Letter To My Mother’s Murderer

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Mother’s Day is quickly approaching, coincidentally, it is also my 30th birthday. As if that wasn’t frightening enough (childless + unmarried = spinster), I get to spend my birthday fighting back jealous thoughts about everyone else who gets to celebrate their amazing moms.

 

Dear knife wielding intruder,

I’m sure you hardly think of her, that mother of 3 young children that you stabbed repeatedly back in 1989…but I do.

You must be elated that they were never able to connect you to her murder, and so you are free, roaming among the rest of the population, living your life as a free man. Surely you must feel like you’ve gotten one over on everyone – how smooth and clever you are.

I’m sure you don’t have nightmares of her lifeless blood drained body, lying supinely in that doorway…but I do.

She wakes up, her green sweater still soaked with blood. She is slit from her neck to her pelvis, just the way you left her. Unaware of how frightening she appears to me, she asks to sleep in my bed beside me.

She was just getting her fair shot at the world, when you took that away from her, took her life, her new found happiness. I often wonder what her last words were, if you even granted her that. Did she beg for her life? Or did you choke her so forcefully that nothing could escape those perfect heart shape lips that all of her daughters were so graciously given?

I’m sure you don’t think of yourself as a monster, justifying her murder in your warped state…but i do.

Given her slight build, you knew she didn’t stand a chance. Although the scars you bear tells me she was a fighter, I wish I would have gotten the chance to know her well enough to know her strength.

And yet, I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you because I find it impossible to hate something I don’t understand. I don’t hate you because you are my Father.

I’m sure forgiveness is the last thing I should be feeling…but I do.

 

 

 

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We read to learn, to feel, to laugh, to understand others. We write to teach, express, communicate, to inspire others. I created Invisible Ink as an outlet of sorts, an area where I can organize the chaos; a place where hopefully I can be true to myself, and my readers. Writing is personal, it takes a brave and dedicated soul to formulate a piece and then share it with the world. That being said, I get just as much out of reading other's work as I do sharing mine ( I am always open to manuscript review swaps, just send me a message). Words read off a page evoke emotions. When taken out of context, or through an out of focus lens - anyone can mold the words, shifting their meaning to fit their agenda or distorted outlook. Staying true to form and myself, I won't censor my content, but I will censor my audience. Whatever lens you happen to be reading this through - I hope you enjoy!

20 thoughts on “Letter To My Mother’s Murderer

  1. I’m not anyone, but after reading the above post I believe you have what it takes to be a great writer. I’ll skip most of the usual sentiment that people offer when they hear about tragedies like this. My father shot himself when I was eight years old, yet I can only imagine what people must say to you. I will say, I commend your ability to express your feelings, and the courage to write about it. I hope there’s some way you can celebrate Mother’s Day without sadness, even if it means celebrating your willingness to forgive and celebrate your ability to maintain your humanity– especially when so often it seems there’s so little in the world.

    1. Thank you so much! This one just came kind of “pouring out” no edits made. I was surprised with my own feelings actually. I’m really sorry to hear about your father :(. You and I were roughly the same age. It’s really difficult to lose anyone at that age let alone one of your parents. I’m really sorry.

      1. Thank you for the sentiment. 😉

        I was sorry to read about your mother yesterday. I can’t imagine… My brother and I were up in our bedroom when we heard the shots in the backyard, and then heard and saw the emergency vehicles a short time later. We never saw anything, we weren’t allowed to see him in the hospital (he was on life support for eight days before he died) and it was a closed casket funeral. I remember a large patch of blood-stained grass in the backyard with flies swarming around it a couple weeks later. But I don’t think we played much in the backyard after that, and we moved nine months later. Althought we’ve no need to compare and doing so would be pointless, I have trouble understanding how a person could get through an experience like that.

        Though the situations were very different, reading your post helped remind me that I’m less alone. I’m grateful you were able to share it.

        Thank you so much! This one just came kind of “pouring out” no edits made.

        You and I were roughly the same age.

        You’re welcome. 🙂

        Another coincidence is that almost ten years ago, when I was about your age, I wrote something about my father’s death, something that just came “pouring out.” (Though I think I made some very minor edits to it since then.) I wouldn’t mind sharing the the link if you asked for it.

      2. That would be great! You mentioned, how it’s nice to find someone that has gone through similar experiences because it makes you feel less alone. I thought the same thing! Growing up, it was always awkward because everyone at school and in the community knew what happened, and I always felt like a pariah. Some people ask questions, others have the questions written in the way they treat you, never having to say a word. It’s neat to hear from someone that has gone through something similar 🙂

  2. Thank you for sharing so honestly, and with such courage. I don’t have words for the tragedy you experience(d), but I can say that your ink is no longer invisible. Thank you for daring to be seen and for expressing something so vulnerable and tender. I am an 11:11 wish-maker myself and waited until I was 39 to marry a man that was one, too (you are no spinster :)).
    Wishing you aloha. Nice to connect with your blog!

    1. Thanks for stopping by! It’s nice to know I’m not the only person to wait to get married! It can be frustrating with all the spring/summer weddings but maybe I’ll make that wish on the next 11:11…:)

  3. That would be great! You mentioned, how it’s nice to find someone that has gone through similar experiences because it makes you feel less alone. I thought the same thing!

    🙂

    I believe you have the link now. 😉

    It’s nice to know I’m not the only person to wait to get married!

    Hmmm… I’ve never been married either. Again it appears you’re not a pariah.

  4. I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your mother. It’s really disheartening and scary that these kinds of people exist in our world. I can’t imagine what it’s like having to go through something like that. May your mom rest in peace.

    On another note, being 30 and un-married is totally fine! I’m 28 (29 soon enough) and a lot of people keep saying I should be getting married and having kids now…..but i’m not ready for all that. Everything will fall into place when it’s supposed to!

  5. Thank you Jen! I’m hoping that one day someone comes forward, knows that one detail that completes the puzzle.

    On an update since I originally wrote this post, I am engaged! Ill be getting married in January – and I am soooo thankful I waited; for both the kids and the marriage. I agree, everything will fall into place when the timing is right.

      1. Thank you! I’m super excited. No offspring anytime soon – But I couldn’t be happier to start this new chapter of my life 🙂 How have you been?

  6. Thank you! I’m super excited. No offspring anytime soon – But I couldn’t be happier to start this new chapter of my life 🙂 How have you been?

    Good, thanks for asking. Strolling down the path slowly but surely, always learning new things. 🙂 No big news to report though. 😉

    Did you find out yet if you’ll be able to use the clover cover you wanted for your book?

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