Her lip ticks up, her face looking lost in a memory. “You remind me so much of your mother in moments like this. We used to weave flower crowns for each other when we were little.”
My heart skips a beat at the mention of my mother. Losing her at such a young age, I don’t remember very much about her. Soon, I’ll be older than she was in my last memory of her. I haven’t wrapped my mind around that yet.
“Tell me about her.” My voice is quiet.
Roxy, on the other hand, beams to talk about her late sister. “You’re the spitting image of her. She would be so proud of you. You know she used to write too?”
A warm tingling begins in my tummy. I rest my chin on my knuckles. “Really? I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise me. She was always so creative.”
I smile at the memories. My mother would always come up with stuff to keep us entertained, like making forts or cutting paper snowflakes. I think that’s part of why I pursued writing: not wanting to let the imagination my mother ingrained in me die along with her.
Roxy’s chair screeches against the hardwood floor. “You know what? I think I have some of her work stashed away. She was always writing letters for you kids to open later. It’s almost as if she knew.” She sighs and disappears into a closet, returning with a box as big as her squeezed in her arms. “Here we are.”
I shove off my chair, wanting to be as close as possible to these forgotten pieces of my mother. Roxy places the box on the table between us. Inside are stacks on stacks of old letters and journals.
“These are all hers?” I murmur and pluck up the first letter.
She nods. “I honestly forgot these were in here, or I would have given them to you sooner. I found these in her closet when we packed up the house years ago.”
I’m brought back to that fateful night. One would think it would be a blur, lost to my young, broken memories, but it’s the opposite. I remember every vivid detail of that day. The wreck. The sickening silence that followed. The sterile hospital room, all alone and scared at the ripe age of eight. Eventually, they moved Oakland into my room, and we’ve been trauma-bonded eversince. We were always close, but, after that night, there was something that changed between us.
The social worker came next. Fuck, she was a bitch. She tried to pretend she was there to help us, but I saw the pitying looks, the way her Botox-filled cheeks didn’t even move when she smiled and told us everything was going to be okay.
She lied.
I still remember the smells, the sounds, all of it. It will forever live in my darkest nightmares. But finding things like this, new pieces of my mom to discover, helps ease the pain. Seeing letters like this brings back the happy memories, the happiness that pangs against my heart.
The paper trembles in my hand as I read the outside of the envelope.Maisie Raeis handwritten in cursive script across the front in my mom’s handwriting. I could never forget the way she swooped her cursive S, as if dancing across the paper.
I gently rip the seal open, pulling the letter out.
Maisie,
My sweet Archie, if you’re reading this, that means it’s your wedding day. I’ve dreamt about this day since first laying eyes on you, nervous for the day I had to release you and let you fly off on your own. You’re only just seven as I write this, but, as I watch the flames stoking our chimney reflected in your honey eyes, I can picture so clearly the fiery love in store for you and wanted to share my two cents, as your father’s love has never failed me.
If I could envision you with any man, he would be one who challenges you each day but alsocherishes the rarity you are. A man who isn’t afraid to show you the love you deserve, someone to match that fire burning brightly inside you and add fuel to burn it brighter. Two flames fused as one.
I don’t wish an easy love on you. Those aren’t the ones worth fighting for. I want an epic love story for you, the ones you used to dream up playing house in the front room. The knight to your princess, guarding your heart with his dying breath.
If I know anything about my daughter, I know, without a doubt, that man you are about to walk down the aisle to is all these things and more. He ticks off every box you deserve and the ones you didn’t know you needed.
I know a girl as special as you found her way to her prince charming, and now, it’s his turn to guard your heart. I hope you know you will always be my little girl, even with a million miles between us. There is no entity strong enough to break the bond of a mother and daughter, and the love I have for you will always burn as the brightest flame of them all.
To my little ray of sunshine, may today be the most special day yet.
I know you will make the most beautiful bride.
With all my love and many letters to come,
-Mommy
The first tear hits the page before I’ve read the final words. Even in death, she finds ways to guide me in life.
Archie. I miss hearing my nickname. Her little Monarch butterfly, she would say, Archie for short, with eyes as unique as the wings on their backs, one dipped in honey and the other rich as the flames in my soul.
I’ve thought about what my wedding day would look a million times, the empty chairs, the missed dances, but finding this letter has instilled a hope in me long forgotten. One filled with lost love, and words of wisdom.
I no longer have to guess what she would have thought, what she would have said to me. It’s all here in this letter. The marriage she envisioned for me, the one I want so badly. Losing her,them, in a way had me losing sight of love in general. I think, in a way, I was scared to add anyone to my list of love for fear they would disappear too.
