Letters From the Other Side
Ah, letters. Getting one in the mail, a real, genuine letter, well, for me it’s one of the most satisfying things to happen in the world. A quick card, a thank you note, a love letter sealed with a kiss, a package with cookies and treats, a little something to let you know that you’re on someone’s mind. It’s wonderful. But, I rarely get them, which upon only a moment’s reflection occurred to me is mostly, if not entirely my fault. When was the last time I wrote someone a letter? And how many times had I written a single one and given up entirely on the endeavor of reaching out (in such a vulnerable way I might add!) after having not heard back?
The truth is, I’ve done this countless times. Maybe if I had persisted, I would have created at least one, perhaps two willing pen pals, roping in the occasional unwilling participant who’s polite nature would disallow them to decline the invitation to connect, and so hangs on for a few months of letter writing before letting things fade naturally away. Had I simply kept going and pushed through the awkwardness endeavoring to participate in such an archaic practice might induce, enduring the clunkiness one must navigate at the outset of turning a practice into a habit, I would likely have achieved my goal of connecting to someone I value through letter writing.
So I did something about it. I asked my mom to be my pen pal. Well, forced her to really. I bought 30 cards and some forever stamps, and I self addressed half of the envelopes, filled out the return addresses on each one and placed the postage on the lot of them. I included paper, pens and a folder to contain her new stationary, and made sure that there were places for pens to be held into place so as not to risk losing them quite so easily. This way, there would be no excuse for her to not write me. And sure enough, not long after she received her stationary did I begin to see letters in my mailbox once again.
And it was amazing! A little pick me up on an ordinary day. It was also a great way to get a sense of how my mother was doing, as we live on opposite coasts and as phone calls are sporadic amongst us and tedious to arrange. Not entirely impossible just, difficult to predict the outcome of, and therefore the emotional toll it might take and hard to control. I could call her and let her know I only have 15 minutes to speak, only for her to be completely confused and put-out as to why I was rushing to get off the line by minute twenty five. Currently, the latest impediment to our conversations is her muting herself on accident, leaving me speaking the same line into the phone before hanging up “Mom, if you can hear me, I cannot hear you. I believe you have muted yourself on accident. I’m going to hang up so you can call me again” only for her to call me back straight away and repeat the accident again, and again. And no, I’m not exaggerating. It’s rough. Especially when she’s the only real lifeline I have to my youngest sibling, who is and has been homeless for over a decade.
That we’re here today, letter-writing to one another, me sending cards to a stable home where she lives with my other sibling is a huge deal. She fought me hard after my dad died. After his passing I forced her to go into rehab, not only so she would have a place to stay, but more importantly so she could address the issue of her addiction. She went from rehab center to rehab center to half way house, to group home, only to finally get arrested and thrown out of the group home. From there she got a case worker, staying in the shelters where she connected with my brother and his parter who were also using the shelters at the time. She started walking everywhere. She started going to her therapy and doctors appointments more regularly. She went to the church every morning and prayed. Ladies from church took her to lunch. She started to make friends. She began the long road to recovery.
Today she’s doing much better. Her social worker is an actual angel, and we are so lucky to have him in our lives. She’s now in a place where the most I force on her is letter writing and healthy, clear boundaries. It’s a way I can help her without it breaking me. She told me the other day her writing letters to me has given her more confidence in her ability to express herself, and that it’s even helped her organize information and allowed for more understanding surrounding my youngest sibling’s housing situation. She feels empowered more and more which is more than I could have even hoped or asked for.
We still have a long way to go. Often times it’s two steps forward and sprint right back to where we started, but progress is being made. Her letters are proof of that. So, I look forward to sharing some of the correspondence between my mother and I with you here, and I hope you get inspired to become pen pals with someone you love. Maybe start by scoping out some personalized stationary. That’s always a fun place to start.