Hi mom,

It's been so long since I last thought about you. That's probably the worst thing I could say to you, but it's true. I haven't made a conscious effort to remember you, not like I used to. It is somewhat understandable I guess, you've been dead for almost ten years now. But I just don't like the fact that I haven't really thought about you or even just missed you these past few months.. months that feel like years. And then quite suddenly the world seemed to stop just now and in that moment of quiet I thought: I miss my mother.

I miss my mother. I miss you. So I thought I'd write this letter to you, I thought: what would you write to her if you could write an email to her right now?

I'm assaulted by the usual clichéd thoughts of what it would be like to have you around today. What would you be like? How would my life and the family's lives be different if you'd survived that night, if it had never happened? Would you be angry or disappointed that I stopped being a Christian eventually? My entire existence took this whole other path the moment you died and and I'm not really writing to you anymore am I? I've just started sprouting all my usual psycho-analysing stuff, trying to answer my own questions instead of talking to you.

Where are you mom? What are you doing? Can you see us? Because we can't see you.

In case you're wondering, or don't know, I'm doing ok. By my reckoning at least. I'm happy, happy and content, for maybe the first time in my life. I don't know how long it will last, but I'm hoping that what I've learnt about life and reality and myself in recent months will help to keep at bay the gloominess I used to slip into so easily. I have a feeling it will.

I've also started studying, finally. Dad is, predictably, happy about that and I'm guessing you would be too. Sorry if that sounds pre-judgmental, but it's all so relative that I find it hard to assign greater merit to one positive activity over another. To me it would be the same if I was travelling or learning to surf or building a business from scratch. Whatever. When it comes to learning and self-improvement it's all the same to me.

Psycho-analysing again, sorry. I miss you and I wish you were here. I wish I could talk to you again, see you again. Touch your hair and your lips like Jamie does at the end of Empire of the Sun; hear you say my name. But you're not and I can't. It bothers me that I'll probably never see you or be in any kind of contact with you again. Ever. I can only hope that one day, somehow, we will.

I love you mom.

Pierre

dirty laundry