Dear Homeowners of 303 Bethel St.,

Let me start by saying I am not currently, nor have I ever, been diagnosed as "mentally unstable", except once, by my momma, when I threatened to slash the tires of a sales lady for accosting me outside of a store that I will not name.  I wouldn't have done it though, I'm all bark with little bite and a deep seeded fear of the PO-LICE.  I have never wanted to visit their home, hence why this letter and not a pop up face-to-face introduction we're having now.  

Growing up in small towns we tend to live in a bubble of security, a frame of mind that nothing too bad happens.  Tragically though, the plagues that ravage big cities have now come to our slice of the world.  My brother, succumbed to this fervent drug plague and lost his life at the age of 39.  As you can imagine, grief became my companion that traveled with me every breathing moment that followed that news. It wasn't long after this that my daughter informed me I was to be a Grandmother!  Can you guess my reaction?  I was.....annoyed, irritated, and down right pissed off.  That wasn't your guess, huh?   I don't believe it would be most people's reaction or guess to mine either, but it was raw and real at the time.   The daily struggle had became “trying” and I was exhausted.  I had nothing inside of me to give myself let alone anyone else, including a tiny one that would deserve love and attention. I believe those that were around me daily kept waiting for me to obtain some glow about life for becoming this new version of a human being, a grandmother, and they were all sadly disappointed as I clung to my sadness.  For if I wasn’t sad for a minute then guilt crept into my heart leaving the could’ve, would’ve, should’ve(s) all to race through my mind and pile up at my front door.  Nothing anyone could say made me feel better, nothing I did seemed to take the sadness away. I found grief  not to be just one emotion, but all of them in a glass jar and each day you shove your hand in there and pull out one just hoping that one won’t leave you crying, face down into the carpet that day.  

One evening, during this past holiday season, while riding through town, I passed your home and looked over to see your big concrete porch decorated ever-so-perfectly.  I can't remember now how exactly the greenery and lights were strung, but I do remember the feelings that overcame me and I began to cry like a baby.  Now, here I am crying, staring at your porch remembering all of the Sundays sitting on my Grammy's big ole concrete porch.  It may not have been decorated the way you had yours, I'm pretty sure the extent of her decorating that porch was an old metal glider, a few yard chairs, and whatever season/holiday clings were on her screen door at any given time, but nevertheless, I was overcome.  I saw my Grammy, my brother, my children, my mother, my father, my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, all sitting there spending time with each other, laughing, talking, and loving. The tears were streaming down like joyous memories of childhood flooding me.  For so many months my tears were from a dark and painful place, but the effort and time you put into making your porch so inviting allowed light to fill my heart.  Here is where I say thank you...thank you for unknowingly spreading the season's intentions of happiness and family to all those that pass by with burden's on their hearts.  Thank you from the depths of my soul for those tears of healing that evening.  

Dear Trailer Park,

I guess when getting ready to depart from your gravel paths, I am becoming, somehow, a little emotional about leaving your potholes behind.  I once heard someone tell a story of a young girl the mother didn’t want her daughter to be friends with, her excuse to the daughter (?), because “she lives in a trailer and YOU don’t!”.  Unfortunately, the bougie brigade of society will only ever see rows of desperation and trouble instead of opportunity and worth.  

All those years ago, here I was a single mom with two small children, a low income job, and living with my in-laws, we desperately needed somewhere of our own.  There aren’t  many homes out there that are affordable in the tax bracket I was signed up for so up to the plate steps the “trailer park”.  Duh-duh-ta-duh!  The winds may have been dusty and the cats galore, but you were ours to make our own as long as I paid the lot rent each month, we were together, the three of us (Me, Morgan, and Matthew - mi familia). You were witness to our beginnings and watched as we made mistakes that led to uncomfortable conversations at times.  You were there for the good, the bad and the funny.   I can still see Stinky all upset that the Christmas lights weren’t working because he didn’t realize he had to plug them into the wall for the power, he stood there just plugging one end into the other saying, “see they don’t work!”.  Every time I touch that certain light switch I can still see Moody falling in what only can be described as slow motion, and how it felt to be suspended in time for even a brief moment with my Mongrels. 

For all the laughs, the tears, the tragedies we endured in this rectangular home, I will forever be grateful to you, Trailer Park, for being our home and allowing us the opportunity to grow together to become this family that I treasure so dearly.  Now, as I look around this trailer, that holds most of my cherished memories of life, my heart breaks a little to leave them behind, but just because there are a few extra tears at the end of one chapter doesn’t mean there won’t be smiles leading into the next.  

With humble regards, 

M.E.

Dear Santa,

While out Christmas shopping this past weekend, I spotted you in the mall, but you seemed to have your hands and lap full of little ones.  It crossed my mind to stand and wait but didn't want to take the focus away from the children since you appeared brimming with the Christmas spirit as you proudly sat there listening to their wishes.  I hesitated for a few moments to watch the magical looks in their eyes as they delightfully expressed their wants to you, but then the lights seemed to dim inside of me and I began to walk on to push past this feeling of sadness that overcame me.  

When I was younger, Christmas seemed so magical, the hustle and bustle of this time of year, the sparkly, twinkling lights everywhere and people smiling at each other, all filled my insides with a warm cocoa feeling.  As the years have gone by though, it seems to have lost that shine that my spirit once leaped like a reindeer to touch.  It has grown into so many motions, a tribute to the routine, with no twinkle of magic left to wish upon. You, yourself, being such a jolly fella may not understand how Christmas could be anything other than special, but some of us have been riding in the struggle sleigh (sometimes on the hood barely hanging on with an antler sticking in a place no one wants an antler stuck) for quite some time now.  Losing my brother this year has filled me with a sorrow that I never knew existed and everything now seems somehow tainted with this grieving feeling.  It seems easier to plop on the couch and potato my way past all of these feelings but I’m gonna try to slap a smile on, nod agreeably with those around, and choke back every single tear I want to release for the next two days. 

 I guess that’s what my wish is this year, while you’re watching anyway, could you dry those tears before they well up to the surface?  I wouldn’t want to ruin this joyous season for those who aren’t wading in their sadness.  Zip the boots up and off I go…..smile locked and loaded., hopefully.  

Thanks in advance for any help,

M.E.

My Dearest Queen,

    It is with humble and reverent intentions with which I write these words. It has been far too many days and nights that I have sat idly by without interruption as you have allowed this dismissive nature to surround you due to your fear of persecution. For even in knowing the consequences that awaits me for my harsh writings, I am more troubled by the actions of others toward my Queen and therefore, must be willing to accept the fate of my forthcoming.  

   Unlike men, who are born into the title of King, you traveled the wastelands of this life and earned your crown.  I have seen the pits from whence you arose, the ashes your feet stepped from would have stained most, but you were unmarked. Your body has felt life before it's first breath and held spirits that would one day walk this earth, why do you not roar in the faces of those that discount you as nothing more than a child attending to her dolls?  The commentaries of these men do plague my ears as they boast and tribute each other for their accomplishments throughout the kingdom.  They pass through staring as if these lands are theirs to take and do as they please.  My Queen, I beg of you, please no longer sit in silence!

    Others in the kingdom often forget the turmoil we encountered before your reign, but we, the patrons and peasants that have watched your rising and felt pride in you, our Empress, will no longer be privy to these misgivings of others toward you.  The sound of our march toward this repression will be as thunder across the land.  Fearful men will try to hide to surpass the storm but they know nothing of what their nature has brought forth this time.  This storm will be strong, this lightning will strike, and this earth will quake below their feet, for this is our promise to you, my Queen. 

The revolution must begin now!

Your devoted patron throughout time,

M.E.

  

 

Dear Mr. Sunset......

  First, let me say, I address you as Mister due to the illusion I have in my head that you are some dreamy male worthy of my attention, because as it seems these days, most sit on a throne of expectation, but you simply sit in the quietness of your own beauty.   During a moment of human interaction today I experienced someone's frustration with my lack of  attention to their expectations, and I must confess, every fiber of my being was disrupted during those few ticks of the clock.  I felt a disturbance within my well being and needed an outlet to unleash this negative energy so I grabbed the four legged beast, the leash, my feet, and off we set forth to release it. The park, which is usually empty this time of year, was home to several teenagers playing basketball this evening, which only seemed to antagonize this feeling inside of me.  I kept putting one foot in front of the other, but my mind raced with this pent up entity tagging along, not belonging to me but left with me as a parting gift for not addressing it's presence to begin with.  The beast and I huffed and puffed our way around the kids and rounded the corner, and there you were.  I watched as you appeared over the horizon, not announcing yourself with a firm hand but a silent stealth that took my breath away.  The expressionist views that your color palette displayed melted the unwelcomed traveler within me. There I stood basking in your warm hues of yellow, orange and pink as if I was dancing along in my mind with the trickles of the brush used to create you.  You were lending yourself to a level of creativity for anyone wanting to bask with me, and once again, I became in awe of your creator and His presence within all things. 

With heartfelt gratitude, please find my words to you as a symbol of my love and appreciation for the intimate moment we shared together today.  Until we meet again, at the edge of this earth I will wait for you to present your next masterpiece.  

Sincerely,

Me

Dear 2020

Dear 2020,

        It was so easy for all the world to brand you such a depressing year, but how unfair is it to blame you for our struggles?  Many saw you as a distant lover chasing something grander in the distance leaving them feeling abandoned by you, when in essence you were allowing us the freedom to choose our own paths.  We were becoming charged with our own futures and for some, that weight turned into self destruction while others flourished and bloomed from your lack of attention. 

        I, myself, spent my time with you trying to build something, whether that be a porch gate, a seat or even a shed. I had no prior skill set to draw upon, no master teacher holding my hand (I wouldn't have let them anyway), or any idea how it would turn out, but I did have the stubbornness passed down from generation to generation of women in my bloodline that refused to quit this time.  Quitting, often seems to be a failure I have found comfort in when my mind wanders to a new task instead of favoring the current one. If you never complete anything then there is no fear of failure since the only judgement you will be subjected to is your own, in which you labeled it unfinished instead of failed.  Unfinished has the sound of opportunity that resonates throughout it, whereas failure has an ominous tone that is deafening.  To fail and begin again requires one to learn from self-action and change their mindset to listen for hope within starting over.  Hope doesn't live within fear but in beginnings.   

  So, to new beginnings, please find my heartfelt thank you for allowing me those moments with you to reflect on my weaknesses and accept them.  For in acceptance I no longer fear change but consider it a friend on my journey toward acceptance and self value.  

Sincerely,

Me

Dear Anger

 Dear Mr. Anger,

    The awkwardness of this letter is beyond my vocabulary at the moment so please forgive me. I understand the fury which exists inside of you that leaks out from time to time on those around you, myself included, and it’s with that fury that this letter is intended to reach.  No harsher words can be said than those YOU speak. I felt your power most in those fearful moments, the ones I wasn’t sure you would be talked down from that ledge of oblivion you choose to walk. As a mother, I felt the desire to coddle you into submission and wrap you in love but I found my swaddling to be severely insufficient for your needs.  As a friend, I wanted to listen and offer advice when it came to your overall being, but you spoke with intimidation so loudly I couldn’t calm the beast emerging to hear your cries.  As a woman, I waited for the apology that was deserved.  For in those moments you allowed your loss of control to capture my attention, you became unworthy of my energy.  My energy is filled with light and when spoken to in such a manner will blossom with the fruits of my spirit. Perhaps, in our future lives, we’ll speak fondly of each other to others and not let the entirety of our intimacy be buried in disgust but flourish from growth.  

Sincerely,

Me (just me)