A Birthday Letter

I wrote this to my mom on what ended up being her last birthday. It also shows how much of an impact losing her had on me.

Dear Mommy,

First of all: please don't ever think that I would forget your birthday! I wasn't sure how to approach it with coming home for Thanksgiving, especially because I felt guilty about having had a gift for you last year and nothing for you this year. I considered making a card, but I didn't want it to be something plain and superficial, and I really didn't have the time to put into it the time and effort needed to make it worthy.

My plan had been to e-mail you, like I'm doing now, with a different kind of gift: an explanation of how much I admire you.

I've admired you since I was a little girl - for your love, your creativity, your friendship, your intelligence - but most of all for your undying optimism, and your courage and bravery. Every day you amaze me with the way in which you manage to face the world despite how hard it tries to beat you down - and the way in which you manage to remain strong and stable to support those around you.

I know how hard it is to try and keep living and keep wanting to live when I'm enveloped in depression and the unending stress of life. I have learned to find the strength to be there for myself, but through it all I've had the comfort of knowing that, when all else fails, I have you to be there for me. When I would otherwise feel as though I might as well just give up and end everything, even if I haven't spoken to you in ages, the knowledge that you're there and that you'll always be there for me is all the hope I need to keep pushing through, to keep working at bettering myself, and to keep developing my own personal strength. I know a lot of the time (or even most of the time) you feel as if I'm just cutting you out of my emotional process, but the truth is, even when you know nothing of it, you're the very foundation of my ability to stay strong.

I've told you many times how much I admire you, but I know I can never really express the extent to which I truly do. The picture of your life that you've painted for me is so full of difficulties and hardships that you should have come out the other end bitter and pessimistic - but the opposite is true. It seems as though when you gush out encouragement towards me and my brothers, you shouldn't be able to come up with anything other than fake optimism - but I can feel your true hope and lust for what life and love have to offer. I'm a pessimist in words, but an optimist at heart - and to hear someone else express that integral part of life - that love - is sometimes all I need to remember what I'm doing. I admire you for your ability to overcome all the world has thrown at you (and God, the world has thrown at you so much, especially in this past little while) and still have faith - not even in an external, omnipotent force - but in YOURSELF. I pray that one day I can have such faith in myself. I'm working on it, but right now I survive by having faith in YOU.

You were my idol growing up, and you're still my idol today. It would be fake to say that I want to be just like you, but the core part of you is the model that I want to integrate and build myself on. It's been a really rocky road thus far, but you - and daddy - have proven to be of such great character that I can't help but feel I have what it takes to survive life and all its difficulties.

I know a lot of the time you feel as though you screwed up somewhere in the process of raising us, and it's understandable. The three of us are pretty screwed up, in many ways. But that was the world's doing. Not yours. Your doing was giving us the resilience and the passion to keep fighting for our place in the world despite it all. S****'s patience and contentment? That comes from you. D*****'s love for the world and ensuing hope throughout his hell? That comes from you. My lust for life and people and my determination to be as strong as I can be? That definitely, definitely comes from you.

When all you have is the burden of your own difficulties and that of your family, I'm sure it can feel as though you haven't really accomplished much. I often fear that you might not feel accomplished. But I've heard your stories, and I have a picture of who you used to be, and it amazes me how far you've come. You have become the ultimate woman: you are incredibly strong, beautifully weak. You are confident, outspoken, opinionated. You fight for what you believe in, and you sacrifice what others may think of you for staying true to who you are. These are things that everyone strives for, and that very, very few accomplish even by the ends of their lives. You've already secured that. You have made the ultimate accomplishment of humanity - and I strive towards the very same. I'm working hard to find my own path and go in my own direction, but when I lose sight of what my path is, I simply step back into your footsteps, remember the ultimate goal, and step off onto my own path when I've remembered what it is.

No matter where we are, what either of us are doing, how old we are, or how long it's been since I've spoken to you...I keep your footsteps nearby when I need them. You are so much more than a mother to me. Please never forget that.

Today, when you celebrate your birthday, please don't simply celebrate the fact that you get attention and a slice of cake. Celebrate who you are, how far you've come, and how much I - and all of us - love you. And if you ever lose sight of how amazing and beautiful and accomplished you are, just give me a call. I guarantee you I will never run out of words to praise you.

I love you with all my heart, Mommy. Happy Birthday.

Love,
Tee

Family Portrait

song lyrics

Mama please stop cryin'
I can't stand the sound
Your pain is painful
And it's tearin' me down

I hear glasses breakin'
As I sit up in my bed
I told Dad you didn't mean
Those nasty things you said

You fight about money
'Bout me and my brother
And this I come home to
This is my shelter

It ain't easy, growin' up in World War III
Never knowin' what love could be
You'll see, I don't want love to destroy me
Like it has done my family

Can we work it out?
Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better
Mommy, I'll do anything

Can we work it out?
Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better
Daddy, please don't leave

Daddy please stop yelling
I can't stand the sound
Make Mama stop cryin'
'Cause I need you around

My mama, she loves you
No matter what she says it's true
I know that she hurts you
But remember I love you too

I ran away today
Ran from the noise, ran away
Don't wanna go back to that place
But don't have no choice, no way

It ain't easy growin' up in World War III
Never knowin' what love could be
Well I've seen, I don't want love to destroy me
Like it did my family

Can we work it out?
Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better
Mommy, I'll do anything

Can we work it out?
Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better
Daddy, please don't leave

In our family portrait
We look pretty happy
Let's play pretend
Let's act like it comes naturally

...

In our family portrait
We look pretty happy
We look pretty normal
Let's go back to that

...

I'll be so much better
I'll do everything right
I'll be your little girl forever
I'll go to sleep at night


-Pink

Good News

It has been almost three years -- and still, my good news is not landing a coveted job, or meeting someone new, or or making a leap of progress in my life.

My good news is that my hearing - you know, the one at which I will be interrogated about the authenticity of my tragedy - will be closed to the public.

At the very least - thank God for that.

But I really hate what has happened to my life.

The Moment I Realized

from the transcript

Detective: There's no, there's no signs of forced entry. Okay. At the house.

Tee: Okay.

Detective: And right now we're not looking for anybody.

Tee: Oh my God!

Detective: Okay. And I want you to hear that from me, from us.

Tee: Oh my God! Where were they stabbed?

Detective: Ah, chest.

Tee: With what?

Detective: A knife. From the kitchen.

Tee: A kitchen knife, like...?

Detective: Uhm no I don't, well something similar to a steak knife I believe.

Tee: Okay.

Detective: We, we believe that we have it. Uhm, like I said we haven't been able to go in.

Tee: Right.

Detective: So we're going off of ah what the firefighters saw when they first went in. 'Cause they went and obviously they, they attempted life saving measures right away.

Tee: Right.

Detective: On, on everyone. So like I said we won't know specifics until we get in there ourselves and fingerprints, DNA ah all that has to be worked out.

Tee: I want to, I want to ask you a question and I know you really can't answer because you can't speculate or anything but...

Detective: Yeah.

Tee: ...can I ask just as another person?

Detective: Mmhmm.

Tee: Do you think my dad did this?

Different wavelength

I'm leaving the country soon, and the other weekend I met with the women from my support group to say goodbye. It's so strange now. We have so much light, but there was a point where we had nothing but darkness, and they are among the few people who can understand the darkness still in me. Even though I'll be able to stay in touch with them through e-mail, losing them scares me. I have so many dark memories that most people just can't relate to:

Detectives pulling me into the dean's office. The picture that went online of my dad on a gurney before I even knew they were dead. Photographers hiding in the bushes. Strangers slandering my family. Signing the cremation order for three of my family members. My first visit to the house to see my life drowned in soot. Sleeping on a deflating cot by the kitchen. My mother's blood stain in her bedroom. The outline of my brother's body in his own blood. My dad's bloody hand-print on the lid of a box of my baby clothes. The autopsy photo of the coroner pulling apart my brother's buttocks to see if my dad had raped him. All of the autopsy photos: naked bodies, open eyes, ribcages cut out, brains removed. There's nothing like seeing your mommy naked, eyes and mouth wide, cut open on a sterile table surrounded by strangers.

The flood of e-mails from people I barely knew. The lack of e-mails from people I cared about. The incessant news stories.

The loss of my survival instinct. I was a zombie for a long time. I felt nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no pain, no turmoil - just numbness. I remember how mechanical my movements were, my smiles. It was awkward to smile, like I had just learned how.

A friend of mine went through a bad break-up this year, and she chooses me as a confidant. I recognize in her many of the stages of grief that I went through, but the nature of her trauma makes me feel extremely isolated. I try to tell myself that I should be able to relate to her stages of grief - and in a way, I do. But I feel like an alien around her. She told me that part of what makes her feel so alone is that he's still around, but she can't be close to him. Logically I understand, and I try to empathize. But it's very hard to connect with someone whose trauma is your secret wish. To know that my mom, dad and brother were somewhere still alive, and that I just couldn't be close to them, would bring me so much intense relief.

I find myself becoming closer and closer to a friend of mine whose father died of cancer when she was a teenager. I've always loved her, but it seems like now we operate on the same wavelength. With nearly everyone else - I truly feel like a different species.

Last night I was talking about my move to the UK, and about how I want to invest in an open-ended return ticket so I can come home on a moment's notice, even if I've run out of funds. Everyone I was with started to joke: "haha yeah, you'll be calling your parents: mom, dad, please buy me a ticket home!".

No, actually. I won't. I have to do this on my own.

Why can't there be more people who understand the darkness and emptiness that I feel? And why do those of us who do have to feel so attacked and stigmatized by everyone else, so that we feel we shouldn't talk about our traumas?

I'm terrified that, once overseas, I won't be able to find someone that I can confide in about every terrifying little detail of what I feel, without judgement or fear. I'm terrified that I'm going to once again feel completely alone.

Proud Parents

A friend of mine graduated this week, and I joined her after the ceremony to take pictures and congratulate her. She and her very proud parents were all smiles - it was a really beautiful sight. I was so proud of her myself; I really got caught up in the moment, and reveled in all of the joy.

Being there, I started to wonder why I hadn't invited all of my friends to join me on the grass for pictures as per my university's tradition. It seemed so joyous. Standing there with her, I somehow didn't understand how my own convocation could be tainted with any emotion other than joy or pride.

Then when things wrapped up, I walked home. Alone. To an empty apartment. And thank God I had sunglasses, because I cried the whole damn way.

As soon as I walked away, the images of my grad had shifted from friends like dear M***** congratulating me on the grass to images of my parents hugging me and smiling at me like hers were on that day. Images that are no more than fiction for me. Empty hopes.

It's not fair. Mommy, Daddy: you wanted me to graduate, just like you? You both had your parents with you. I don't.





And I don't know how I can be proud of myself without you there to show me.

Looming Convocation

I am trying so hard to be proud of myself, and to celebrate my accomplishments.

But I keep failing to understand what exactly I should celebrate when in these last four years I've lost so much more than I've gained.

I had a year and a half of the "undergraduate experience," and the rest of the time was spent in mourning. I resent that so much. I resent this institution for being the place I found out they died. I resent my peers for achieving the same degree as me under far more favourable circumstances. I resent my registar for sending me congratulatory e-mails. I resent the fact that I'm graduating with a GPA .01 away from high distinction - in other words, if life hadn't decided to kick me in the proverbial balls, I would probably have a 4.0 with a ton of extracurriculars to put on my resume.

I think what hurts the most is that, when I get up on that stage, only two people in that room will know what I struggled through to get there. Only two.