To My Younger Self

My dear little Rachel,

I wish I could properly prepare you for the future.  The most I can do is speak as the big sister you will never and have never possessed.  Right now you're probably lying in your bed reading , as you often do.  Maybe you're seven or eight years old.  That's about the age I mean for you to be when you read this.

I know you feel like life is hard and that the daily beatings from our mom make you hate her.    I know about each and every one of the bruises you had, some that were made fresh every day.  I can tell you that you have to take it.  You have to endure.  There will be times, over the next few years, when you'll want to die.  You'll want to leave this Earth.  But you have to stay.  No matter how bad things become, you can NOT leave your younger sisters alone.  They are little babies now, three and four years old... but one day when they are young girls, they will need your protection.  When the nice police officer asks you where your bruises come from, you must not tell him they came from a broomstick.  Because one day your family will rely on you to lead them.  What you don't realize is that one day your mother will grow old and sick.  And soon after, a day will come when the sickness won't go away.  It is then that your endurance will pay off.  She will know that she was a bad mother to you and that she should have loved you instead of ignoring you.    You will remember that for years she sent you away to your room.  She never played with you or held you or kissed you.  She never asked you how you were doing or if you were happy... she never cared.  But she will remember she loves you before the end.

Little girl I know you love your daddy.  He is the greatest man you know right now.  But in only a few short years, mommy and daddy will separate.  Daddy will start taking drugs and soon he will start beating you too.  The first time it happens, you will be fourteen.  You will be sitting in your bedroom trying to play that old guitar you found.  Then you will hear the yelling from the living room.  It's Sarah, your little sister.  She's fighting with daddy because he's hurt our family.  Sarah doesn't know how to handle our parents' separation.  I can tell you right now, the fear and anger will blaze brighter inside of you than any flame you've ever seen.  Your guitar will go into the floor, you will sprint across the house and you will see daddy there.  He will have his hands around Sarah's neck.  And she's just nine-years-old.  She's such a young girl.  She's screaming at daddy to let her go.  Now I can't tell you not to do what you're about to do, because you've raised these little girls like they're your own.  You worked hard to protect them all these years.  And I know that nothing I say now will stop you from doing this.

You're going to push him off of her with all your might.  You're going to stand between them so he can't hurt her.  But instead of hurting her, he will throw his fist across the side of your head.  The edge of his gold minister's ring will rip your earlobe almost clean off.  Then he'll throw you in the floor and hold you down.  And while you kick and scream in your infantile helplessness, he'll continue to hit you while your blood soaks into the carpet.  Luckily, your boyfriend, James, will be there just at the right moment.  At the time he'll be seventeen, almost a grown man.  When he comes into the room, your daddy, whom you've loved your whole life... so much... will move away from you and go outside without saying a word.  Both of your little sisters will go into their room and cry for the rest of the night, afraid to come out.  James will help you clean the blood from the gash and stop the bleeding.  He'll hold you while you cry and then he'll go home when the time comes.  Mom will come home from work but she won't believe your story.  Despite showing her the gash on your ear and the bruise on your face, she won't believe you.

You won't eat that night.  You won't sleep.  You will wear a band-aid for a week or so until it heals over a little.  But I can promise you, the scar will never go away and it will always physically hurt to touch for a long time.  It will continue to hurt emotionally forever.  Your mother will put a chair over the blood stain, because when she tries to scrub it out of the carpets, it won't come up.  The daddy you loved for his understanding and his nurturing soul will be gone... dead in your eyes.  You may never tell him you love him again.  At twenty-three, as I write this letter, you haven't told him after that night.

And I'm sorry to say that won't be the last time he puts his hands on you.  It won't be the last time he rages against you or another family member.  But I'm happy to say that instead of hitting you, your mother will start to wholly ignore you.  As your father's attacks become worse, your grades will drop.  You won't have a very good G.P.A when you leave high school and that will lessen your chances of getting into college.  Right off the bat, you won't get into college at all.  In fact, the college admissions officer at the local University will say, "Save your money on the application and don't bother to apply.  You won't be accepted."  Afterward, you'll be so heartbroken that you'll leave the office, take a drink at the water fountain and cry in a bathroom stall in a nearby bathroom.  But you'll move out of your parents' house.  You'll end up in community college but it's better than nothing.

James will stick through everything with you.  He grows from a wonderful young man into a wonderful adult.  He loves you Rachel and supports you, no matter what you look like or what happens to you.  He loves you no matter how many times you end up in the hospital for whatever unknown disease plagues you.  Despite everything, one day he'll ask you to marry him.  And you'll say yes.   Your wedding will be modest and simple but such a happy occasion.  And even though you hate your father, you will allow him to walk you down the aisle.  Your marriage will suffer a few kinks, but hardly anything about which to write home.  Your father will stop doing heavy drugs and move to another state.  You may never see him again.  Your mother will become an alcoholic and will become sick as I mentioned earlier.

Because of your endurance, your sisters will absolutely flourish.  Both will be A students and the best in everything they do.  Both will be beautiful, intelligent young women.  And you'll be privileged to look back on your life and say, "It was all worth it."  Every fist you suffered and every drop of blood you shed... every loss you took was worth it just to see that they... didn't have to.

At eight-years-old, reading this letter, you may become afraid.  All you know is your reading, writing, drawing and playing the violin.  You pursue them voraciously.  Over the course of your life, those few things will be your saving grace.  They will save you from sadness on nights when you're locked in your room.  They will save you from remembering hunger or physical pain.  They will allow you to vent out your emotional pain.  Cling to them, my little love.  Always remember that there will be a brighter day.  For every trial remember that things will get better.  Remember, even in the worst times, that you can live through the bad until the better days decide to come.


Yours affectionately,


Older Rachel