The Letter

She sat down to write her letter, a trusty glass of Tequila Rose sitting next to her.  She didn't care that it was before 5 o'clock and her husband wasn't even home yet; she had occupied all of her kids and knew she had about 25 minutes of peace.

Opening her Outlook inbox with one hand and taking a big gulp of her tumbler with another, her mind flashed back to the session she had earlier in the day.  The topic of her family came up, in a round about way, and the fact that this week marked the one year anniversary since "the fallout".  She had stifled sobs and choked back tears as she tried to articulate her feelings to her therapist, but knew she was unsuccessful.  Even diverting her eyes and trying to put other thoughts into her head had not let her escape from the painful memories.  She had decided on an action plan after her therapist had shared a personal story that was parallel; she was going to write her family and let them know that it was time to "piss or get off the pot." 

She would no longer allow herself to be a victim. 

She would no longer allow herself to be trapped by their decisions that she didn't agree with.

She would no longer play their game.

A fresh screen opened on her laptop, a fresh screen full of possibilities.  She could take the offensive approach, tell them they were all wrong and that they needed to start talking to her again.  She could take the defensive approach and take all the blame for the situation and beg them to return to her.  She took another drink of the sweet liquor-laced drink and decided to come up somewhere in the middle.

She typed for 10 minutes straight, just getting thoughts out of her head and intending on editing later. 

Just write it out, she told herself, you'll feel better if you do.

Tears fell faster than she could wipe them away as her finger flew across the keys.  She explained that she missed the family, she missed everything little and big that they did together.  She explained that J's mom is sick, and how the reality of this was a shock and how much it made her want to reconnect.  She paused momentarily and then typed the most painful part for her.

"This will be the last time I try and contact you."

And she knew it to be true.  She knew that she could no longer live her life in limbo, waiting for her family of origin to decide that they wanted her back.  She needed to take charge of her own life and take back some of her power.  She needed to be the strong and independent woman that she was 3 years ago.

Taking a final swig of her glass, she edited her piece, mainly for spelling and punctuation errors as she was pleased with the text.  She entered in the e-mail addresses, one by one, noticing that she was putting them in in age order without meaning to.  She added her husband and her therapist to the BCC field, read over it one more time, took a deep breath and hit send.

It was done.  Whatever was to come of it would be.

She pushed the keyboard back, laid her forehead on the table, and cried.