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Letter To The Dead
Sometimes I wonder if we buried the wrong person that day, I never saw the coffin myself, I never saw your body inside of it, I never saw that you died. All I saw was your hospital bed exiting your room from afar, I didn’t come closer, I stopped being close to you years ago. Right when I realized who you were, even if I didn’t know the full extent of it at that age. But I knew that you must’ve died, if you hadn’t died my life would’ve been different. I wouldn’t have the mother I have now if you hadn’t died that day.
The eulogist that day — I had never seen him before, and I wondered if he truly knew you — made me think I had walked into the wrong funeral, his words of praise and love unfamiliar to the memories and perspective I had in my mind. My great aunt boasted about your generosity, all the things you had done for other families and children and it made me wonder, was I not worth the same thing? Was I not worth your kindness? What made you hate a child?
Maybe it was because I didn’t hug you or show you the affection you thought you deserved. If you had just taken the time to learn how I showed I care, maybe that would’ve changed your mind. I never was one for touch or hugs, even my parents grew to accept that, I made things for people and I learned to prepare food for people. That’s how I love. I know that’s why you chose her as your granddaughter and neglected to tell people about your actual grandchild. She listened to you, she knew exactly what to do. While I was too complicated as a child apparently, even though you were the only one who ever complained. You made people forget about your daughter and your grandchild, everyone was surprised whenever we mentioned being your family. Was that how you showed your noteworthy kindness to us? By replacing us with people that fit your expectations?
I want you to know that I never looked back at your coffin, I never went to check on you when you were pronounced dead in the hospital, even though I was in the waiting room. I want you to know that ‘your granddaughter’ did, she saw you through every state, and she stayed with you while you left. That made her better than me, I’m sure, she was willing to be blind. She was willing to be forgiving, while I stayed on the sidelines, searching for patterns to avoid being tangled up in a trap. But at least I can thank you for the lessons you have taught me, albeit by accident. I’ll forever see the people around me as villains, searching through their words for underlying meaning and reading into everything they do for me.
Thank you,
[------]
© E. Orchids
The eulogist that day — I had never seen him before, and I wondered if he truly knew you — made me think I had walked into the wrong funeral, his words of praise and love unfamiliar to the memories and perspective I had in my mind. My great aunt boasted about your generosity, all the things you had done for other families and children and it made me wonder, was I not worth the same thing? Was I not worth your kindness? What made you hate a child?
Maybe it was because I didn’t hug you or show you the affection you thought you deserved. If you had just taken the time to learn how I showed I care, maybe that would’ve changed your mind. I never was one for touch or hugs, even my parents grew to accept that, I made things for people and I learned to prepare food for people. That’s how I love. I know that’s why you chose her as your granddaughter and neglected to tell people about your actual grandchild. She listened to you, she knew exactly what to do. While I was too complicated as a child apparently, even though you were the only one who ever complained. You made people forget about your daughter and your grandchild, everyone was surprised whenever we mentioned being your family. Was that how you showed your noteworthy kindness to us? By replacing us with people that fit your expectations?
I want you to know that I never looked back at your coffin, I never went to check on you when you were pronounced dead in the hospital, even though I was in the waiting room. I want you to know that ‘your granddaughter’ did, she saw you through every state, and she stayed with you while you left. That made her better than me, I’m sure, she was willing to be blind. She was willing to be forgiving, while I stayed on the sidelines, searching for patterns to avoid being tangled up in a trap. But at least I can thank you for the lessons you have taught me, albeit by accident. I’ll forever see the people around me as villains, searching through their words for underlying meaning and reading into everything they do for me.
Thank you,
[------]
© E. Orchids
