Glory and Gore

Eighteenth Letter

Dear son,

I am sorry. I have some explaining to do. I would have done it back in the warehouse but you and Alyssa ran away before I could say anything.

Do you think it would be okay if we continued talking through these letters? I wouldn't be able to bear the agony and hatred that you would direct towards me in person. I'm a coward, and this makes things a whole lot easier.

So I suppose I should just start from the very beginning, when you were first born. I remember that the first time I had laid eyes on you, you were the light of my life. But your father and I were always living on the edge because we new you had heart problems from the very start. Then, one day, you were about two years old, still just an infant, and your heart went under attack. Thankfully, I was with you when it happened. I rushed you to the hopsital as fast as I could and I called your Father letting him now. He drove from work to the hospital as fast as he could, but he was driving a little bit too fast. He was so jumped up on adrenaline to be with his dying son that he ran past a red light and crashed into a great big transport truck.        

That left me with my husband and son being operated on in the emergency room.

The doctors estimated that there was too much internal bleeding in my father for him to be healed. They were going to ease him into death in a timespan of about two-days. Meanwhile, you were clinging on to life desperately. The only thing that was keeping you alive were the machines that the hospital had. It turned out there was too much infection spread throughout your heart and you needed a transplant for most of it. So you had to be added onto a list of hundreds that needed transplants.

I was alone with the rest of my loving family dying right beside me; and there was nothing I could do about it.

Soon after I was called into your Father's room and he told me he was going to donate parts of his heart for you. He said he didn't need two extra days. He wanted to sacrifice his life in order to save yours. He was a hero.

You lived, and he passed away quietly. You weren't able to attend his funeral because you were still recovering from your surgery.

Now lets fast-forward to present time. You are older now and understand that all little boys and girls have parents or guardians. Usually two, so it was natural for you to question your heritage.

I can't think of any other way to say this other than that I pannicked. I didn't want you to know the truth because I knew you would be hurt. You would hate me for ever letting your Father sacrifice his life so you would never see him in his life. Let alone remember what he looks like.

So I improvised and did the only thing I thought was possible. I stalled the inevitable situations by having you send letters. As the letters progressed I truthfully did become your father. You and I both were under my spell. So before I finally got around to "you and your father" finally meeting, I decided to use these letter things as a tool to get you to improve your life. It seemed to have worked.

You made a new friend, going outside to do so. You broke free of your chains (Steve) who was keeping you cooped up inside most of the days. And I had you learn a lot about your father. All of the good things...and the bad.

But as this craziness progressed, things got way to out of hand. I didn't know what to do, there was no way of escaping circumstance this time.

As we met, I didn't think that would be your reaction.

You had so much anger and hatred towards me.

So there is the story. I bet it's not quite close to what you originally thought it was, was it?

        Please, please, please, forgive me. What I did was a stupid and irrational mistake.

I have already lost my soul mate. I would die inside if I lost my own son as well.

                                                                I know you wish me dead but here goes,

                                                                Love,

                                                                your Mother.