to my son
April 22, 2016 § 2 Comments
This week I came upon a letter you wrote to someone else. The discovery was a curious accident of poor organization, papers mixed up and gifted to me unintentionally, but the act of reading your thoughts was a violation of trust.
I struggled with the decision to confess my guilt. It would have been simpler to feign ignorance, but I wondered if acknowledging my mistake might one day help you to initiate a difficult conversation with me. I also wanted to be able to begin a conversation about some of what you said and I couldn’t ask you to be honest without first offering the same transparency.
We’ve spoken already, you registered mild embarrassment, initially, but quickly forgave my trespass against your privacy. As teenagers go, I count myself lucky that you are so openly vulnerable and fiercely forgiving. We went on to talk about the girl you care for, how you came to meet and the emotions you had kept so closely guarded.
Tonight a copy of the letter in question is tucked away for your future self, packed alongside holiday wish lists and an emotional goodbye you wrote our first family dog; mementos of your childhood like breadcrumbs that might forever help you find your way to a boundless enthusiasm and untarnished certainty, innocence we too soon outgrow.
Love, Mom
scribblechic 
The one thing that I didn’t have in my early years was trust.
That honesty, even as awkward or fearful as it may be to talk to him about the letter, will always be recognised for what it was, a reaching hand of love.
Sometimes they may react very badly, but underneath that they will see the truth of that honesty.
There isn’t another love like it Marie, and you trusted well 🙂
Such a great point, Mark; the work of trust.