Letter To My Mother’s Murderer

Today marks the 25th anniversary of her murder. I miss her everyday, especially now. I’m reposting this in her memory…

S.M. Tsonis


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…

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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!

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