It wouldn’t be the last chance you would have to get rid of me either. Your next one came two years later, the one that will explain the title of this story. It’s yet another tale of childhood that I don’t remember. A humorous tale for you to reminisce about, but one I assume was terrifying at the time. Of course I’m referring to that fateful day at Nan and Pop’s house.

You were in the kitchen on the bottom floor. My brothers and I were playing in the living room on the second floor when you heard me crying. You didn’t rush to get to me right away, as you understood it was probably just me being a whiny toddler, or the boys refusing to let me play with them.

As you approached the stairs however, you heard a conversation that made your blood run cold:

Jerry: “Pull harder Bobby”

Bobby: “I’m pulling as hard as I can. I can’t lift her.”

You told me when you heard those words mixed with the sound of my cries, you knew something very wrong was happening. You rushed up to the second floor to find me against the wall below the staircase leading to the third floor. My brothers were near the top of the stairs trying to lift me off the floor with a skipping rope they had hung through the banister and tied around my neck. You got there just in time to save my life.

Strike two! You missed your second chance to get rid of me, Mom. Maybe you should have waited an extra minute or so. You did say that I was on my tiptoes and mere seconds from being hung. Hey, I just thought of something, Mother. Is that why you like those two jackasses more than me, because they tried to help you get rid of your pesky daughter once and for all?

Well I’m still here, because you kept rescuing me. As you know, that wasn’t even the last opportunity you had to rid yourself of me. There was yet another chance to purge me from your life about three years after that incident. It was when we temporarily moved to Ontario when I was five, and it’s yet another story that I do not remember, but know only through anecdotes.

We were living in a small town north of Toronto, on an old dirt road far off the main highway. It was a place where there was no traffic to be concerned with, and a time when there was no fear of children being threatened by strangers.

Being friends with the next door neighbours, all the kids hung out together in the shared, unfenced garden between the houses. We would play games outside, while you and your friend hung out inside, coming out every five minutes or so to check on us.

One time, when you came out, I wasn’t there. All the children were accounted for except me. You told me that you and your friend, and even the kids called and searched for me, but I was nowhere to be found. You eventually decided to start walking out toward the main road. You didn’t get very far when a stranger pulled up in car with me in it! He told you that he found me out by the main highway, and decided to drive in our road to look for my family. You thanked him for bringing me home safe.

Here’s the thing you never understood though. I was missing a total of half an hour, you said. It was a half hour walk to the main highway for an ADULT. How could a five year old make it all the way out there, be picked up by a stranger, and returned in the same amount of time? You genuinely wondered if the guy was attempting to abduct me, and changed his mind once he discovered what an annoying little brat I was.

Did you ever consider telling him I wasn’t your child? That was another golden opportunity you had to get rid of me but you missed out on that one too. You took me back, you silly woman. Strike three. You’re out!

Now here we are, once again living in Toronto together more than fifty years later. It's nice to reminisce about old times and laugh about the times you almost lost me. I'm happy that you remember them so well. It's the recent memories you have trouble with sometimes, like the question you asked five times in the last five minutes.

Our relationship has changed somewhat from mother and daughter to patient and caregiver. It’s been difficult at times, I’ll admit. Sometimes you say things that are so cruel, they make me wonder if you ever really loved me at all, or if you wished I wasn’t your daughter.

I know it’s not your fault. I remind myself that it’s not you, it’s the disease. It's really hard sometimes, though. Even though I know that the words that are breaking my heart are coming from your broken mind, those words still hurt. I know your heart is not sick, though. It’s just as loving as ever. I have to remind myself of that as well. I can’t let your broken mind break my heart else my still fully functioning mind will break your heart in return. I hope that make sense.

Today, when I started this letter, I was in a bad place. I didn’t know what to say. I was once again feeling like you don’t want me in your life. Then I remembered all the stories you told me of all the times you could have gotten rid of me had you chosen to do so. I mean, come on. You had three watermelon sized curveballs thrown right down the middle of the plate and you didn’t even take a swing. Why didn’t you swing, Mom? You didn’t swing because you do want me in your life. I need to remember that.

You proved it when I was a child and more recently just a few years ago. Remember when you said you wanted to move home to Newfoundland? You were gone for only three months before you called me saying you wanted to come back. I guess you did want me in your life after all. I know you love me Mom, even when you can't stand to be in the same room as me, and believe it or not I love you too.

Your only daughter who you’re stuck with for life