Letters to Brendan by Ashley Bloom Read Free Book Online Page B

Where would I be now? What kind of a person would I be?
    I must not have these thoughts, I only destroy myself with them. There is no turning back time. And that is good, beca use that way I wouldn` t have my two beautiful girls, who have to see far too much pain. How much I w ish for an easier childhood for them . And for a happier mom.
    But it is what it is. I have to live with what I have. I have to get up every morning and put on a smile , and force myself all day long to go on, not to give up. How many times did I want to leave already?
    But no, I will be strong. I will continue remembering us and looking for t he girl that is still somewhere deep inside me. And probably one day she will show up again. That` s my only light. And a word from you.
    I will be patient…
    Love,
    Rosaly

December 25, 2010
    Dear Brendan
    Merry Christmas!
    It was a hard day, and the only way to stand it all is writing you again. Not to load all my heartache down on you, no – I want to get the things that happened today out of my mind and out of my heart as soon as possible – b ut to gain different kind s of thoug hts, nice ones. Just to let this Christmas be worth something after all . Because it is Christmas, the celebration of love.
    Most likely you` re celebrating it with your loved ones, happily and high-spirited. Without a thought of me. There will be reasons fo r t he fact that you still haven`t replied my letters. But I don` t want to thi nk the reason could be that you` re happily married, w ith loads of children. That you` r e much better off without me. I` d li ke to think that the reason you` re not writing is that my le tters didn` t reach you. For any kind of reason, because you moved away , for example. Although I couldn` t imagine you living anywhere else than in that little cottage at the far end of your parents` land, that you already called your home when we were still one. There, where we both lost our innocence. There, where I found warmth and comfort.
    I can still see you sitting in that ol d rocking chair of your grandpa` s, holding a book by Kerouac.
    I gave myself a gift today. “ The Town and t he City” by Jack Kerouac. I`m pretty sure you `ve read it. I` m re ally excited to start it, and I`ll smile at it, `cause I`ll know I` m taking in the same words that you did before.
    I read “On t he Road” three times already and I soaked in every single word with longing. I imagined to be on the road, to b e hitchhiking through all the USA, from town to town, wherever the wind takes me. I imagined t o be free. To be me.
    I hope you are fine. And even if I don`t hear from you, I` l l write to you again. Bec ause it` s the only thing that keeps me alive.
    You don` t even know how grateful I am to you. Your existe nce alone is such a relieve . It` s like talking to a friend. And this friend just listens and nods understandingly, without judging.
    Thank you! Just for being there.
    Merry Ch ristmas and a Happy New Y ear!
    With love,
    Rosaly
     

February 14, 2011
    Dear Brendan
    It`s Valentine` s Day.
    Vince forgot about it. When Betty, my youngest, handed me a s elf-made heart-shaped Valentine` s card at the kitchen table t his morning, he remembered . After work he came home with flowers. And a smell of booze. Those were my presents: Flowers and a punch in the face. Because I`m a “ stupid bitch” that could have shown a little more joy over those nice flowers. Other women didn` t even get anything on Valentine` s Day, he said, but I didn` t even appreciate it.
    But I was happy with Betty` s card and Laura` s necklace, that she made herself. I have two amazing daughters, you know. Laura is eight, Betty just turned six. And they` re both so pretty. Oh, if I d idn` t have them, I wouldn` t be here anymore. I would have been up and away for so long. Not that I blame them, but of course they`re the reason . Only for them I am standing all this without complaining.
    I know that it doesn` t make me a good mother, all what they