They never
happened. And a gulf opened between us. I was ¡°too emotional.¡± But she lived ¡° on the
surface¡±.
As years passed and I had my own family. I loved my mother and thanked
her for our happy family. I wrote in careful words and asked her to let me
know in any way she chose that she did forgive me.
I posted the letter and waited for her
answer. None came.
My hope
turned to disappointment, then
little interest and , finally, peace, it seemed that nothing happened. I
couldn¡¯t be sure that the letter had even got to Mother. I only knew that I had
written it, and I could stop trying to make her into someone she was not .
Now the
present of her desk told me, as she had never been able to, that she was pleased that writing was my chosen work. I cleaned the desk
carefully and found some papers inside¡ª a photo of my father and a one-page letter,
folded and refolded many times.
Give me
an answer, my letter asks, in any way you choose. Mother, you always chose the act that speaks louder
than words.