My Mother Texted Me
My mother texted me.
I deleted it so fast that later that night I actually sat back and wondered if I had imagined the whole thing.
But I hadn’t.
The screen shot is burned into my brain like artwork that you despise hanging above your bed.
I can’t not look at it, and yet it bothers me every time I give it any attention.
“Eden, we would like to sit down with you and give you a chance to talk. We want to really listen and hear what you have to say. We care about you.”
To really listen to me and hear what I have to say. We care about you.
It’s what I’ve always wanted.
It’s what I’ve always needed.
It’s what I always should have had.
But it’s too late now.
It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I can’t afford to care anymore.
I’m out now.
I don’t trust them.
If I give them a conversation, they will suck out my soul.
I don’t trust myself.
It was hard enough to leave once, I don’t want to have to leave twice.
The text went on to say that if I needed it, that they could help me financially.
I really need the help.
But my life is not for sale.
So mom, dad, I won’t be texting you back.
I won’t be calling.
We won’t be having that conversation.
But if you happen to read this, please know that I am doing alright.
I’m doing much better now, because you’re no longer here.
I forgive you, but I’ve moved on.
I’m not angry anymore, but I can’t afford to forget.
So please, mom, dad, if you really want to hear what I’m saying, if you really want to give me what I need,
I just need you to let me go.
You pushed me out of the nest, and I learned to fly.
I’m doing much better now.