Family
Mom, I forgive you
Dear Mom, Mother's Day just passed, and I had one of those moments. You know, the moments where I think "I'm going to call Mom," then remember. Remember that I wasn't there at your hospital bed, remember the last time we were together we argued. Remember you never heard me tell you I forgive you.
By Erin Nanasi4 years ago in Confessions
A weeping daughter
Hey mom, I hope you’re doing well. I know you love me. So do I. You are the best of all mothers. Being the only child and only daughter of the family, dad and you have poured your tenderness, care, and love upon me. Even if dad is not alive anymore, I’m still grateful for the attention, sacrifices, and devotion you guys have shown me since birth.
By Michel Tetchi 4 years ago in Confessions
At The End
It’s strange how quickly life seems to fly by. One moment you’re a child, innocent and playing in the dirt, and then suddenly you’re an adult with responsibilities and obligations. In the blink of an eye, you’re old, waiting for your grandchildren to visit you. It’s strange how my mind continually wanders to my mother.
By Emilie Turner4 years ago in Confessions
My mother crossed over
We all lit candles for you in a park telling the story of all the injustices you've faced from being born into a marginalized community in Canada: indigenous. We told the story of how you were hospitalized when you were pregnant with our baby sister and that you and she weren't supposed to make it, but you made it. Today she has done modeling, finished college, and works in the education system.
By Irene Mielke4 years ago in Confessions
"Hey Mom. I never told you this before, but...”
Your hands brittle and wrinkly, your eyes filled with love when you see me, your smile when I speak of my day filling your heart with joy. You were the first one I felt when I was inside, your days in which you spent crying I felt. The days you laughed I felt. The pains I caused you I felt, yet never did you give up on me. When I was born your hands held me with tenderness and love. When I cried of hunger your love fed me and kept me warm.
By Manuel Trujillo 4 years ago in Confessions
Why I left
Anita looks down at the note in her hands and she begins to read it her hands shaking with nerves. Dear Mom, I was stuck looking into mirrors and only seeing a shell looking back at me, a ghostly apparition that I did not recognize. Nothing was your fault, you were the only shining light in my living hell. I could never talk to you about what was going on because Dad was threatening me. He would get close to my face and scream with the smell of cigarettes burning my nostrils, he would remind me that he never wanted me.
By Brian Sattler4 years ago in Confessions
Dearest Mom
Dear Mom, I wholeheartedly hope you're doing better. I understand we haven't been as close as we were before I moved back home in 2020. I thought seeing you after the year of well-wishing and promises for a better tomorrow over the phone would spark a fire of connection and family. I'm sorry for lashing out and living in the woods instead of being with you but there's something I need to tell you that I've wanted to tell you during all of those years of being no contact.
By Shasta Monigold4 years ago in Confessions
Mother, Mother
(Note from the author: This is written from the perspective of me 2 years ago, after leaving a very abusive relationship. I'm 20 years old now, and relatively okay now! My relationship with my mother is still unconventional, but it has healed immensely. Enjoy!)
By Erin D4 years ago in Confessions
Not Lamb Brain Fritters. Top Story - May 2022.
Hello Mum, As May is the month of Mother’s Day, Vocal has a new challenge for writers to conquer. It asks that we write you an open letter and confess to something we never planned to tell you and that got me thinking.
By Colleen Millsteed 4 years ago in Confessions
You made me, mama.
hey mama. There must be something you don’t know. I’m racking my brain for some secret I’ve kept hidden in my chest, deep down under the tissue and tucked away behind my heart, in a narrow cavity caving deeper into me than you could ever realize. My bones shelter me, my mind commands my arms to hold me, and my eyes to shut tight and escape the bright light of your acceptance. I wonder if it will wear thin or tire, if you will snap and leave me to trace my steps along my intestines, securing the pathways that my enemies create, leading a winding trail to my head. Everything seems dark sometimes.
By Vanya Vonnegut4 years ago in Confessions
