Letter to my mother #3

Dear Momma,

Next Sunday will be my first mother's day as a mom and, while I am proud of all I've been through to call myself one, I am so terribly sad and lonesome for you.
Before little L came into our lives, I had been struggling with what I've been told is mild depression. It has felt graver than mild at times, but I've never reached a point where I couldn't make it out of bed to dress myself and go through the motions of my myriad responsibilities. If there's one good thing I have from the all-pervasive sense of guilt I inherited from you (not blaming you), it's an unflagging sense of duty. It has not always served me well, but has proven to be a boon to my professional life, so thank you! While I have always been prone to being sulky, my sadness worsened in my late twenties and, though I've experienced moments of joy, I've never been able to recover the sense of inner stability I enjoyed for a brief period right before things went off kilter. If I had to pinpoint the most salient aspects of my depression, they would be: an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and the inability to get out of my own head.
Little L has greatly helped the latter. I cannot afford to spend all day, every day, trapped in the rabbit hole. He grants me the permission I need to fixate on something besides my faults. In that way (and in many others) he has helped to heal some old wounds in me. Having him has given me clarity on certain things I didn't understand when I was a little girl: why you worried all the time; why you were always so tired; why you were resentful and angry. Having him has made me immeasurably more grateful and in awe of the sacrifices you made to make sure J and I had everything we needed and then some. Having L has also transformed certain curiosities from my past into unsolvable mysteries: how and why you stayed with Dad; how you did everything alone without going stark raving mad; how Dad could be so dismissive of lives he helped create; how he could take a knee on the banal and grueling minutia of parenthood, yet still always show up in the winner's circle.
I wish now more than ever that you could have given yourself a life closer to what you deserved, because you deserved so much more than you received.

You forged my heart in the fire of your undying love for me. It belongs to you forever.

I love you,
Sarah