Letter to Sarah (June 26, 2019)
Perhaps you, of all my children, can understand. I remember that day I got a call in NY, saying our granddaughter PennyRose was in the hospital. She was very little, just a baby. And it was serious, a surgery I was told. The night before I had not been able to sleep, walked the floor. I had an uneasy feeling. Just as I did for Joshua a couple of times. Just as I did for Jonathan and Christina at odd times, and just as I have for you, Sarah. At odd times.
When that happens, my first instinct is to get to the one I am worried about. Come hell or high water. So I drive. Or I call and text. And I write. It’s hard to enjoy life when that feeling comes. It nags at me, making it hard to focus on happier things. Pray and work right? Sounds good, but my arms start aching to hold my child or grandchild. Rock them, kiss them, talk to them, hear them. That is the damnable bit about the church you are in. They won’t let us do that. They are so afraid if you hear us, see us, talk to us; that we will find out how badly you are being treated. I hate shunning. Or cutting off. It makes people hostages.
I believe in bravery. Being courageous and facing your family honestly and kindly. Walk with them, not without them. Speak frankly and courteously, be truthful and considerate of others choices. I do not think you are right, Sarah. You have hurt us so bad. And you have hurt yourself. Your body is sick due (mental trauma), to what you have done to your parents and sister, and nephews. But I love you. And I want you to get well. We need you and want you in our lives. Call please, or text, or write, or just come home. I cannot wait to hold you.
Love and hugs and kisses.
Your own mom
