There was nothing.
I closed the notebook and stacked it with the others, then pulled out my phone. I sent a text to Caiden, telling him I was almost ready, but that was a lie.
I didn’t want to leave yet, not until I’d wrung every drop from this attic.
It didn’t occur to me until then that I had been waiting for this, for her to say it, to make it plain that she knew what she’d done, to know that the weight I’d carried all these years wasn’t just my own invention. That she saw me, even through her fog.
A gust of wind rattled the attic window, and for a moment, I imagined my mother’s fingers tapping on the glass, as if to say,I’m still here, Amelia.
In that moment, I decided to read the letter that she wrote, addressed to me, before she died. I grabbed the albums, journals, and a few other memorable things and threw them all into one box.
Once back down the stairs, box in hand, I nearly ran to where I had tossed my bag.
The letter still sat in my bag, unopened.
With trembling hands, I tore the envelope open and began to read.
Amelia,
If you’re reading this, then I did it. I’m sorry. I’ve tried to write this letter a hundred times, and none of the versions sounded right, so I’m just going to say what I can and let you sort it out. You always were better at that than me.
I’m not going to ask for forgiveness. I know better. I don’t think you owe me anything, least of all understanding. But I want you to know that everything I ever did, I did because I didn’t know how to keep you safe from me. I tried, I swear I did. Some people aren’t made for this life. I wanted to believe I was, but wanting isn’t enough.
You and Lillian were the only good things I ever managed.
I hate that I barely remember the days before Lillian died. I was so fucked up and buried in drugs, everything became a blur.
I hate myself for how it ended with her. My mind was not right for a long time, but right now I feel the clearest I ever felt.
I look forward to seeing her again once I’m gone.
I hope you remember at least a few days when I got it right. I remember them all. The day you won the spelling bee. The time we made cupcakes and ate half the batter before it went in the oven. These are the things I keep, even when I was too wrecked to say so.
I know it doesn’t make up for anything. But I want you to know that I loved you, even when I was the worst version of myself. Especially then. You always deserved a better mother. You deserved a mother who wasn’t always sorry.
I don’t expect you to ever understand why I stayed so sad. I hope you won’t waste your life trying to solve that puzzle. There had always been a deep sadness inside of me. I tried to mend it with your father, but the sadness only rotted into something darker and uglier, consuming me too much after he left.
There are things your father did that you don’t know about, things that shattered me. I remember when he hit me for the first time. I remember when I caught him flirting with the cashier at the store. I remember when he called me the nastiest names and told me he would like me better if I were different. If I dressed differently or had been more outgoing. I remember when he touched Lillianin a way that made my skin crawl. A touch too long, too intimate. I remember when he would hold me on top of the world, just to let me fall, bleeding at his feet, wondering what I did wrong for him to cast me aside.
There were breadcrumbs of his love, and he would yank them away, just to give themt back bit by bit. Enough to satisfy me, but to also leave me starved. After he left, I spent the rest of my life trying to fill that void in me, and unfortunately, that meant forgetting about my daughters.
Your father was my savior at a time. I put him on the highest pedestal. But he was also my ruin, and I was too young and naïve to see that for a while.
I know you don’t want to read this. I wouldn’t want to either, but it’s the only way I can think to make amends, even if it’s a stupid, selfish excuse. Even if I know you might never forgive me for it. This is my confession, my apology, my everything that is left.
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I waited too long to try to get it right, I know that. If I could have given you less of my sadness and more of my strength, maybe you wouldn’t have to carry so much. Maybe you could have been the version of yourself that smiled for real in those pictures. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from me.I’m sorry I made you the kind of person who has to protect herself all the time.
I remember when you were born. The shock of you, so loud and perfect. I only wanted one daughter, but your birth was a gift anyway.
I thought, “I can’t possibly be trusted with this.” I tried anyway. I really did. The best I could ever do was to keep you safe from the worst of it, but I see now that wasn’t enough. I wish I could have told you about the dark water I was always swimming in, but I didn’t want to drown you too. I see now that it found you anyway. That’s my fault.
You were never a burden, even if I made it feel that way. You were my reason for breathing, and sometimes that felt like a punishment, but mostly it felt like a gift. I’m sorry I never figured out how to say that out loud, or how to be gentle.
It’s too late for me, but it’s not too late for you.
I am going to a better place, where the sun will always shine, and where I no longer have to carry this heavy sadness in my heart, feeling it rip me apart day by day.
I am going to be free like a bird, like I always wanted.
