Lack of Postage

by Edward Sage

Dear Mom,

            I’m writing to tell you how sorry I am about your incontinence.  Wearing those pull-ups sounds awful. 

            And I’m sorry about your twisted fingers and your gnarled toes.  Those surgeries are so gruesome.  Though you never complained even with the pins pushing out.

            And I am sorry about your artificial knees going bad.  Maybe these new ones will work out better.  Just like the new toes!  Those are great, they really are!  You have great toes.

            And I’m really sorry we keep bugging you about your hearing aids, but they really do help.  The batteries are so small.  That is an annoyance even without the arthritis.  So, thank you.

            And I hope it goes without saying that I’m sorry about Dad and that girl.  That must have been hard, especially with them living so near!  Right through the woods.  You could actually see their house from yours! So creepy.

            And don’t think I’ve forgotten how sad you were leaving that mountain house.  That old cabin gave you solace.  It was yours and there never was much in this world that was just yours.  (Not even your grave!  But that’s another story.)

            But also, try to remember, chin up and all that, the darkest part of the year could be so rough and lonely for you up there on the hill.  It kept you distant from people.  Not that you liked many people but, also, you kind of did.  And people liked you. Well, some people. Enough people?

            Have I ever thanked you for paying for college with that second mortgage?  I know I have. But you deserve so much thanks.  It was a great help.  Huge help!  (That chip on your shoulder served me well in that way, “Nothing will stop my children from getting what I never had!”)

            And thanks for giving up the cigarettes.  And for never drinking booze.  It could have gone the other way, like with your dad.  And I know you did smoke some weed in retirement. But that was cute more than anything else. 

            And always on my mind is remembering that your childhood was no cakewalk.  When they cut your hair off for the lice!  And how your clothes were all hand-me-downs.  I suppose that happens when you’re the 5th of 6 daughters! But still. 

            And I can’t go back in time and stop that man in the movie theater.  I wish I could. I really wish I could.  I feel bad about that.

            And I know that when you were a teenager you raised your nieces and nephews like you had nothing better to do.  What’s a babysitter in a family that big!

            By the time you got married, Pop-pop was not a good man, not even good enough to walk you down the aisle. 

            I would have walked you down the aisle. You know I would have done that for you.  I guess you had me a little too late for that, huh?  ;)

With love,

Your son

BIO: Edward Sage is a writer, teacher, and activist from Portland, Oregon. His poetry and nonfiction have been published in ZYZZYVA (under the name Ed Varga, Jr.), The Portland Review, The Ponder Review, Plainsongs, BULL Lit, The Passionfruit Review, Hare's Paw Literary Journal, among others. Ed has twice been considered for a Pushcart. He can be found at edvargasage@gmail.com.