Dear Mom,

I love you. I'm very proud of you. You fought hard, and you kicked cancer's butt. You overcame your fear of doctors, hospitals, needles, and surgery; and you're getting your knees fixed so you can walk again. You have an amazing amount of will and perseverance, and I admire that in you.

All of that said, and said with the utmost sincerity, I have to tell you Mom, I'm so angry with you. And more than that, I'm so tired of being angry with you. I called to tell you that I'm going to Iraq, and you railed about the president. Mom, this isn't about you and it isn't about the president. I didn't decide to take an assignment to Iraq to piss you off or make you worry. It's my job, Mom. It's what I do. I'm a military officer, and that means frequent sacrifices, sacrifices of my time, my energies, my priorities...it's a job that has to be done...and I do it well, whether or not you'll ever tell me that.

I need you to be proud of me. When I went to the desert a year and a half ago, I called you to see how you were doing and make sure the cancer hadn't come back. I took one of my 2 15-minute calls, to call you because I care. Mom, you didn't so much as send me a Christmas card. I got one email from you...it was a picture of a person I don't remember who apparently went to church with us for a while and was about the same age as me. He was dressed in Afghan garb and toting a rifle in Afghanistan, special forces or something like that in the Army. Are you proud of him, Mom? Was his sacrifice more than mine because he was in Afghanistan, but I was safe 'behind the wire'? The only time in my life I ever remember you saying you were proud of me was when I got my commission. Now, you are angry because it means I have to go places that aren't necessarily safe. Did you not realize how important letters from home are? How I longed to have something in that mail call that was for me? My sister sent a Christmas card and a present...I treasure it still. My sister in law sent a Christmas present...she's in grad school, and so is her husband. Dad's office sent me a card. Did you forget I was there? I'm so afraid that I'll be in Iraq for a year and not hear from you the whole time...I'll get back and you'll pretend I wasn't gone.

You didn't know I was coming until 6 or 7 minutes before I was born. You were shocked of course, but you also weren't happy. I was the one you weren't expecting, the one you didn't want. I can't remember, can't count, the number of times you told us you hated us. A and I pretended not to be affected by it, but of course we were...C, well, she just took it every time as her fault...she must not be helping enough, or she must not be achieving enough...how hard she worked to gain your approval, but none of us ever got it...not until we got married. Now, we still don't have your approval...but our husbands do. When hubby and I were having troubles and I told you I thought it was over, your reaction stung. "You can't leave him, we love him." At that moment, I wanted to leave just because you didn't want me to.

"I hate you G.. D... kids!"

Those words ring in my brain every day...How many times did you say them, Mom? 100? 1000? I swore I would never say those words to my children...and I haven't. Hate...it's such a big word...no, it's an arrow...or maybe a bullet...

I learned early...learned to be invisible. But it hurt being invisible. I wasn't just invisible at home...I was invisible at school too...except my grades...but that 96 wasn't even good enough. "Where did the other 4 points go?" I think now, in retrospect, that you both were joking, but how it hurt at the time! I didn't cry though...you hated it when I cried...I acquired the 'cry baby' moniker by the time I was 8...I couldn't live it down...

You were so ashamed when I was 17 and got pregnant. Even then it was all about you. You wanted me to have an abortion, even though you didn't even believe in it. It was all about you and how you would look. Well, Mom, you never talked to me about sex...unless it was yelling and admonishing me not to...you didn't even tell me about my period...if it hadn't been for C, I don't know what I would have thought when it started...I couldn't talk to you...I couldn't protect myself. I couldn't even tell you that we used a condom...even though it was true, it wouldn't have mattered; the damage was done.

I ruined your plans...I didn't go to college...not until much later...and I funded it myself then. I moved away...we all did...we can't live near you, or you would try to order our lives...you even try to tell me how to raise my kids...but Mom, I don't want them to hurt the way I did.

I know it must have been hard for you growing up with a mother who told you that you were fat and would never get a husband...I can't even imagine how it must have overwhelmed you to have a baby, not quite 3 years old yet, and then bring home twins you only expected one of...I know some of it is not your fault...I forgive you...even though you never asked me to...I love you Mom. I'll always love you. It's not something you'll ever have to earn or ask for. You're my mother...