Dear Mom,

I haven’t talked to you in 44 years. You could say it sounds like forever, but it seems like yesterday when you dropped me off at the babysitters, promising to return. I have always thought about what I would say to you and how I would say it. I’m not sure what that would look like, but it sounds sad. You never know, maybe I would laugh when I’d hear the story of why you didn’t come back for your five year old child. Maybe you got arrested or maybe you met a really nice guy and he took you out to lunch. I do have to say that was a very long lunch. I think we would have had fun together. I became one of the Best Amateur fighters at 106 pounds in the country. You would have been proud. Although, after I retired from the sport, I got addicted to drugs and did 14 years in prison. I sure could have used a good talkin’ to from you at that time. It seems all my relationships with girls are terrible. For some reason, I just don’t trust the ladies. Anyway, you should stop by sometime and say hi.

Your boy,
Dave, age 51

Jenny,

In middle school, when I first met you, you were kind and thoughtful. You talked to me when I was the super awkward sixth grader on the first day of school. You helped me learn the ropes of school that you somehow learned from your brother. I was too shy to ever inform you of the crush I held from the day I met you.

The day I learned you had taken your first puff of pot, a part of me died. That single puff created the demise of your life as I knew it, and the demise of my crush on you. From pot you went on to other drugs, harder drugs; however, I did nothing to stop what I thought was wrong. I heard stories through the grapevine that you passed out after mixing horse tranquilizers and alcohol, and had to get your stomach pumped in the ER. Why would anyone, especially you, start fooling around with drugs? You came from a good and loving family.

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Hello my son,

I know that you’re listening to me, and I know that you’re watching and that you understand what I’m writing to you. Look son, maybe this seems a little absurd, but I always wanted to talk to you. So many of these nights, you are here in my dreams. I see your face, your brilliant, gorgeous little eyes, and your beautiful little body that now is just four years old. I know that when you’re in my dreams, it’s because you understand this pain that I carry inside myself, this suffering, this anguish for no longer having you in my arms. For not seeing you grow up, for not being able to hug you and tell you that I love you with all my heart.

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