A Redemption Plan for My Mother

Hello Mother,

I have a gift for you.

Becky tells me that there was some communication snafu that prevented you receiving my first email. It’s just as well; this is an extensively revised version of it. I received your greeting just now, but I did not read it. As you read on, you’ll understand.

Also, you will of course find this letter very unpleasant. Up front I will tell you that you owe it to me at least to read it once, all the way through. I believe that you have not shed enough, or enough of the right kind of, tears for me. Of late I have most objectionably had your burden thrust upon me and begun to shed some of your tears for that little boy. You owe it to me at least to take some of that burden back.

I have re-read and revised this letter many, many times to make sure that I get across to you everything I wish to impart. I have just finished one last read before sending it to you, and I can hear questions coming back from you: “What about me? What about my broken mind? What about my salvation?” I realize that your childhood was at least as bad as mine, and that you should be given lots of breaks for certain kinds of mistakes that most other people would not make. And if you look carefully at what I’m saying to you, you will see that I am giving you enormous breaks. I am not exacting any particularly onerous revenge, and in the end all I am really asking you to do is part of your basic maternal duty: to help your child in need. You utterly failed that duty when I was a child, when I needed you most. I need you now, not in the same way as I needed you then, but in an equally real way.

Further, and more importantly, your salvation: ever since your partner in atrocity taught me that I would burn in hell for all eternity, I have been terrified. Even now, although my rational mind tells me that God is the same as Zeus. But I have discovered a kind of salvation while consciously being the best father I can. I have found that every time I make a sacrifice on my daughter’s behalf, a little bit of my fear of hell goes away, usually in the form of believing, by the ferocity of my love for my daughter, that love and hell cannot exist in the same universe, and therefore I am safe. My point is that you will discover your salvation in accepting and acting on what I have to say.

As you can see, the gift I offer you is redemption. Specifically, I will tell you how you can earn my forgiveness. You can choose to earn it, and I hope you will, because I want to forgive you. Not for your benefit, but for mine. But feel free to reject my offer. I am not blackmailing you in any way. I am not threatening you. If you reject my offer, nothing will happen to you. Specifically, you will not receive my forgiveness. That’s all. I’ll never contact you again.

I advise you not to try to hide behind any kind of claim about being “saved”. I can guarantee you, and feel free to check this out with your spiritual advisors, that if you were saved, your conscience would be burning a hole in your skull, compelling you to try to help your children repair their broken psyches.

First, I’ll give you some background on my life. Not too far back; that would be tedious, and frankly, given the hideous visions that have been visited on me in the last few days (visions that you created for me, in case that’s not obvious), I wouldn’t be able to present any of my life in coherent fashion. It was only five days ago that I discovered a huge part of the key that I need for interpreting the last 30 years or so. But I’m rambling. Here’s my situation:

I got laid off from my job in August 2008—yes, 2008. At the same time, the only woman I ever truly loved (and I have only recently discovered, to my horror, that she is the one who reminded me most of you, especially sexually) ripped my heart out by leaving. Since then, my life has deteriorated steadily to the point where I got into bed four months ago and haven’t gotten up since, until finally a couple of nights ago I had to call a suicide hotline because I had started to do the mental gymnastics to prepare to kill myself, and knew that my daughter, whom I love more than anything in the world, and for whom I would kill and die before I ever let someone molest her, would be heartbroken to lose me, although for the most part I’m a pretty lousy dad.

So I’m still alive, but to tell the truth, I find that my conscience is my least favorite possession. I really do wish that I could just stop living entirely, but I just can’t get around my duty as a father. But if I could, then you would have already missed out on this chance for redemption. So perhaps you should consider yourself lucky, because 5/6 redemption won’t be enough for you. If there is a hell, Edd is there now. He might have gotten something from Becky, but anything I ever gave him came from a place in my psyche that made it worthless anyway. A place of fear and self-loathing, not recognizing that even kids who will ultimately burn in hell forever deserve at least a basic level of human decency. So don’t think he got off lucky. You’re the lucky one, because you still have a chance.

Anyway, the rest of my situation: I’m almost out of cash, have no medical insurance of any kind, and have no prospects for employment, and even if I did, I can’t get out of bed anyway. On top of that I’ve accumulated significant debts trying to stay afloat over the last 18 months. I’m behind on my property taxes, and I have no money even to hire my usual income tax professional.

Here is your plan for redemption:

• Start going to therapy right away, once a week or more, if you’re not already. Discuss all of this with the therapist. I’ve had bad therapists before, so if you don’t have one and don’t know how to find a good one, give me (through Becky) a handful of names near you and I will interview them myself and choose one for you. Ten or so. I want you to realize that this is not at all a punishment. In fact, it’s a second gift. You need therapy. You were horribly scarred as a girl, at least as badly as I was, and you need help. If you choose to earn my forgiveness, you will need emotional support and advice on how to cope with having me in your life in this way. Also, for the writing assignments mentioned below, you will need some help remembering things that you have forgotten, and then you will need help coping with the memories. If there’s anything I’ve learned in the last two weeks, it’s that even people who have functioned pretty well for a long time can turn suicidal over horrifying memories.
• Get used to writing. Explain, in writing (electronic typed copy is ok for all of these writing assignments) why I was allowed to be in the Cub Scouts and Becky was not allowed in Girl Scouts. Explain why Donna always called me “Golden Boy”. Specifics. What did she see you and/or our father do that led her to that conclusion? Even if she was wrong, how did she get there? Explain why my sisters, older and younger, report beatings from their father that left visible marks, while I have no memory whatsoever of anything worse than a token lash from you and absolutely nothing from my father except a solitary drunken toss across the room. What the hell is that about? I absolutely need to understand these things. Start on this right away, right after you send the money (discussed below).
• Give a written account of yourself and your role in my life. Tell me your story as it relates to me from about the time I was conceived to the present day, and tell my story as you see it during that same time period. Tell the truth. There’s no point in hiding anything any more. Your punishment will not come from humans. You can’t be condemned any further than you already are, so I want it all. I especially want to hear the conversations that went on between you and Edd that led to you molesting me in a hotel room. In general I want that level of detail. Further detail, in fact, your thoughts during these conversations. And while you were actually molesting me, having me fuck and suck you: what was going through your mind? And keep in mind that I’m a bit skeptical of the “I was scared” defense, as I quite clearly recall seeing you suck his giant cock with a smile on your face, and moaning, “I’m a fucking machine!” And I recall other situations where you had every opportunity to prevent sexual atrocities at absolutely no risk to yourself but did not do so. You were not scared. Or at least fear wasn’t your only motivation. I demand the truth.
• Give a written account, to the best of your ability, of the above, mutatis mutandis, for Edd.
• Expect other writing assignments.
• Get a good look at your finances. Know how much you need to retain in order to keep your life going like it is. Then get rid of most of the luxuries. Keep a couple; somehow I’ve managed to hang on to a bit of the humanity that you mostly ripped out of me. Let’s call this your employable minimum, as you will need more money than you currently have, so you’ll need to keep something approximating your current lifestyle so you can keep working. But you won’t be pampering yourself for a while.
• Send me $50k, or the most you can without going below the employable minimum. Your stocks and mutual funds and that sort of thing don’t have any effect on your current lifestyle, so sell all that sort of thing as needed to get me the $50k. Don’t spare anything except the employable minimum; when you are too old to work, you will find out whether your children’s sense of filial devotion outgrew your sense of maternal devotion.
• Expect to support me financially until I can drag myself out of this hideous place and get back on my feet. You’ll need something like $3k per month, maybe not so much.
• Expect to send me to a four-year university and support me while I earn a proper degree in evolutionary biology. This might not be required of you but you should know that it’s a possibility.
• Add me to your medical/dental/vision insurance. Claim me as a dependent on your taxes if you like; it will be your legal right for a while.
• Don’t expect that to be the end of the financial demands. This is just a rough outline of my finances, as I can’t recall them in detail due to spending five of the last eight days absolutely, hysterically out of my mind.
• Take time off work and go to Edgewood, Texas. Take an essay that I have written, and deliver copies in sealed envelopes to every possible “teacher”, “coach”, and administrator at both the grade school and high school, as well as to the mother and grandmother to whom Becky and Lori reported your crimes, but who did almost nothing to help. I might have other recipients to name; I’ll get back to you on that.
• Get back to work and make money.

Some other ground rules:

• There might be more demanded of you. Basically, I am attempting to bring about my own salvation. Your salvation will be brought about when you have given me everything that you can give that will enable mine, plus repeating this with my sisters.
• You will contact me through my sister Becky only, except when instructed otherwise.
• You will never speak to me. You will never see me or appear to me anywhere.
• Get a Facebook account. Friend me, but never contact me. Watch my life, read my writings, look at my photos. Find out who I am through this limited portal. Be sad for me when you read about my pain, much of which stems directly from your treatment of me as a child. Look at the pictures of the granddaughter you will never see in person. Not only because I will prevent you, but also because that’s part of the rules—you will actively avoid seeing her, at all costs. Reflect on my love for her, which would kill you if you ever exposed your naked body to her, or said anything like, “I’m a fucking machine!” in her presence. And don’t get any ideas. You need to stay alive and gainfully employed.
• Your redemption is divided into two main parts: restitution and punishment/revenge. The punishment/revenge part is you watching your progeny only via Facebook, and reading this letter. I hope it makes you cry until your whole body aches, at least once or twice. That is what has been happening to me repeatedly over the last five days. You need at least a taste of it. Anyway, you’re already halfway through the punishment/revenge part. Before long I’ll irresistibly find myself having mercy on you. I don’t know how I’ve hung onto that ability over the years. Anyway, everything else is the restitution part, caring for your needy son.
• This will not ultimately result in some sort of happy reunion where you get the right to touch me or be in the same town as my daughter. You might not believe this, but I feel genuine and terrible sadness to pronounce this sentence on you. My daughter is the most fabulous 11-year-old kid, and you lost that opportunity long ago. You can earn redemption, but you are irredeemably profane, and I will not allow such anywhere near her. But at least you will have my forgiveness, and again, you will need it from all six of us, your children.

I’m thinking about your possible responses. If you want to send something like, “Fuck you,” then that’s your prerogative. As I’ve said, nothing will happen to you in this life. I’ll ignore any emails you send me, even an apology—you’ve had decades to apologize, when you should have been begging your children for forgiveness daily and doing everything you can to help them repair their broken minds. If you want to begin working on your redemption, then send Becky a confirmation, and send me a cashier’s check followed quickly by a rough draft. I’ll keep you posted.