Dear Mom,
I often find myself reflecting on the unspoken messages that filled the air as you ushered us to bed in those golden South Florida evenings, while you prepared to meet your friends for your daily afternoon drinks. It felt like a clear signal to me: “Your needs, your dad’s, your siblings’—they all take a backseat to my desire for this drink.” It was as if you were choosing the company of Scotch over the warmth of our family, a choice that left a lasting mark on my heart.
There were countless moments when I wished you would turn around, burst through my door, and say, “Not today! Today, I want to hear about your dreams, your challenges, and the things that make you happy. I want to support you, to be present in your life.” I longed for afternoons spent together—perhaps at the movies, enjoying a slice of pizza, or even just talking about whatever was on your mind.
As I grew older, I came to understand that alcoholism is a complex issue, one that often starts from a place of deep personal pain. I know it became a battle that required immense strength to fight. Yet, the first step had to come from you—recognizing that there was more to life than that next drink.
Mom, you had all the capability to confront your struggles and rise above the shadows they cast. You could have filled your life with passions, dreams, and the love of those around you, demonstrating to us that even in brokenness, there is beauty and hope. You could have shown us that healing begins when we face our demons head-on.
I still wonder why you never took that step. Why you never addressed your problem or sought the support that was readily available, especially from Dad, who would have been there for you without hesitation. Most painfully, I ponder why, despite the chaos and hurt, you never offered an apology. I waited for those words till the very end, leaving me with questions that linger: Why didn’t you see that we were worth it? Why wasn’t I enough?
Your Middle Child
P.S. While I’m still on my journey to fill in the gaps and heal my own wounds, I believe you would be proud of the person I’ve become. I hope you would be. Parenting is never perfect; we all have our struggles and regrets. But instead of wishing for a “do-over,” we must focus on “doing now.” For you, that means reflecting on whether your choices teach us to face life’s challenges healthily. And for me, it’s about finding the strength to forgive and using my experiences to create a positive impact for others.
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In summary, this letter captures the pain of a son grappling with his mother’s alcoholism and the longing for connection and understanding. It serves as a reminder of the importance of addressing personal struggles and the impact they have on family relationships.