Hey, Miss J!

Hey,

There are so many things I wanted to say. I do say some of it now, but it’s all in my head and to myself. I still miss you so much. And talking to myself… it’s not the same as talking to you.

I know what the real state of the dead is… that you’re literally resting in peace. And like all people who are in a deep sleep, completely unaware of anything.

I know what the Bible states…

• Ecclesiastes 9:5 – “the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing at all…”
• Ecclesiastes 9:10 – “Whatever your hand finds to do, do with all your might, for there is no work nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom in the Grave, where you are going.”

And because of knowing this, I also know that destiny and fate didn’t take you away. I know God is a God of love, and would never have done something so cruel. Both of us have had to deal with consequences of coincidences.

• Ecclesiastes 9:11 – “I have seen something further under the sun, that the swift do not always win the race, nor do the mighty win the battle, nor do the wise always have the food, nor do the intelligent always have the riches, nor do those with knowledge always have success, because time and unexpected events overtake them all.”

I’m so glad I could make you understand before you went to sleep. You were stubborn at first, of course, which would have been a surprise to people who knew you to be mild in temperament.

• Mild didn’t mean you didn’t have a voice.
• Mild didn’t mean that you would buckle or break.
• Mild meant you were just biding your time.

And I watched as your grief turned into a sometimes …quivering… peace. You hurt so much when we lost your parents. I call them your parents because they were. It doesn’t mean they weren’t my grandparents, but I can’t diminish the fact that if they had not been my grandparents, you would not have been my mother. With all the problems and flaws you had, you were still my mom at the end of the day.

So, while I was brokenhearted when I learned you’d breathed your last, I had a brief moment of overwhelming relief. Because I knew what went on in your mind… I knew how mental illness was pulling at the woman who had once been so giddy and excitedly chattered over music, singing and baking… the same woman that dad spoke of—who he could just sit in the dining room with, look at for hours… talking without words. Just quietly eating your meals.

Our relationship was contentious as I grew… as I battled with my own sense of identity and trying to mature in a world that tried to squeeze me into its mold.

You battled in life because you wanted to belong. You wanted to be loved. And you were. Even though you had your moments, I chased your love for years.

And I managed to get it.

Mutual love, back and forth.

Between mother and child.

Between a woman and her adult daughter who was just a bit broken in the head.

But it was okay, because you were broken too. And you had the same level of acceptance of your diagnoses as I did.

Hate them? Yes. From both of us.

Besides a husband and children, a relationship with you was one of the things I’d always wanted. I changed… I learned to forgive, even though it was difficult.

Yet, I saw how you took my forgiveness… and then refused to forgive yourself.

So now… you’re dead and gone. For a long time, I thought that the only remnants I had of you was your ashes, a notebook where you wrote letters you couldn’t bring yourself to send, your buffet… several more papers, including your interview. A box of pictures, a video from the funeral home… and your portrait.

Did you know that it took me over two years to take your portrait out of its box? It sat propped up against my dresser… being moved around as I had to get into the draws, but left there. I couldn’t bring myself to move the box from its spot.

Now, it’s over my bed. I can see your wide smile and think of the good times we had, which were admittedly far too few and so very brief for me.

You lack many things you had in life now, though.

• No fear. It’s blessedly gone!
• No pain. You hurt yourself more in your mind than anyone in life could have physically.
• No doubt.

You had to endure so much. I’m sorry that I never took the time until it was nearly too late… to try and understand.

Most days when I wake up… the first thing I feel is pain. Not emotional, but physical. And as I lumber around now, with a cane of all things, I think long and hard about the future.

Future promises of a better life, a better world. One where none of the things I suffer with or you dealt with will be. It’ll all be gone.

We’ll meet again, whole and healthy.

It almost seems impossible, but as it was noted, God cannot lie. Did you know Titus 1:2 says God cannot lie? I never knew he wasn’t able to do something, but it all makes sense. He has no reason to lie.

Mom,

I keep an eye on dad. He grumbles more each day about how much he hurts and how depressed he feels. But you know him. He doesn’t want to take medication, but he talks to me. I feel bad sometimes… that I’m the only one he can talk to.

Mom,

I finally figured out that there was something else that you left behind. Something huge. Something important. You died in 2019… it’s taken me to now to remind myself.. you left me… me. 

I can’t thank you enough for that.

Oh… Umm… Also, dad finally bought a copy of my book, and I decided to review, edit and re-release it with brand new content. So, since it’s no longer in KDP, I bought a physical copy.

Yes, I bought a physical copy of my own book… and it feels so weird.

But… Mom, it has so much explicit content. I have whole segments I drew a red line through.

Now dad can be embarrassed and horrified for the both of you.

And me.

Sorry.

~J. Lyst

I can’t adequately describe how many tears I shed when I saw just how… detailed these sections are. There was also lots of angry screaming.

Most people can hide scars.

Mom, I can’t hide this.

I’d love to share information on my blog about the book, but umm… Maybe after I do the re-write? But I’m apprehensive about that too.

…I used my actual name…

My address can be found by my name.

And all my friends will see it, though I know most of them don’t believe I have a book at all, so maybe I’ll be fine.

And the original book is still there. It has an ISBN number.

I’m a hot mess…

Anyway, I’ll talk to you again soon.

Even if it’s only to myself.