Dear [redacted], A Letter to My Ex boyfriend's Mom
Dear [redacted],
It’s been a long time since we’ve talked. Truly, we never talked much, but I remember everything you ever said to me. It might surprise you, but I think about you a lot these last few years. You were an unexpected role model - a positive if confusing presence in my life.
When we first met, it was tough for me to make sense of your accent, but I quickly got an ear for it. That first day, you and your husband made the entire family a wonderful meal - an honest-to-god Vietnamese/Midwestern mash-up with steaks fresh off of the winter grill and crispy, delicious egg rolls piled to the ceiling. Afterward, we were cleaning up in the kitchen when you stopped and watched me for a moment, I met your eyes and you told me you had lost a daughter who would be just my age now, had she lived. Your bluntness took me off balance, the sharp blade of your tragedy sliced through me and stopped just as the point pricked my now-pounding heart. You never small-talked with me. Wishing that I had misunderstood you, I looked back at you again, and it was clear I hadn’t. I turned away and just sort of stuck my head in the freezer, staring at the ice trays, mind spinning. In my Midwestern, Irish-Catholic life, these things were not spoken of so suddenly, or not at all, or maybe just not to me.This was how it began and how it went for almost a decade. In our intermittent meetings, you would regularly say things that left me speechless. Up until then, and even today, I am rarely at a loss for words. That is why I’m writing you. It's only recently that I’ve understood the power of our interactions, well over a decade since our last meeting. In my unfamiliar silence, I’m sure I never thanked you. So I’d like to thank you now.
We met when I was 19, a white girl from the suburbs, living with the confidence only garnered when the world is made to accommodate you. Even still, I was rough around the edges - a skateboarding, pot-smoking art student. You had moved to the US to marry an American G.I. who sent you love letters after the war. You, the oldest daughter and now reigning matriarch of a large extended family. You were elegant and stylish, strong and deceivingly unassuming. Now, I can see you as a radical in the rural Midwest.
You raised 4 kids, mastered the language, held all sorts of jobs, and regularly welcomed strangers, foreigners and travelers into your home. They, like you, had ended up far from home, in a place that was not always welcoming. You fed them and talked to them like family, and you did the same for me, the girlfriend of your middle son. Home with him for a long weekend or a holiday break. You were always generous. On visits, you encouraged us to eat you out of house and home, do our laundry, and drive your car. You hired us to paint your house. You took us on vacation. Your permission opened the door for me to photograph yourself and your family. It all meant so much to me.
Thank you.
I live abroad now, and I have a son. I’m a foreigner here. Our lives are very different, but one critical aspect overlaps - we both left our homes and cultures to live in a place where we are strangers. I struggle about what parts of my culture I want to share with my son and balance that with the ones I’m actually able to provide for him, as I think you did. I miss food from home and make close-ish local approximations of my favorite dishes, as I’m sure you did. I misread notices from my son’s school and struggle to be understood - because they can’t get an ear for my accent. Sometimes I calmly repeat myself in my new language, try a new phrase, or just laugh and smile. Other times, I quickly turn away before they can see the tears of frustration welling up in my eyes. Did that ever happen to you?
Your story gives me hope because you have survived so many heartbreaks, including the one you shared with me on that first day. In spite of it all, you built a beautiful life for yourself, one between two cultures. You raised a beautiful family there too, in that in between place. Only a displaced person can understand being at home in two cultures and neither one at the same time. You turned these unique challenges into your superpower. You are an inspiration to me as I navigate my life’s heartbreaks and search for my place between two cultures. I wish I could have been more gracious then. So I’m thanking you now.
Thank you, so much.
It’s been a long time since we’ve talked. Truly, we never talked much, but I remember everything you ever said to me. It might surprise you, but I think about you a lot these last few years. You were an unexpected role model - a positive if confusing presence in my life.
When we first met, it was tough for me to make sense of your accent, but I quickly got an ear for it. That first day, you and your husband made the entire family a wonderful meal - an honest-to-god Vietnamese/Midwestern mash-up with steaks fresh off of the winter grill and crispy, delicious egg rolls piled to the ceiling. Afterward, we were cleaning up in the kitchen when you stopped and watched me for a moment, I met your eyes and you told me you had lost a daughter who would be just my age now, had she lived. Your bluntness took me off balance, the sharp blade of your tragedy sliced through me and stopped just as the point pricked my now-pounding heart. You never small-talked with me. Wishing that I had misunderstood you, I looked back at you again, and it was clear I hadn’t. I turned away and just sort of stuck my head in the freezer, staring at the ice trays, mind spinning. In my Midwestern, Irish-Catholic life, these things were not spoken of so suddenly, or not at all, or maybe just not to me.This was how it began and how it went for almost a decade. In our intermittent meetings, you would regularly say things that left me speechless. Up until then, and even today, I am rarely at a loss for words. That is why I’m writing you. It's only recently that I’ve understood the power of our interactions, well over a decade since our last meeting. In my unfamiliar silence, I’m sure I never thanked you. So I’d like to thank you now.
 |
| Family room at your father's house. New Orleans, 2004 |
You raised 4 kids, mastered the language, held all sorts of jobs, and regularly welcomed strangers, foreigners and travelers into your home. They, like you, had ended up far from home, in a place that was not always welcoming. You fed them and talked to them like family, and you did the same for me, the girlfriend of your middle son. Home with him for a long weekend or a holiday break. You were always generous. On visits, you encouraged us to eat you out of house and home, do our laundry, and drive your car. You hired us to paint your house. You took us on vacation. Your permission opened the door for me to photograph yourself and your family. It all meant so much to me.
Thank you.
I live abroad now, and I have a son. I’m a foreigner here. Our lives are very different, but one critical aspect overlaps - we both left our homes and cultures to live in a place where we are strangers. I struggle about what parts of my culture I want to share with my son and balance that with the ones I’m actually able to provide for him, as I think you did. I miss food from home and make close-ish local approximations of my favorite dishes, as I’m sure you did. I misread notices from my son’s school and struggle to be understood - because they can’t get an ear for my accent. Sometimes I calmly repeat myself in my new language, try a new phrase, or just laugh and smile. Other times, I quickly turn away before they can see the tears of frustration welling up in my eyes. Did that ever happen to you?
Your story gives me hope because you have survived so many heartbreaks, including the one you shared with me on that first day. In spite of it all, you built a beautiful life for yourself, one between two cultures. You raised a beautiful family there too, in that in between place. Only a displaced person can understand being at home in two cultures and neither one at the same time. You turned these unique challenges into your superpower. You are an inspiration to me as I navigate my life’s heartbreaks and search for my place between two cultures. I wish I could have been more gracious then. So I’m thanking you now.
Thank you, so much.
Comments
Post a Comment