Letter to a Person Who Caused Me Pain

There’s always someone. The first love, the one who took him away, the idiot who tells you everything will be fine, and then whispers behind your back about how you will never recover, and how he or she doesn’t understand what you saw in him in the first place, because he likes to drink Pepsi and grabs things with his toes, or some such blather. Whatever…that’s emotional pain. I tend to deal with that by quietly going through the five stages and then eating cake. Simple, huh? But physical pain??? Oh, I remember that stuff like Bruce Willis’ vital statistics. So, here is my letter to One Who Should Be Censured By Fire:

Mr. OB Resident,

You were a second-year resident the day I was giving birth to my son. You were a cocky individual, not only because you were in Obstetrics, but because you were going to deliver your first “officer baby”. Like that should be a feather in your cap, or something. But I gave you the benefit of the doubt, because everyone has to start somewhere. You came in and asked me if I had an aversion to needles. Answering in the negative, you proceeded to fill a syringe the size of a #2 pencil with some fluid, and when I asked what it was, you replied it was an epidural.

I told you in no uncertain terms I did not want an epidural.

You told me I did.

I told you five times I did NOT.

But in your mind, I was delirious with pain, and didn’t know what I was saying. So, you had the nurse bend me in half while carrying the equivalent of a fully mature watermelon in my midsection, while you prepared to inject me with the epidural. Not once, not twice, but four times.

Because you wouldn’t listen when I told you my lumbar are fused together like a lump of twisted bone.

To add insult to actual injury, you turned to the nurse and told her to call you when I was “under”. You just LEFT with no words to me or my husband as to what you were waiting on or doing. Thankfully, Hubby had had more than enough experience delivering babies to compensate for your lack. As I lay there, my back on fire from the jabbing, my abdomen contracting, I began to feel a numbness in my legs. My legs?? My confusion spread when you came back and without ceremony you told me to begin pushing, which I did. As the baby crowned, you then told me to stop, and to close my legs to prevent birth UNTIL YOU HAD THE LABOR ROOM READY. You left to oversee your minions, while Hubby and a sympathetic nurse tended to me.

Without warning, I told Hubby the baby was coming. Hubby replied that he knew. I wailed that I meant NOW. And as my final stick-it-to-the-man move, I delivered my son into his father’s arms. And that galled you. You had the nerve to lecture me in the delivery room about not following instructions. I laid there, trying to recover, and you went about your business talking to your friend. And to make matters worse, the epidural paralyzed me for hours, leaving me in fear that something had gone terribly wrong.

So, in short, I hope you have learned the value of having a good bedside manner. If not, I hope you were baptized by napalm.

Sincerely,

Mom Who Wields Machetes

Letter to One Long Passed

I am very lucky. Very few people close to me have passed away. My grandmother passed away at the age of 96, and her sister at the age of 102, probably to out-do her. Last summer I lost my grandmother-in-law, and in February I lost a close cousin-in-law. And for the first time in my life, I lost an internet friend last week. I grieved for them as I was permitted to grieve by them, meaning their lives and wishes dictated how I grieved for them.  One person over which I never had the chance to grieve was my paternal grandfather, for he died before I was born. So, my letter will be to him.

Dear Papa,

I never knew you. You were gone before I came into the world, but that is no excuse for being remiss about knowing you. Growing up, I never asked about, because no one spoke about you. You were a shadowy figure in the background. I knew you were there, but to me, you were as solid as smoke. When I was young, I asked grandma about you, only to be rebuffed or ignored. So I kept my ignorance, because it was easy.

And then one Christmas I found out you had served time in prison, and that was enough to spur my curiosity. I learned that, through a grave mistake, you tried to keep your family together, and that it was one-sided. I learned you had a talent for turning pieces of wood into art. I learned you found a woman who would love and keep you and wait for you. And I learned that when you died, you weren’t alone.

I’m sorry I haven’t learned enough, but I promise to keep asking and finding out about our ties, flaws and all.

Your oldest granddaughter.

Letter to Someone I Don’t Talk to as Much as I Would Like

Cripes, that’s a long title for a post about not talking to someone. There are several people that fit the bill, but no one comes close to Hubby, since he has been deployed. So, here’s my letter to him.

Dearest,

I love routines. I love how we would call each other near lunchtime and talk before you went to go eat. I love how you would come home and tell me about your day. I love that even when you start with, “You should have seen the guy we had to autopsy today.” It makes life very interesting. I love how we talk as we fall asleep. And I love how we talk about our day while I sip my coffee and you sip your tea in the morning.

Different plans, same goal!

I miss all of that. I’m grateful technology has advanced so far as to make it easier to talk to you every day even halfway around the world. But it’s not the same. And I hope this time away passes quickly, and uneventfully, because I miss making you tea in the morning.

Love,

Me

Letter to Somone I Wish I Could Meet

Hm…. this letter will prove to be very difficult. Most of the people I wish to meet are no longer here on this Earth, and with the few that are it’s more of a “wonder what they are like in person” than a true wish to meet them. One hears of a famous person being a nice guy and all, but when you get to meet him, it turns out he has a preference for eating with his toes, or something just as odd. And how do you deal with that?? But if I must write a letter, I guess I will pick someone.

Dear Mr. Twinkie Maker,

I’ve often wondered about your job. You are part of the American Quilt. You bring joy to millions and millions of kids and adults alike. Who doesn’t see a Twinkie and think it’s a sunny smile of sugary goodness?? And the cream filling!! Just HOW do you do it?? Oh, I remember watching Unwrapped and seeing it, but I’m sure there is more magic involved. I wonder how you feel, knowing you put a smile on my face when I see that box of Twinkies in the snack aisle. And truly, how do you keep from gorging while at work? I assume you don’t, since you still work there.

A smile of golden sunshine

I wish I could meet you, so you could solve these and other questions, but alas, I shall be content to just admire you from afar, and give thanks to you whenever I eat that delicious confection, especially after putting the bathroom scale away.

Sincerely,

A happy fan

Letter to a Cyberfriend

I have been fortunate to make what some bloggers and commenters refer to as “fake internet friends”. With very few exceptions, they have fostered strong friendships and have become like family. In fact, the recent loss of my FIF PattyAnn has left me feeling like I lost a close relative. I am lucky indeed to have such great friends, and though I have so many that I can write about, I can only pick one, so I will pick the first 🙂

Dear Max,

What can I say?? You and I share the same brain. That is enough to scare our mutual internet acquaintances, I’m sure. On second thought, it should also scare our common “real life” friends. You have helped me through hard times, and are always able to make me laugh when I feel down. You show a loyalty that is without equal, and a moral compass that is unbreakable. You share your family with mine like we were siblings, and turn to me for advice when you are at your wit’s end. You work so hard to teach your son, and you also work hard to make sure he walks the right path as he grows into a young man. And when I feel sorry for myself, you are quick to kick my behind and tell me to STFU and appreciate what I have. You have never failed to do that. In fact, you may have set a world record for fastest kick…. Anyway, I am very glad we are friends, and so grateful to have you in my life. And for that, I thank you!!

Your twinkie,

Aggie

100th Comment!!

And the honor goes to….

ARMEDGEEK!!!

That’s certainly a good looking stranger. I wouldn’t mind getting inside that stranger’s .. uh, label.

He’s talking about liquor. Thank goodness 😉

Letter to an Old Flame

This letter will be a departure from the light-heartedness of my previous letters. I dated two guys in high school. One treated me like a queen. This letter is for the other one.

A,

You were my first romance. We were friends, and stayed friends throughout our time dating. Things change, and we went our separate ways, yet remained good friends. Then came our senior year in high school, and you wanted to rekindle our relationship. And I thought to myself it would be fine, because we were still friends. And like a fool, I believed you when you told me that helping you in English was just a way for us to spend time together.

I was blind to the signs. You couldn’t go out at night, because your grades needed to improve, so you couldn’t go out on dates with me, but you could hang out with your friends in football and band. You couldn’t see me on the weekends, but you could go to practice and then out for a bite to eat with friends. You couldn’t sit with me in the classes we had together, but you could sit with your football buddies, the same ones who thought I was a geek and a prude.

And then came the coup de grace: Valentine’s Day, and the Sweetheart Dance. I went to three different stores to find the perfect card for you, and when I gave it to you, you said thanks, and stuck it in a history book. I had waited all week for you to call me for a time to pick me up for the dance. And the day of the dance as I asked you to walk me to my locker, I asked jokingly if you had a date. And you said you did. In a haze, I walked, and managed to ask who she was. And when you told me her name, all the clues finally fell into place. Meekly, I wished that you would have a good time, and you left me standing there. My shock cushioned me for all of five minutes, until you sent a mutual friend to inform me, as kindly as he could, that you were breaking up with me.

You were despicable for using a mutual friend like that. You were a coward for not having the guts to tell me you were done with me because I wouldn’t sleep with you. You were a liar, because you couldn’t just ask me to help you with your class, thinking you had to pretend to “like” me again to get ahead. But worst of all, you were weak, because you believed your football friends over me, a friend that had stuck with you since 6th grade, and someone who had helped you through really bad times.

You did me a great favor. I no longer take things at face value. I have a wonderful life, and I’m very happy, and I sincerely hope you are, too. I hope you learned the value of a friend, since your selfishness cost you not just my friendship, but our mutual friend’s as well.

Sincerely,

Me

On Loss

This morning I found out that a friend of mine had passed away. She fought long and hard, her spirit unbroken and her faith unshaken. She lost her battle, and I found myself bereft and grieving for a wonderful woman I had never met.

She was the kindest person I’ve never met. Her laughter and humor could make anyone forget their troubles. She healed us when our pettiness overwhelmed us. She could find happiness each and every day, even when Life was throwing curveballs.

She taught me to find laughter everyday, even when I felt like loneliness was about to crush me. She helped me be a better person, and for that I am very grateful. And yes, I recall your wishes. I’m wearing my PJs and slippers, and smiling through my tears, because I know you are looking at them and laughing at the stuffed llama sitting right next to me.

We will miss you terribly, PattyAnn. But I take comfort in the fact that God is holding you in His loving arms right now, and that the love you gave us will only keep growing.

We love you, PattyAnn, and that will be forever.

Letter to a Stranger

People are interesting to me. I like to speculate on their stories based on what they are wearing, how they carry themselves, even as to the choices they make while grocery shopping. It comes from a background in anthropology, and reading Miss Marple novels. Consequently, it is difficult to pick just one stranger as the subject of my letter, since I have already made up their entire life in my head. So, I went in a different direction, again 😉

To a stranger,

I saw you as I walked through the aisles in a vain quest to find Amontillado. There you sat, surrounded by your siblings, the color of your outfit making you stand out among them like a bright spring leaf sprouting from the soil. My curiosity was piqued, wondering what you were like. Smooth, or bitter? Silky, or sharp? Do you play well with others, or tend to chill out on your own? Are you a party animal, or the type to sit quietly by the fire? Do you like to climb on the rocks? Are you a straight shooter? I hope to enjoy your company one day, and know that if ever we meet, you will make my life rosy and sweet, even if it’s just for the duration of your visit.

Cheers!!

Letter to a Dream

Today I write a letter to a dream.

Actual representation of my dreams after chocolate.

To my dream,

Every child had a friend like you. You were so cool and tempting, and gave people a goal to reach, in small ways and big. And you were the one thing EVERYONE had, no matter how rich or how poor. I thought there was no harm in our friendship because it was natural and healthy to develop it. But unlike other people, I didn’t let you grow. I kept you away in the back of my mind, like a toy on a shelf that I was afraid would break. And I was afraid, because I had seen so many dreams broken before. For a long time I forgot about you. I went on with my life, knowing you were always there, waiting for me to notice you again, until one day, when someone asked me what my life-long dream was.

I stood there in silence, and went to the shelf were you sat, wondering how dusty you were, and to my amazement, you looked happy, your frame shiny and the glass unbroken, the picture of a happy family in the frame untouched by rips or tears. And I realized that, though I had placed you on that shelf to remain untouched, you went ahead and lived in me, quietly so I wouldn’t notice. And as I look at my family, I see that you had been with me, growing and living and coming true. So, thank you for not giving up on me.

Sincerely,

your Id.