Dear Mom,
I wish I knew when I was still little the rebel never wins even if I listened to you and dad and brushed my teeth after I ate candy and before bed I would still feel rotten as a loudmouth adult aging at forty-eight forces me to reflect on my catholic sins decisively I lost my faith in our family early on and found drugs exactly when father found sobriety with the twelve steps and AA
Enter through the front door into the atrium no one would ever think inside our home the rage of my drunken father would force the hand of fate given my childish need for love and attention but instead felt the belt hand fist and father's foot corporal punishment went overboard at home terrible to mention this as you turn eighty this year but all the hugs you gave your little boy could never take away years of abuse today
May we sing you a song on December 13th and raise a glass to drink our good fortune to know you are alive and well on this day of your birth tragically your husband of nearly fifty years passed away from cancer he shared birthdays with you one year older his tomb exactly the same size as a post office box as ashes to the earth return to you mother to celebrate your birth.
With love, your son, Hamsa
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