A Letter to my Mother

Dear Mom,

You will notice that your sunglasses are no longer on the piano. The truth is, I took them when I left for Minneapolis. My sunglasses were lost in the rubble of totes and suitcases jammed into my car, so I snapped up yours and transported them 198 miles out of your reach with no thought of bringing them back.

Another confession: I have your hat. You and I found two great hats at Sears one day–you got the blue one, and I got the black one. After a while, I realized I liked the blue one better, so I confiscated it from your closet without asking.

There’s also a necklace I took from your dresser. I’ve had it so long, you probably don’t even remember owning it.

Oh, and the next time you’re loading leftovers into a perfectly sized GladWare container and can’t find a lid, I’ll be the one to blame. In all my frenzied packing and cleaning, I made off with one or two kitchen items that weren’t mine.

I even have one of your spoons. I don’t really know why.

It’s true that I’m the jewelry, scarf, and shoe thief in your life, that I’ve used your postage stamps without asking or replacing them, that I’ve parked my car on grass you were trying to grow, and that I’ve kept you up late at night so I could vent about the dramas of my life.

Now that I’ve moved to Minneapolis, your odds of ever seeing your pilfered items again are pitifully small, but at least your stuff won’t go missing nearly as much. I just wanted to say thanks for letting me live at home and eat your chocolate chips while I figured out my next move in life. You and dad were great landlords, and I promise I’ll be back to park on your lawn and borrow your sweaters.

Love,

Sarah