An Open Letter from a Middle-Aged, Single, Black Dad to His Mother

Saundra Watkins Lyles, circa 1966 (while a student at Douglas High School

Mom during her elementary school years

Recently, I realized that my entire self-identity had been rooted in the ugly side of my father absence experience.

I dwelled in it. 

I needed it. 

I feared abandoning it, for doing so would have meant abandoning the only part of him I had; well, the only real part of him. 

Duh! Sure, I made up tons of things about my father in my head, sometimes even sharing them with my friends and classmates. God knows, it hurts me to admit that after hearing That he might be in California, I convinced myself that I might find him dancing on Soul Train. I mean, he did rock an afro and fitted polyester shirts and pants, for God's sake. 

In that new awareness (reference first paragraph for gentle reminder), I became keenly aware of my mother's strength. It was insurmountable. And her wisdom. It, too, was insurmountable, and always expanding. She did what was required to keep life happening for me and my sister, often making it fun. And, man -- that woman loved us, and I mean something terrible. She told us everyday, reminding us how beautiful we were, and how blessed she was to have been sent us from God.

Mom pregnant with me, June, 1970

But along the way, I focused all of my attention on the lack of love I got from my father, so much so that I forgot that I was ever so loved. 

I had forgotten that I had never lived one moment of life without being paramountly loved. 

Oh, yeah..

And wanted. 

My mother wanted me and my sister enough to fill up the emptiness an absent parent could leave in place of his/her absence. 

My sister and I were always wanted, and that’s for sure. 

Like most boys, though, I wanted my father to want me too, probably more than my mother. I wanted to know how to be, and she couldn't teach me that. And like many of us boys and young men, I took out my perceived daily loss on my mother, wondering and sometimes even asking what she could have done to make this man hate me so much. I was mad at the world. And I hated myself for not being what he wanted in a son.

Me and Moms taking our first selfie

That is until 2 months ago, when I was able to forgive myself for hating myself. And for running so far, physically and metaphorically, from my mother and her love.

So, for the past two months, I've been writing a letter to my mother, apologizing for my actions and asking for forgiveness.

She read it out loud and my 15-year-old son recorded it. 

And now, we are sharing it with you with great hopes that it will inspire healing experiences in your families.

PRESS PLAY TO WATCH EMOTIONAL APOLOGY BETWEEN MOTHER AND SON

Mother reads son's letter as her grandson records the moment

THE LETTER:

Mother,

As you know, this year I turned 46-years-old, which has proven to be the first among my adult years I feel the most...ME. And you, if no one else, fully understand why.  

As we both grow wiser with years, our faces, voices, and bodies give testimony to our amazing, and often exhausting journeys; life for us, as it were, always happening, never asking permission. Life was tough. 

At times, Mother, I selfishly wish for a do-over of the years I denied you, hoping for the unalienable connection I believed I deserved as much as my friends in and out of school -- the love shared between father and child. 

And although you taught me not to resent or be ashamed of my life, myself, or my journey, I did it anyway. 

Abandonment and rejection broke me into little pieces that I shared with undeserving people. I gave up...

And for nearly forty years, I believed myself to be unloved, unworthy, and a big mistake.

I committed myself to a cage, one that wouldn't let anything in, nor any thing out.

But recently, Mother, during yet another volatile conversation with the man we call my father, it occurred to me that I had been begging the same man to do the same thing for 40 years. And that he'd been giving me the same answer for each of those years. It was the best he had.

And just like that, mother, I released all of that confusion. And with the first clear mind I ever remember having, it occurred to me that I had never really been denied love in my life. 

And with a clear mind, I realized that I had just spent the past 40 years blaming you, my Queen; my Mother,  for my father's rejection. 

And though I don't generally dwell on past decisions, If I could change anything about my life, it would be to get those years back and to be the son you earned. The one you deserve. 

You always loved me, and I've never not felt apart from you, as if the moment you conceived me at twenty years old, and each one since all make up one long, complex, but beautiful Fall, Saturday afternoon. 

Your love, mother, is strong like fire, lighting and warming paths to and from your arms whenever we (my sister and I) need to fill up. 

From thousands of miles away -- Norway and Zimbabwe -- I've felt your your love, reminding me that you were made to give me life. Wow.

Your love, Dearest Mother, made me an amazing father to the best son in the whole wide world, even with no blueprint for what a good father should do or say.

Your never said one disparaging word about my father, and you could have. 

Mother, I apologize for the difficult times between us. I apologize for running and spending so much time away from you; for my anger towards you. And for blaming you for my father's absence.

I'd do anything to get those years back, but we both know that I can't. Besides, your probably wondering why I'm even saying all of this, because you've always seen me a treasure you were so blessed to share with the world.

But I can cherish and honor you the way you deserve for each coming year we will be so blessed to have each other.

You really are my first true love. My light. My mirror. My rock.

Your Son, 

Derrick