Letter to My Darling Mother

Dear Mom:

You raised me as though I was an only child because my older brother moved out when I was six months old to get married and start his own family. In my eyes, I felt lucky because you showered me with all your love during my childhood. Although the love was suffocating at times for me, I became addicted to your attention and all the love you offered me.

To the average person, all this love would generate immense satisfaction. As for me, it produced great fear. You always told me that my father's long work hours would undoubtedly shorten his life expectancy. At first, I largely ignored your warning, but after coming home from school at the age of 10 and finding my father dead of a brain aneurysm, I realized that your assessment was spot-on.

Becoming the sole breadwinner put a lot of pressure on you since my newspaper route job barely moved our financial needle in support of our household. I noticed that your cigarette smoking escalated after dad passed away. Did you do this because of our financial pressures?

I remember you asking me to go to the store almost every day to buy your cigarettes. And while the dangers of smoking 55-years ago were not as well documented as they are today, I always noticed that after smoking, you often had a terrible cough that sounded as though you had a trombone instrument player trapped inside your chest. I was not a medical doctor, but I knew that this bad habit would not bode well for your health. But after you told me that without the ability to smoke, you could not survive, I became fearful of discouraging you from smoking.

I had already lost one parent, and I did not want to lose my last and only parent. While I will never know if ”not surviving,” meant that you would run away or commit suicide, the prospects of either outcome were too much to bear after losing my first parent at such an early age. For this reason, I became your enabler. I continued to walk to the store whenever you asked to buy your nicotine sticks.

Mom, I should have been firmer and advised you to stop smoking cigarettes as an escape. Instead, I used an appeasement strategy to prevent you from leaving me too early. Although I should have known better, I convinced myself that life without your love and support would be too unbearable to fathom. My lack of tough love caused you to go from smoking one pack per day to two-and-a-half packs per day. It is no wonder why you suffered from emphysema and asthma in your later years of life.

Mom, I am writing this letter to tell you how sorry I am for not doing more to discourage you enough from smoking. You were bedridden and hospitalized so many times that I don't remember the number of times that an ambulance took you to the hospital for week-long stays at a time.

My only regret is that I waited 15 years after your death to let you know how sorry I am for not doing more to prevent you from pursuing a lifestyle that had such a negative impact on the quality of your life during the last 20 years of your life.

I am sorry for all the suffering I caused you by my actions. I sure hope that if I had written this letter when you were still alive, you could have found a way to understand my actions and accept my sincere apology.

Regards,

Your Loving Son