Dear Momma

Savannah, 2020

What does it mean to be truly happy? If you asked me four months ago, I thought I knew the answer: Happiness meant that I'd have enough money to take care of my mom, to pay her bills, to take her out and buy anything I wanted. It wouldn't have taken much. My mom always said that money was the key to our happiness, and without it, we couldn't achieve our hopes and dreams. She didn't want anything out of the ordinary. She just wanted what everyone else wanted. I suppose that's why I thought that wealth could fix a broken family. A real family… you know the basics, a white picket fence, a steady income, a Minivan, and maybe a few piano lessons. The hunch is that this wasn't possible without any money, or at least I didn't think so at that time.

It doesn't sound too difficult to believe, does it? When you have a steady income? That's what I thought, too. And while part of me still wants to believe that it's possible, I know that the time for that is over. When I leave here, I know I won't come back.For now, though, I'll stand and look upon her unmarked grave. I'll whisper the same words I've said for four months "Come back to me." She won't be able to hear me, of course, because she is gone. But I had to come back to her location to say my goodbyes.

But I am confident of one thing: I will never see my mom again.

Part of me breaks at the thought of her being so close but so unreachable, but our stories ended in different ways. It wasn't easy for me to be able to accept the fact that she was gone because at one time, our stories were the same, we were the same, but that seemed like it had been a century ago. I've learned that memories can be harmful when we dwell on the things we ache to have. I mean, that's why we're here now. If we didn't dwell on so much that we don't have, then the burden that is on our shoulders wouldn't feel so heavy. And unlike her, I am now haunted by what could've been. I've asked myself a thousand times since she left. Why did you do it? Would you do it again?

Savannah 2021

I stand on the shore of Savannah, Georgia, as the moonlight dances on the ocean waves and the waves come back to wash over my toes. It's moments like these when I wish my mother were still here to witness that the beauty of life is shown in other ways. In my hands is what feels like a one-hundred-pound piece of guilt. It was the letter my mother wrote to me before she decided to quit breathing. For what seems like forever, I left the envelope unopened in my dresser drawer, where I knew it would be safe until I built up the courage to read her last thoughts. Now I stand overlooking the beautiful waves and take a deep breath in and collapse to my knees. The water feels like it's supporting me; I close my eyes, beginning to tear the envelope open. I open my eyes and begin to read.

My little Audrey,

There's so much I want to say to you, but where do I even begin? Do I start by telling you that you are loved so profoundly by me? Or that no matter what you feel, this is not your fault? Before you, my days were lonely. You brighten my day's little one. In the nine months that I held you, I felt like we were meant to be with each other. But what I realized 18 yrs later is that this couldn't be any more wrong.

I know this is a terrible time for you, but I also realize that you are 18, my love, and I won't have to go out seeing the images of you looking for a family to take you in. So here I am, searching for the words with tears streaming upon my face and hoping that you'll somehow forgive me for what I'm about to do.

I pray every night that you'll make it out better than me. You and I shared something extraordinary, and I know if dad were here, he'd be so proud of you. I don't want you to believe that you didn't mean as much to us as we did to you. You are a unique and beautiful Audrey Lynn Jones. I love you, and I know you'll do great things.

However, I know that as long as my body still has room to keep life inside me, then it also has room to drown me in dept. I know that this sounds like an excuse, but please believe me when I say I never met for you to get hurt. I'll understand if you hate me for the rest of your life. Part of me hates me too. I suppose that's why I'm writing this letter. I must acknowledge that the person I am will never deserve the love of a person like you. Whatever the future brings, I know that it carries excellent things for you, my dear.

I am so sorry- Momma.

She took her own life because of money? I knew she was in debt before I read the letter, but all at once, I still felt the moon begin to darken as if it's teasing me. My first instinct was to yell at her to scream and cry, but instead, I ran inside. I felt trapped by these walls where I once felt safe. I wanted to punch something, anything. Suddenly I found myself driving my fist into the wall over and over again. I am outraged; I feel betrayed. I was not too fond of the meaningless green paper that made my mother do this. I felt my skin break as the wall began to crumble to the ground—blood gushing from my fists. I crumpled to the ground whimpering from what I've become. I can barely see as tears mask my eyes. So small and simple lays a tin box beneath the remains of the fallen wall. I grab it, then back away as far as I can get. I move quickly through the house now.

Before I know it, I'm sitting on my mother's old bed. I haven't been here since she passed, but somehow I feel her hands on my shoulder, I smell her scent on the bed, and I hear her voice as she guides my hands to the box. My hands shake as I unlatch the rustic latches. I lift the lid and pour out its contents to find a little black book. Beneath it, however, I see a plastic bag full of what looks like one-hundred-dollar bills. I bring the load closer to my face; dust falls into my lap. I sit and stare, bewildered and shocked.

Moments later, despite the warmth in my hands, I opened up the little black book. I felt a sudden dryness in my throat, not because of what I found in the notebook but because of what I did not see. I don't know what I expected to find, but my mind flashed to the letter my mother wrote for me. Tears fall from my eyes to the blank pages. I slowly put the contents of the box back in. I lay back down on the bed and turn away from the pack. I stare outside my window and see a brilliant bright shooting star across the sky. I close my eyes and daydream about finding this money a year ago.

The following morning I pull out the box, and I know what I have to do. I carry the box over to my desk and pull out the little black notebook. I open my drawer and find a black gel pen. I stare at the blank pages, and my hands begin to pour out words.

Dear Momma,

What does it mean to be truly happy? For a moment, I flash to the words you once said to me "money is the key to our happiness, and without it we can't achieve our hopes and dreams"...but that seemed like so long ago, almost two years ago, to be exact.

I stare at the water now. I wish now more than ever I could hold your hand and lead you out of the darkness. Because to me, happiness is not wealth, and despite it feeling that way sometimes, it explains why I'm going to do what I'm about to do. I wish now, I could show you that happiness goes much beyond wealth. Happiness is love. Love is family; love is friends; love is those indescribable moments when your breath gets taken away by the beauty your eyes take in. If you take one smile and give that smile to the next person, they will be sure to return the favor to someone else and so on. Happiness is the art of releasing the most unpleasant moments in life and replacing them with the most beautiful moments. Don't you see momma happiness isn't obtaining something we want; it recognizes what we already have! So here and now, I hope my love shines brightly wherever you may be and pours upon you all the happiness I've experienced without anything money could have given me. Because momma, you were my most significant source of joy.

- Sincerely, Audrey.

I stare at my wall and examine the work I've done. I smile now, not because I'm happy I found a treasure but because I'm so glad I could recognize the treasures I already have. I hope that whoever finds this treasure next can realize the same beauty, but for now, I'll take my last bag and be on my way—goodbye, momma. I love you forever.